Rose Quartz by Sandra Cox

Bella.”
    She heaved a sigh from deep in her belly, causing her breasts to rise and fall beneath her paint-stained white tee shirt. Hank glanced away. “Send him up,” she said.
    Taking her finger off the intercom, she whirled on Hank and hissed, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
    “No point in putting this off. Where’s your little derringer?”
    “Where’s your pistol?” she countered.
    “Under the seat of my truck. Damn stupid of me.”
    “You’re slipping, sugar,” she drawled then turned and headed upstairs. She walked into her bedroom, slid open her bedstand drawer and pulled out her little pearl-handled derringer. Checking to see if the safety was on, she slipped it in the waistband of her jeans and walked back downstairs just as someone knocked on the door.
    Hank looked a question.
    She nodded. He motioned her back toward the stairs. She stepped backward onto the first step where she could keep a discreet eye on the situation then slid the gun out of her pants. Hank opened the door.
    Johnny Morelly stepped in. It had been a while since Bella had seen him. She studied him from her perch on the stairs. He hadn’t changed a bit except maybe a few more lines creased his forehead.
    He kept in shape. She’d give him that. Of medium height, his body looked hard enough to bounce balls off. He wore a flashy pinstriped suit and a three-carat diamond stickpin centered in a silver tie. Black patent leather wingtips graced his large feet. He had a swarthy-olive complexion and curly black hair that he slicked back from his forehead. A good-looking man if you were into criminal types.
    Johnny’s gaze swept Hank, a hard, encompassing look that Hank returned and then some. “I’m Johnny Morelly.”
    Hank gave a clipped nod. “Hank McHenry.”
    Neither man extended hands.
    Johnny glanced up the stairs. “Ah, Bellissima, you are as lovely as ever.”
    “Johnny.” She dipped her chin.
    He stared pointedly at the gun and his face filled with sadness. He put his hands out, palms upward, “You don’t need that. I come in peace, a truce if you will. To see if we can’t find a common meeting ground and come to terms.”
    With each word out of Johnny’s handsome full-lipped mouth, Hank’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching and unclenching. He bared his teeth in a snarl. “You bastard, you tried to kill her.”
    Johnny shrugged. “Business.”
    Hank’s eyes sparked with loathing. “You kill women and call it business.”
    “Life is not for the weak stomached.”
    “Why you…” Hank lunged.
    The two men grappled.
    Bella came pelting off the landing. “Stop it. Stop it, you two.”
    They ignored her, each determined to pound some respect into the other.
    She ran to the kitchen, threw her gun on the counter, grabbed a pan and filled it with water. Cold liquid sloshed from the saucepan as she raced to the foyer. She drew back her arms and heaved. The water lifted in a magnificent arc and fell like a waterfall over both antagonists. They came apart, sputtering.
    Her head tipped to the side, she looked at Hank critically. “You need to watch your temper.”
    Johnny pulled a Glock from his shoulder holster and aimed it at Hank. Hank’s eyes cut to Bella and this time it was he who looked critical. “Where’s your gun?”
    She gave him a weak smile. “In the kitchen.” She lifted her pan. “I could always try bashing it over his head.”
    Johnny shook his head and sighed heavily. “You have turned a serious occasion into a farce.”
    Hank’s eyes remained fixed on the gun, his eyes narrowed, his expression intent.
    The cat stalked into the room, back arched, fur standing on end.
    Johnny moved the gun with practiced ease between Hank and the cat.
    Bella’s heart gave a hard leap. If two men old enough to know better wanted to kill each other so be it, but no one messed with her cat. She gripped her pan. Looking at Johnny, she spoke with deadly intent, a promise ripe in her voice, “You hurt my cat,