Hands on top of her head, Mary Jane mentally counted backward from twenty. Just ruminating about breaking every limb of Wulf’s body had her nerve endings on fire. She’d start with dislocating his extremities—pecker included. Yeah, that’s a pretty image.

An almost naked, unconscious Wulf sat in a wooden chair, tied with torn linen straps around the waist and ankles. It had been a feat to get the stocky man onto the seat. His arms were bound behind his back, and the smelly sock he’d worn yesterday was lodged in his mouth. Head cast downward, blood traveled from his forehead to his cheek, and dripped onto his masculine chest. It all made her feel good when she just wanted to be bad.

She should’ve gotten him dressed. Mary Jane’s eyes locked on his face. After cold-cocking him when he exited the bathroom, she’d tied him up without dressing him. Her eyes flickered away from his washboard abs in anger. Even the dumbest cop knew rule number one. While undercover or running away from psychos like Beasley, no phone calls. The call could be traced.

“So you tried to double-cross me while taking a shower?” she mumbled.

Eyes narrowed, Mary Jane knew that she’d given him the best time of his entire life last night. Soon as he awakened, she’d serve the officer his balls on a platter. No other bloody mess. No other broken body parts—just his two wee friends decorating the top of a simple plate.

Looking around the room, she noticed that this option would not work, as there were no platters in sight. Her eyes stopped on the dreamcatcher artistically displayed over the bed. Hmmm, dangling balls, that’s a thought. He thought he’d use her. Well, she’d use him.

Holding a straight razor that she’d nabbed from a trucker eating breakfast at the diner, Mary Jane patiently waited for Wulf to awaken. Then the carving party could commence.

“Grmmm,” Wulf mumbled.

She glared at him. Standing up from the foot of the bed, she sauntered over. Placing the razor at his throat, she caressed the flat part of the blade against his carotid artery. In a soft voice, she said, “Wulf, I thought we were friends. I don’t give myself away freely, but it seems you’ve been a bad boy.”

“Grrr,” he growled.

“Calm down.” She paced back and forth and told him the rules. “Now, when I take the sock away, all I want to know is who you contacted. If you decide to insult me, as you’ve done so many times, I will slit your throat. If you decide to talk about anything other than what I’m inquiring about, I will slit your throat. And, because I desire to spare the life of the man I’ve been most intimate with, I will be kind enough to also add that if you scream, I will, of course, only be obliged to slit your motherfucking throat.” She stopped right in front of him and again taunted him with the razor. “Got it?”

She removed the straight razor from his throat and he nodded.

“I thought so, Wulf. You seem to thrive on rules and regulations. Now, let’s get started.” She pulled the sock from his mouth.

He gagged and gulped.

“C’mon, Wulf, my time is precious. What happened to the man I met last night? That’s the last time I sleep with the enemy. Get to talking!”

“Okay, okay,” he sputtered as she gave his neck a prick. Blood instantly pooled in the quarter-inch slit. “I called my old partner from the LAPD, Quincy Jones.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. The name sounded familiar.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a joke. And he’s not Quincy Jones, the producer.” He spoke quickly. “Just check my cell phone.”

How cute and innocent he looked when he was scared. “Not necessary, Wulf. I heard your entire call through the paper-thin walls.” She closed the straight razor. “I also destroyed your phone.”

Before he could protest, she shoved the sock back into his mouth.

“Beasley may have the means to track your cell phone.” She gave him an incredulous look. “You’re only a small-town cop, so I don’t expect you to have the same training as I do. Fortunately, I checked it prior to disposal.”

Irritation was written all over that gorgeous face of his.

“Wulf, I am a secret agent. When my mission is complete, you can bet your ass that you will be thoroughly dealt with.” She pulled on a diner T-shirt much larger than the one she’d worn the day before and the same skintight jeans. After slipping on her boots, she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

In the sweltering air outside, Mary Jane placed a cowgirl hat on her head. She lingered at the door, reluctant to go.

“Adios, Wulf,” Mary Jane mumbled, mentally forcing herself not to feel a thing for him. Leaving him alone was good enough for her sanity.

While walking to the diner last night, she’d checked through her pockets and clothing, finding a phone number slipped into the crevice of her left boot heel. She slipped inside the stuffy lobby and sauntered toward some pimple-faced attendant.

He instantly perked up and placed his Spider-Man collector’s comic book on the table. “MJ, we have a continental breakfast. It’s not really continental, because all of it comes from this continent. This crummy town really, but we have hot chocolate,” he jabbered, opening the partition that separated them to walk over to the table. She put her hand up, and he instantly stopped mentioning the menu, shamefully reclosed the latch.

Mary Jane smiled, glancing at his nametag. “Hi, Glenn.”

“You remembered my name!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, Glenn.” Mary Jane nodded. She slipped the phone number out of her pocket and onto the table. “How could I forget about you? I need to use your phone.”

Glenn pepped up at her comment and went back to chattering. “Mary Jane, you’re like the baddest chick ever. I’m kinda supposed to call the police on you, though.”

Her eyes widened. “Come again?”

“I’ll show you,” Glenn said.

With hands on her hips, she waited. Watching his every move, she had no qualms with beating up a kid who couldn’t even vote for the president yet. But instead of picking up the phone, Glenn’s hands went to the tiny television on the counter. He slowly turned it around.

“The sound keeps going out,” Glenn said. “So I have it muted.”

Mary Jane read the tiny stream of words at the bottom of the news station. On the screen was a photo of Wulf in his standard uniform and a camcorder high angle close-up shot of Mary Jane from the jailhouse. It had to have been a cropped frame from when Wulf was escorting her to the exit prior to her taking his gun. On the bottom of the screen the newsfeed read:

Santo Cruces City cop goes on shooting rampage with stripper, murdering the pastor and first lady of Santo Cruces City Friendship Church and five other parishioners. The current total dead count is seven.

Her mouth tensed. The pastor and his wife didn’t deserve to die. It took her a moment to calm her frazzled nerves, then Mary Jane looked Glenn square in the eyes. “That’s not me.”

Glenn’s head cocked to the side. “That’s not you?”

When she reiterated, his head cocked to the exit. Through the sun’s glare against the window, she noticed a man headed toward the door. Glenn motioned for her to come behind the counter. She hurried through. On her tiptoes, she pivoted inside the door that read Employees Only and flicked on the light as Glenn closed the door. In two seconds, she’d taken in her surroundings—an old couch and an out-of-order vending machine. To her side, a hallway led toward the restroom.

Mary Jane’s ear went to the cool, chip-painted door.

“Mornin’.” The voice on the other side was deep and strong.

“Good morning, sir.” The soft, nervous voice had to belong to Glenn. “Do you need a room today? We usually don’t open for check-in until the afternoon.”

“What do we have here? Hmmm. Have you seen the woman on this television?”

“Yes.”

Mary Jane’s eyes widened. I could have snapped your scrawny neck with ease!

“Where is she?” the deep voice asked.

“On the TV.” Glenn laughed.

The left side of her lip curved toward the dust-bunny ceiling. At the sound of a fist pounding the counter, Mary Jane jerked slightly.

“Are you alone, boy?”

Glenn didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

Moments passed. “Are you lying to me, boy?”

“No, sir.”

Mary Jane stepped away from the door. She panted heavily, but she couldn’t save Glenn. She jogged down the hall and into the unisex, one-stall bathroom. It smelled of piss and mild disinfectant. Stepping past a mirror smeared with dust and dotted with water spots, she found a rectangular window. Pushing up the glass, she climbed out.

On the side of the building, she waited for the man to exit. There were no shots fired or Glenn’s high-pitched voice, so she assumed the stranger had dealt cleanly with him or left him alive.

She watched the man dressed in leather studs and with a thick beard walk out of the lobby door. He stalked toward the driver’s side of a blue F-250.

She turned around to go in the opposite direction, but a man blocked her way. A thin, tall man with the same features as the stranger who had just asked about her in the lobby. Before she could sidestep him, she was cold-cocked on her temple.

Karma.