Troublemaker by Linda Howard Page B

and who she was.
    She didn’t want him bleeding all over her sofa. Silently she fished in her pocket for one of the clean tissues she always carried, in case Tricks gave her a drink of water she hadn’t asked for, and held it out to him. He took it and wiped at the blood, then looked down at the smear of blood on his hand and wiped it away too. He didn’t seem to want to look at her.
    Tough.
    â€œWhat the hell?” she demanded and left it to him to decipher her meaning, not that he needed to be a mental giant to do so.
    â€œSorry,” he muttered, holding the tissue to his nose. “Just . . . don’t shake me, okay? Yell, or throw something at me.”
    â€œYou can bet I’ll throw something at you.” Annoyed, she realized she was as much as admitting she wasn’t tossing him out on his keister. She’d made a deal with the devil, and she was getting paid for it.
    Besides . . . she wasn’t stupid. The man had been shot, after all, and she could add two and two. She said, “Combat?”
    He hitched up his right shoulder, then froze as the movement evidently pulled on things that didn’t want to be pulled. After a moment he said, “Of a sort.”
    She didn’t see how there could be a “sort” of combat; you either fought, or you didn’t. Still, enough said. She got it. She was still grumpy about the incident, but she got it. She stood with her arms crossed, half-glaring down at him. “Okay,” she finally said. “But don’t choke me again.”
    Blue eyes flashed up at her. “I’ll try not to.” He dabbed at the slowing trickle of blood from his nose. “You have a good punch. How’s your hand?”
    â€œHurts.”
    â€œSo does my nose.”
    â€œGood.”
    He sat there looking as if he might keel over again, which made her wonder if she’d try to get him up or just let him lie there. No, she’d have to get him up, or Tricks would go bonkers with joy thinking a human on the floor was some new game. Thinking of Tricks made her look around in search of her pet, and she heard the big slurps from the kitchen as Tricks got a drink of water. She looked back at her guest to find him slowly surveying the mound of stuffed animals and squeaky toys in front of the sofa. His chest rose and fell as he took a cautious breath. “Booby trap?” he finally asked.
    As if she knew they were now talking about her, Tricks abandoned her water bowl and grabbed another toy before trotting over. This one was a squeaky rubber chicken which she had never played with a lot, butnow she bit the squeaker and made what was supposed to be a clucking sound, then deposited it in his lap.
    â€œBribes,” Bo said. “She’s trying to entice you to play with her.”
    He looked down at the rubber chicken draped across his leg. Tricks nudged it as if urging him to pick it up. “She’s gotta do better than a chicken.”
    â€œShe won’t give up until you give in, so my advice is to go with it.”
    He scowled at her, the expression on his rough face both annoyed and exhausted. “Can’t you keep her in a crate or something? I’m really not up to this.”
    He was only telling the truth, and ordinarily Bo would have already been making Tricks behave, but she was still pissed so she wasn’t inclined to cut him any slack. “I’d put you in a crate before I would her,” she snapped. “Here, baby.” She clapped her hands and Tricks came to her, nuzzling her knee. She bent to stroke her dog and narrowed her eyes at the human interloper. “This is her home, not yours. You’re here on sufferance.”
    His glance was cold, telling her that despite his condition, he wasn’t about to back down. “I’m here because you need the money.”
    Knowing he was right didn’t help her temper any. On the other hand, continuing to argue with him would be