“Gun!” The redhead nudged open the glass storm door and slipped the pistol behind her back as though they wouldn’t notice it. “I asked you to step—” “Damn it, lady. Keep that thing where we can see it.” Max put up one hand to swing the door open wide and folded the other hand around her arm, sliding it down over her wrist until he had the barrel of her weapon in his grasp. “Get out of my house—” The redhead gasped and recoiled, tugging against his grip. “Let go of me.” No way. Even if she didn’t mean them any harm, he wasn’t trusting that a fruitcake like her wouldn’t accidentally fire off a round. “Damn it, lady, relax. We’re just here to talk.” She curled both hands around the butt of the weapon now. If her finger reached that trigger... “Please don’t swear like that. It isn’t polite.” “And pointing a gun at us is?”
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