Arizona had “sloppy” down to a fine art. But it was a look that complemented her attitude. “We still need to talk about the Green Goose. How are we going in, what time, every little detail.” Had Trace already disabled her car? She wanted to leave sooner than he’d anticipated—not that anyone could accurately anticipate anything with Arizona. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“I’ve got some ideas for that. We can talk about it tomorrow morning.” Her mouth curled in an acerbic smile. “Or do you have plans with Marla?”

Ignoring that, he said, “Why the big rush?”

She opened the door. “Told you. I’m tired.”

Hot, humid air, thick with the threat of a storm, blasted him as he followed her out. He needed to think of a way to stall her.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so touchy discussing his past… But no, he couldn’t go there. As an alternative, he asked, “Where are you staying?”

Without looking at him, she said, “Just a motel.”

Suspicions bloomed. “What motel?”

“A random dive.” Halfway down the sidewalk, she glanced over at Marla’s house. “Should you be dogging my heels like this? You know your girlfriend probably has her nose to the window, watching your every move.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He glanced that way, too, and saw a shadow shift from the window. Damn. Catching Arizona before she reached her car, he said, “Forget Marla. Why are you dodging the question?”

“What question?”

He growled out an impatient breath. “The question about where you’re staying.”

“I wasn’t.” She opened her car door to let out the heat and then leaned on the fender. “Thing is, you haven’t yet agreed to be my partner, so why should I tell you anything?”

“Blackmail?”

Her eyes, now bright with mischief, looked even bluer out in the natural light. “Coercion.”

Tension mounted in the back of his neck. He rubbed a knotted muscle, but it didn’t help. “I’ll think about the partnership thing.” And he’d talk to Trace and Dare…

“Yeah.” Her gaze went to his hand. “You do that.”

With nothing else to say, Spencer stepped back, and she got into her car. “Whenever you wake up is a pretty loose time frame. Can’t you narrow it down a little?”

She put the key in the ignition. “I don’t know. Let’s say between 5:00 a.m. and noon.”

Would she sneak in again and watch him sleep? Not like he’d even be able to sleep with that possibility looming.

He gripped the frame of the open window. “I can track you down, you know. I can find out where you’re staying.”

“You think so?” She turned the key—and nothing happened. With a frown, she said, “We’ll see.”

And she tried the car again.

Dead. Completely.

Relieved, Spencer stepped back, wondering how she’d react.

It was something to see, the way her brows pulled down, her eyes glittered, and angry color flooded her face. She pumped the gas, tried again and, after visibly gathering steam, opened her car door and stepped out. She slammed her door. Hard.

It didn’t take a genius to see she was pissed. Really pissed. The darkening sky had nothing on her.

Deadpan, he asked, “Car won’t start?”

Her locked teeth sawed together. “Let’s go.”

Fascinating. He’d never seen a woman as visually expressive as Arizona. “Where to, exactly?”

“Back inside.” She headed that way but said over her shoulder, “Unless you want me to lose it out here, for all your nice, domestic neighbors to witness.”

“Inside it is.” A little amused, a lot pleased, he trailed behind her.

Unfortunately, Marla stepped out to her porch. Wearing a low-cut top and a look of censure, she opened her mouth, and Arizona swung around to her, snarling, “Don’t.” She sucked in a breath. “Just…don’t.” After that dire warning, she stormed on into his house.

Marla stood there looking hurt.

Double damn. Apologetic, Spencer said to her, “Sorry. She’s having a bad day.”

Marla’s impressive chest heaved a little. “I suppose she’ll have a better night?”

“Marla,” he chided. “I told you it wasn’t like that—for you or her.”

She gathered herself. “I don’t understand you.”

“You do, you just don’t want to.”

“It was good between us.”

“Yes.” And maybe if he hadn’t met Arizona…but he had. “I need to go.”

“Wait!” She licked her lips. “Do you think it’s going to storm?”

With a quick glance at the sky, he said, “Probably.” He knew right where this was going. “Your roof’s still leaking?”

“Yes.” She leaned on the railing, deliberately giving him an eyeful of cle**age. “It’s the ceiling in my bedroom. Any…suggestions?”

“Yeah. Put out a few buckets—and call a repairman as soon as you can. With these old roofs, they’re as likely to cave in as leak.” He’d have felt guilty for not offering any real help, except that her roof had been bad since winter, and she didn’t repair it because she’d rather use it as a female ploy to get him back in bed.