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looked in the bag and pulled out a pack of pills with Viagra spelled wrong on the box. She sputtered and started to laugh.
    Drew’s expression remained neutral. Staci could see him plotting a revenge prank.
    Jack grinned. “It was only a matter of time before I had to break down and buy something pharmaceutical off the street.”
    Drew ripped the pills out of her hand. “Counterfeit Viagra? This stuff is probably ninety percent coke. Are you trying to kill me?”
    “I’m always looking for innovative ways to kill. But I don’t practice on friends.” He clapped Drew on the back. “Still, if I did, at least you’d go with a smile on your face.”
    Jack was joking about killing people, of course he was. He was always joking.
    Staci sighed. Jack. It’s so hard to believe you’re gone.
    After Jack’s death, his widow, Willow, moved from Seattle, across Washington State, to a small town. Willow said she wanted to go somewhere safe, somewhere that nothing sinister or adventurous ever happened.
    Staci swallowed a lump. She and Willow weren’t as close as they used to be. Staci felt too guilty about what had happened to Jack.
    Whether it was tortured out of her or not, she’d told Beto the area where Jack and Drew were headed that fateful night. Why hadn’t she lied? Made something up?
    Beto had called head drug lord Jose Carlos Meano and told him where to find them. One of Meano’s men tossed a bomb into the room. Drew escaped and was hospitalized. Jack was blown up.
    Staci’s hands trembled. She put her head in her hand, forcing her thoughts back to mundane matters at hand. Anything to forget.
    She wondered whether Drew expected her to call her lawyer and temporarily put a stop to the divorce proceedings. She glanced at a James Bond calendar on the wall and checked the date.
    James Bond calendar. Nice, Drew. Very tongue-in-cheek.
    Less than two weeks until the court appointment when they were supposed to finalize things.
    She drummed her fingers on the table. What were the odds this would all be wrapped up by then so they could still get their divorce as scheduled? The thought of more legal fees made her cringe. Emmett and the US government better be ready to pony them up.
    In the meantime, she was stuck in this dump. She looked around the room. She wasn’t his maid, but she couldn’t live in this disaster zone. Drew wasn’t usually this messy. Messy, yes. This messy, no. What had gotten into him? She hardly dared to think he was distraught over her. Then again, he had shown up wearing her favorite shirt.
    She frowned and shook her head. No way.
    She stood, ready to go upstairs and change into something more comfortable before tackling the heavy picking up and cleaning. Her feet were killing her and her belt was beginning to constrict like a corset. She pulled the belt off and slung it over her shoulder. She’d just slipped her shoes off and bent to pick them up when a knock on the door nearly gave her a heart attack.
    Bevilacqua!
    She froze and looked around for a weapon.
    Oh, fine, Drew hasn’t shown me where any of his real spy gizmos are. It’s probably too much to hope he really does have a bulletproof invisible wall.
    The belt in her hand was high quality and had a nice buckle. Not quite heavy enough to do much damage. Someone with more muscles than she had could probably use it to strangle another person with. She didn’t plan on getting that close to one of the Bevil’s henchmen. Not ever again. She’d defy Drew and jump out a window rather than let that happen.
    Before she could develop a fully formed self-defense-and-escape plan, the doorbell chimed. And chimed. And chimed.
    Wait a minute—Bevilacqua wouldn’t ring the doorbell. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t knock, either. He’d just shoot his way in.
    Relieved, Staci inhaled deeply. New plan—ignore whoever it was and they’d go away. Staci started toward the stairs just as her uninvited doorbell ringer began an all-out assault, adding a