Page 7

Angel shook her head immediately. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because I'm not going to be around that long,” she said.

Jackhammer straightened. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” she insisted.

“You leaving town?” he asked.

She grabbed her purse from the bar. “I should go.”

“Angel,” Jackhammer breathed. She headed toward the door, and Jackhammer followed. He caught up with her in the parking lot. Morning sunlight filtered through the trees, setting the orange and red leaves on fire. Several pumpkins sat beside the clubhouse entrance, waiting to be carved. Fake gravestones leaned against the building where one of the prospects had abandoned them. Angel stopped beside a beat-up black SUV, and Jackhammer looked it over.

“You drive this?” he asked.

She frowned. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing if you're trying to die,” he said.

“Oh, please. It’s not that bad,” she insisted.

“The back tire's bald,” he pointed out.

She glanced at it. “It's fine.”

“It isn't,” he insisted.

“I've been driving on it for a while now,” she said.

“That's not the argument you think it is,” he insisted.

Angel unlocked the driver's door. Jackhammer put his hand against it before she could open it, and her gaze snapped to his. “Move.”

“No,” he said.

“Jackhammer,” she whispered.

“Hammer,” he corrected.

“What?” she asked.

“Everybody calls me Hammer,” he said.

“I'm not everybody,” she reminded. His chest tightened. She hadn't meant anything by it; he knew that, but it didn't stop those four words from getting under his skin.

“No,” he said quietly. “You're sure as hell not.” Angel stared at him. The air changed between them. Jackhammer could feel it. That same pull he'd felt the second she walked into Monster's Madhouse was back.

She looked away first. “Last night was fun.”

Fun. He hated that fucking word. “Yeah.”

“But that was all it was,” she insisted.

He nodded even though every part of him wanted to argue with her. “That's what we agreed.”

“Good,” she breathed.