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I shoved at random body parts, trying to get them off me. It didn't help. Years (or long minutes) later, arms yanked at both of them and pulled them up. Finally able to breathe, I stayed there on the floor, hacking and coughing to try to re-inflate my lungs. It was way more comfortable without a couple of hundred pounds of screaming women on top of me.

Max looked down at me from where she stood next to the big guy who was holding Blondie by the scruff of the neck. "Are you all right, ossifer ?" she drawled.

I hate it when she drawls.

I stuck my tongue out at her and mouthed the word "wimp."

She laughed and shook her head. The big guy handed the screaming blonde off to a bouncer. Oh, sure. Now there's a bouncer. Fat lot of good he was. I hope Mama Maria fires him.

"She cut me. The bitch stabbed me," the blonde shrieked, clutching her arm.

The brunette, meanwhile, twisted out of the hands of the man holding on to her shirt and dropped to the floor. I tried to roll out of her way fast, not wanting to be the next victim, but she curled up in a fetal position next to me and started sobbing.

Boy, do I know how to party or what?

Sobering up fast, I reached a tentative hand over and patted her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

She shook her head, but otherwise ignored me completely, other than a slight increase in volume. Two more big, burly, no-neck guys shouldered their way through the crowd just then. One had a black shirt with the name of the bar on it, and the other guy wore a cop face.

Cop face introduced himself. "Deputy Marlin, ma'am. You're going to have to get up off the floor and hand over the knife."

Knife? Oh, yeah. I forgot about the fact that she had a deadly weapon. I backed away from her, fast. Two deadly weapons in two days are way over my limit.

She sat up all in one unbending motion, like a robot or something. It was kind of scary, to be honest. The silver blade in her hand didn't help.

The cop put his hand on his gun, but didn't pull it out of his holster. "Okay, just hand it over, nice and slow, lady."

She laughed bitterly. "It's Gina. Gina Schiantelli. And you're more than welcome to my nail file, you idiot." She flipped it up in the air so it twirled over and she caught it by the file edge, then extended it, pink plastic handle forward, to the cop.

He looked a little embarrassed, but I'd thought it was a knife, too. Sheesh. Butter knives and nail files. I was done being afraid of pretend knives, that's for sure.

"You're going to have to come down to the station with me, Ms. Schiantelli, and answer some questions, at the very least. We have witnesses who say you started this altercation, and it looks like your buddy wants to file charges."

The blonde looked at her arm. "Well, I'm not actually bleeding , but you're still a psycho."

Gina started sobbing again. "Great. Now I'm going back to jail, right? You fall in love, and your life goes to hell. My life is a freaking country western song. All I need is a damn porch with a dog on it."

I felt that little twinge under my left rib cage. I hate that twinge. It always means I'm getting ready to do something stupid for purely emotional reasons. I sighed and did it, anyway. "Gina, I'm a lawyer. Do you need help?"

I ignored Max, who was violently shaking her head no, no, no. It was the twinge. Not my fault.

Gina sniffled and looked at me through the curtain of her dark, tangled hair. (Just for the record, I hate having clients who are so much better looking than me.) She looked me up and down for a beat.

It ticked me off. "Look, it's not like you can be all that picky right now. I don't see anybody else offering," I said.

She smiled a little. "You're right. Yeah, I could use some help. Can you meet me there?"

I returned her smile, but was already wondering what the heck I'd gotten myself into this time. I stood up and held my hand out to help her up. After she stood, I turned to the cop. "Officer, my name is December Vaughn, and I'm Gina's attorney. I'll meet you at booking."

He gave me his cynical face and then nodded, and snapped handcuffs on Gina, who was looking subdued but defiant. I watched them walk off, then turned to Max. "So. We need to call a taxi. Where do we go for booking?"

I 'd been waiting for an hour and still had no news about Gina. The waiting room was not exactly pleasant and peaceful. It smelled of old urine and fresh despair. Max had left about ten minutes ago to find us some drinkable coffee. The outside door opened, and the last person I expected to see walked into the room, looking like sex on a stick in his faded jeans.

"Jake Brody. Why am I surprised, after what Max said? Are you here for Gina?"

He sauntered over to me and stopped when he was a fraction of an inch too close. "I was her one phone call."

My instincts pushed me to back up, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made my warning bells clang. So I put my hands on my hips and gave him my best lawyer face. (I could play poker with that face, trust me.) "I bet you're a lot of people's one phone call. Friends in low places, much?"

He grinned. "Look who's talking. You don't even know her, but you're here. Business slow, Counselor? Going to run down some ambulances next?"

I sucked in a breath and told myself how bad it would be to punch somebody right in the sheriff's office. "Nice. Is this a sample of your much-vaunted charm?"

He reached over and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. The touch of his finger against the curve of my ear started other bells jangling. Crap .

"Nice to know you think I'm charming, Counselor. So, with all that gorgeous hair, do you get blonde jokes or lawyer jokes more often?"

I gaped a little. The man had balls of steel. "I think—you—oh! In your dreams, do I think you're charming. And most people are too intimidated by me to make any jokes at all." I bared my teeth in my best scary-person grimace.

He laughed. "You might want to try harder. And you can go now. I called Gina's lawyer, and he's on the way down here."

"Fine. I'm going, I just—I just wanted to be sure she was okay." That darn twinge again. I didn't want to show any weakness to the wolf in black leather, here, but I was worried about the missing marbles of somebody who'd start a nail file fight in a bar and then fall sobbing to the floor. I abruptly whirled away from Jake and headed for the door, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

I looked back at him, ready to bite his head off, but the look on his face stopped me. The cynical baiting expression was gone, replaced by something that looked . . . sincere. "Hey. Thanks. That was a nice thing to do," he said.

Sincere Jake was even more dangerous than bad boy Jake, I discovered. At least to my vow of celibacy. I didn't know what to say, so went with my default flippant tone. "Fine. Just don't spread it around. You'll ruin my tough trial lawyer image."

Before he could say anything else, I yanked my arm out of his hand and headed for the door, reaching for it just as Max arrived with two coffees in hand. "What—" she said.

"We're out of here," I said. "Robin Hood arrived." Max nodded at Jake over my shoulder, eyes narrowing, then turned and went back out the door. I stopped for a moment and turned around. "In all seriousness, Jake, she needs to get help. If your girlfriend can't afford therapy, have her call my office, and we'll help her find a low or no-cost program. No charge."

Jake's eyes widened a little, but all he said was, "Thanks. But she's not my girlfriend."

I didn't ask. I didn't want to know.

Liar.

After Max dropped me off at my empty house, I remembered that I'd wanted to pick up a few essentials, like a pillow. I stuffed some of my clothes inside of an old, stretchy t-shirt and figured it would work. Surely my stuff would arrive soon, right? Just as I climbed into my sleeping bag, thinking dark thoughts about moving companies and wistful thoughts about air mattresses, I remembered to check the voice mail on my cell phone.

One new message: "Miss Vaygan? We have no news on your truck, but you'll be glad to know that the eighteen car pile-up on I-95 was not caused by your driver, as we'd thought. So your furniture is not in a smoldering heap of twisted metal on the side of the road, after all. Have a great day!"