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afraid.
    “I won’t break your neck right away,” continued the stranger in his soft, deadly voice. His hands were a steel vise clamped on Todd’s throat. “First I’ll break your fingers. Then your thumbs. Then every bone all the way up to your shoulders. One by one. By the time I get around to breaking your neck you’ll thank me for it. Hear me, loverboy?”
    Todd made a strangled sound that could have been yes.
    The stranger turned his head and looked at Reba. The harsh lines of his face changed. “Did he touch you, chaton? ”
    She shook her head, unable to speak for the emotions seething through her, emotions triggered by the deadly stranger and the soft French word that meant both kitten and a set stone, things small and precious and vibrant with life. Chaton .
    The stranger turned back to Todd. “Keep pushing, loverboy. You’ll get there.”
    Fingers dug into flesh with cruel skill. The stranger pivoted again, then released Todd with a force that sent him staggering through the open office door. The man watched in silence until Todd blundered through the shop and out the front door. Then, with his back still toward Tim, the stranger said coolly, “Unless you’re planning to use that blackjack, put it in your pocket.”
    Tim looked at Reba.
    “It’s all right, Tim,” she said quickly, not looking away from the stranger, as though she were afraid he would disappear as unexpectedly as he had appeared.
    The stranger turned around to face Tim, waiting for the younger man to decide. Tim gave the man a long, assessing glance, then slipped the blackjack into his back pocket with an easy gesture that suggested the weapon could reappear very quickly.
    As the blackjack disappeared, the stranger’s posture shifted subtly, relaxing the disciplined readiness of his body. “Why don’t you introduce us, Tim?” he said, gesturing to Reba. An odd smile curved lips that were no longer thin and hard.
    Startled, Tim looked at the stranger. “Hey, you told me she knew you!”
    “She does,” said the man, laughing softly. “She just doesn’t know my name.”
    Tim looked at Reba in disbelief.
    “I’m afraid he’s right,” she said. “It’s a long story. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    Tim made an exasperated noise. “Reba Farrall, meet Chance Walker. Chance, Reba. Now would one of you two kindly tell me what the hell is going on?”
    Chance smiled, ignoring Tim. “Hello, Reba Farrall,” said Chance in his deep, intriguingly accented voice. He pulled Reba’s desk back into place with an easy motion, then plucked the Tiger God from her grasp. He turned the statue over in his hands, admiring the play of light across its surface. “Would have been a shame to bend this over loverboy’s thick skull.”
    Reba laughed a bit wildly. “I thought the same thing when I grabbed it.”
    Chance looked at her, missing nothing from the shimmer of dark blond hair to the sensual curves lying beneath black silk. “You’re like the night,” he said quietly, “made to wear black. Beautiful chaton. ”
    Reba felt the compliment radiate through her, changing her. She had never considered herself pretty, much less beautiful, but when Chance looked at her, she felt she was the most exquisite woman ever born. Tiger God smiled at her with sensual fire in his eyes.
    Tim cleared his throat. Reba realized that she had been staring at Chance. Reluctantly, she turned to Tim. “Chance—that is, Mr. Walker—”
    “Chance,” corrected the Tiger God firmly.
    “Chance,” she murmured, savoring the unusual name.
    Tim cleared his throat again.
    “Chance discouraged Todd once in Death Valley,” said Reba quickly. “Afterwards, Chance let me . . .” Reba looked helplessly at Tim, not knowing how to explain that she had wept out her grief for Jeremy in a total stranger’s arms. “I was missing Jeremy. Chance . . . understood. Oh, damn,” she said suddenly, impatient with evasions. “I crawled into his arms and cried like