Fight Dirty Read Free Page A

before it got a foothold, just the way Nick had taught her. Released it slowly, took another.
    Andre wasn’t fooled. H e’d never made it past high school, but he was smart—especially about people. Sometimes he scared her, how much he could read between words spoken out loud. He knew she had secrets, but he was also patient. Giving her time, spac e . . . respect.
    It twisted her heart, his oh-so-loving patience. Some days she thought she hated him for i t . . . but really, she hated herself. A familiar refuge, easy to return to, hard to walk away from, those lifelong feelings of self-doubt, self-loathing.
    As if reading her heart, Andre gently disengaged from her, sliding his palms down her arms until their hands joined. “Ther e’s nothing to be worried about. You’ll be fine.”
    “So says the man actually able to dress himself.”
    He chuckled and moved to her closet, returning with a peacock-green silk blouse. “Try this.”
    She put it on and turned back to the mirror. “Better. But shouldn’t I wear a jacket?”
    “You’re not a US postal inspector anymore, Jenna. You don’t take orders; you give them. Back then you wore a jacket because you needed the pockets to carry shit—now you’re the boss; you’ve got people for that.”
    After Jenna resigned from the US Postal Inspection Service three months ago, sh e’d used her former federal agent status to push through a business license while Andre oversaw the conversion of the loft below her apartment to office space, and Galloway and Stone, Security Consultants, had been born. Sh e’d only been with the USPIS for two and a half years, lucky that sh e’d lasted that long, but i t’d been enough to garner her some positive press and enough notoriety to hopefully attract high-profile clients.
    “You’re going to start carrying my purse for me?” she asked, smoothing the blouse. It did look good.
    “Sorry, clashes with my ensemble.”
    They hadn’t anticipated opening their doors for another few weeks until a frantic call from the head of Pittsburg h’s largest energy firm had provided them their first client. Their offices were still half-finished, but the reception area and the small client room at least had walls, even if no furniture except for some hastily rented tables and chairs.
    “Green e’s going to think we’re amateurs,” she said, fussing at her hair and finally adding a clip to pull back one side. She smiled, liking the asymmetry.
    “No, h e’s not.” He moved to stand beside her. “H e’s going to see a pair of competent security experts ready to handle any job he has. I t’s not about us impressing him; i t’s about him impressing us enough that we’ll take his job before we’re even officially open for business.”
    He had a point. She joined hands with his, stood up straight.
    “We’re ready.” Jenna worked to convince herself as much as Andre.
    “Of course, we are,” he replied, no trace of doubt in his voice. Exactly what she loved most about him. No one had ever believed in her before—not even herself.
    Well, no one except a teenage psycho-killer, Morgan Ames. For some reason Morgan had chosen Jenna as her role model, to the point where she stalked Jenna obsessively. Morgan had also saved Jenn a’s life once, risking her own, but Jenna tried not to dwell on the implications of that. She didn’t like the idea of owing Morgan—liked even less the idea of Morga n’s delusions that she was now responsible for Jenn a’s life and happiness.
    Thankfully, Morgan had vanished. It had been weeks since Jenna had seen her. Maybe the little psychopath had finally gotten bored and drifted off to greener pasture s . . . Jenna could hope.
    “Now wha t’s wrong?” Andre asked, one hand smoothing across Jenn a’s cheek and clenched jaw.
    She hadn’t told him everything about Morga n’s past. Although Andre was no dummy, he knew there was something wrong with the girl. Jenna turned her face into Andr e’s palm,