Page 14 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

Yeah, she was gorgeous.

I just wasn’t supposed to think that since her alternative look she had going on wasn’t exactly my thing.

I had to admit, though, that the last time I was in town, and we were snapping at each other, there was no denying that I occasionally felt some sparks.

Not that anything would ever happen.

We could barely stand each other most of the time.

“Should have called Massimo,” she murmured as she took a sip of her drink.

“Why didn’t you call Massimo?” I asked.

There was a second of silence, long enough for me to conclude that whatever came after it was not the full truth, before she finally declared, “‘A’ comes before ‘M.’ I was pressed for time.”

“Sure, sweet cheeks,” I said as I got to my feet, watching as her eyes narrowed at me at the pet name.

Over the course of knowing each other the last time, I’d taken to giving her increasingly obnoxious pet names just to get a rise out of her.

“Want a refill?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, tossing back the last of her drink, so I could fill it again.

While I was refilling, she got up, walking over toward her purse near the door, and reaching inside, pulling out her phone she’d tucked inside on the elevator ride.

“What is it?” I asked as I walked back, seeing her brows pinch as she scrolled over something.

“Missed calls,” she said. “A lot of them.”

“Someone looking for you after they saw the window?” he asked.

“Ah, no. Um… no. No, this is an unknown number,” she said. “And it started before the window. I was… I’d been cleaning,” she said. “I don’t really get any calls, so I wasn’t watching it.”

“Did they leave a message?”

“No,” she said, looking over at me. But then it must have started ringing silently again in her hand because she stiffened, then slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?” she asked, a bit of a catch in her voice that you wouldn’t normally find there. “This is she,” she said.

The catch was gone. In its place was that serious voice people used on the phone when talking to someone important.

“What? When?” she asked, her whole body tensing.

I rose from the couch again, sensing shit had just gotten even more fucked up.

“Okay. Can I visit?” she asked. “Okay. Thank you,” she said, sounding numb as she lowered the phone from her ear and ended the call.

“Hey,” I called, as her shoulders fell, as she seemed to curve into herself while still upright. “Traveler,” I tried again as I got in front of her. “What happened?”

“My dad was attacked,” she said, gaze lifting, and her eyes were shining.

“Attacked?” I repeated. “When?”

“About three hours ago,” she said, voice hollow.

Three hours.

Not long before the invasion of her store.

That was… not a coincidence.

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