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“Deal,” Dec said through his teeth, and disconnected.

Carefully, wincing at the slight sound the glass door made as he slid it open, he stepped from the shower

stall, turned off the water in the sink and looked in the mirror. His short-cropped hair was curling at the ends, thanks to the humidity the running water had created. Dec grabbed a hand towel from the rack and rubbed it over his face and head, then checked his reflection again. He looked okay. Not sweaty, even though sweaty was how he felt.

What he did look was grim.

His mouth was a thin, tight line. The scar that slashed through his eyebrow stood out in stark relief.

“Did you get that killing somebody?” Blondie had asked breathlessly, once they were alone.

Dec ground his teeth together.

He should have turned her around right then and marched her outside. He hated women who asked crap like that. Plus, by then he’d already been asking himself what the hell he was doing, picking up a woman, bringing her home when he had every reason to know it would not go well because he’d already been there, done that before in the last few weeks. Twice. Okay. Three times, if you were keeping count, and…

And, when was Romano going to…

The opening chords of Born in the USA blasted out of his iPhone. Dec pumped his fist in the air, put what he hoped was a neutral look on his face, stepped out of the bathroom and walked briskly to the open French doors. Once he was on the patio, he accepted the call and barked out his name.

“Okay,” Romano replied. “It’s me. What now?”

The blonde was sitting in a deck chair. Her skirt was hiked to the tops of her thighs; her short cropped top had somehow grown even shorter. Her legs were crossed and a spike-heel sandal dangled from the scarlet-painted toes of one foot.

Dec looked at her and raised his eyebrows. One second, he mouthed, and then he said “Yessir” into the phone.

“Yessir, my ass,” Romano growled. “What’s the deal?”

“Yessir. I understand.”

“Aha,” Romano said. “The blonde isn’t to your liking after all. Is that it?”

“That is correct. Sir.”

“In that case, why not tell her you just won an all-expenses-paid trip to the Land of A Thousand Scorpions.”

“Tonight, sir?”

“Deluxe accommodations at the SandSquat Hilton.”

“Yessir. I hear you.”

“Your trip includes all the activities the SandSquat Hilton offers. Rat races. Camel spider derbies. Various hunting options with your choice of weapons, everything from the handy-dandy Colt M4A1 assault rifle to, if you prefer, the ever popular HK MP7.”

Dec felt his lips twitch.

Blondie’s eyebrows rose.

He swung away from her. “That’s very interesting, sir.”

“So let me know when you’ve heard enough, my man, because a bunch of us have a bet goin’ here at the LZ about what the fuck is going on.”

“Right now, sir? Because if it can wait just an hour or so…”

“Some of us figure Blondie’s decided not to come across.”

“That would be impossible, sir,” Dec said.

Nick snorted. “You have an attitude problem, Sanchez.”