Ramirez was sitting next to a woman. A tall woman. If there’s anything in this world that my five-one-and-a-half self hates more than being dumped, it’s being dumped for someone tall.
Her legs were almost as long as I was, tucked under the table beneath a barely-there leather mini. And her top didn’t cover a whole lot more. A plunging neckline dipped almost to her belly button, showing off cleavage that was obviously man-made. Over her shoulders was a little red shrug jacket, more for fashion effect than actual coverage, and her long black hair was loose, flowing down her back, giving her that dark, exotic look that a blonde Irish/English mutt like myself could never pull off.
And then she put her hand on his thigh.
I felt my nostrils flare, my hands balling into fists at my sides. That was it—police officer or no, I was gonna kill him.
I vaguely heard Dana yelling something along the lines of, “Maddie, wait!” but I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. My body was moving all on its own as I marched straight toward the happy couple.
“You sonofabitch!” I yelled once I was in earshot.
Ramirez turned around, his dark eyebrows hunching together at the sight of me. Despite my anger, my hormones did that little happy sigh they always did when he was around. Ramirez had perfected the tall, dark, and dangerous look—his black hair just a little too long, his dark brown eyes just a little too hard, and a sleek panther tattooed on his arm, just a little too big to hide beneath the sleeve of his black T-shirt. His tan skin was interrupted by a thin white scar running through his left eyebrow and a perpetual dusting of rugged stubble across his chin. The bad boy-slash-sex god effect of it all was almost enough to stop a girl in her tracks.
Almost.
“I can’t believe you blew me off for this!” I yelled, gesturing to his Amazon woman. She gave me a startled look, her eyes darting from side to side as if trying to figure out where I’d come from.
“Maddie, what are you doing here?” Ramirez asked, his eyebrows still drawn together in confusion.
“I could be asking the same question.” I poked a finger at Ramirez’s chest, coming up against his hard, six-day-a-week-at-the-gym pecs. “Who the hell do you think you are that you can lead me on, then just blow me off like this for another woman?”
“Maddie, ” Ramirez said, his voice low and commanding. “Go home. I’ll explain later.”
“Oh right! I’ll just go home and let you finish your date with Slutzilla here.” I was yelling loudly enough now that even over the pounding dance music, the couples at the adjacent tables were staring.
“Who is this?” Amazon’s eyes ping-ponged between Ramirez and me. “I told you to come alone.”
“Maddie, ” Ramirez said again, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do this? Don’t do this! I’m sorry, what exactly am I doing? Because it sure as hell isn’t dating some abnormally tall chick when you were supposed to be doing ‘or something’ with me!”
“Ramirez?” the Amazon asked, shifting nervously.
“Maddie, ” Ramirez warned.
“Jerk!” I yelled.
Then I picked up his half-empty glass and tossed the contents in his face.
“Jesus, ” he sputtered, jumping from his chair and blinking Budweiser out of his eyes.
“And as for you…” I said, turning on Amazon Woman.
But I didn’t get to finish that threat.
She bolted from her chair and, before I could register what was going on, pulled a gun out from her little red shrug (which I now realized was clearly not just for fashion’s sake) and grabbed me by my blonde roots. I let out a strangled cry as she wrapped one arm around my neck, holding me in a vise grip.
“All right, nobody move!” she shouted to the shocked couples at the nearby tables, their mouths hanging open as they watched the scene unfold.
Then Amazon Woman pushed the barrel of the gun against my temple.
“Or Blondie dies.”
Chapter 2
Holy crap! My first irrational thought as I stared at the barrel of Amazon’s gun was that not only was I being dumped for a tall woman, I was being dumped for a psycho! (Hey, I said it was irrational.) The second was pure thankfulness that Ramirez had quick cop reflexes. In a split second he had his gun unhol-stered and pointed at Amazon in a Mexican standoff.
“Isabel, drop the gun, ” he commanded, his voice the only calm thing in the room.
As soon as the guns had popped out, people started screaming and scattering. The Survivor chick dove under a table, and the CW actors trampled over the Olsen twin look-alike in a mad dash for the front doors. The deejay stopped spinning music, ducking behind a pair of speakers, and all I could hear now was the sound of glass breaking and a chorus of hysterical voices yelling, “Call nine-one-one.” I’m pretty sure I picked one of them out as Dana’s.