Paper, meaning money. But…she’d tangled with a dealer? “I hope that’s an exaggeration.”

“Nah. He was a little creep, and I let him think I was interested.” She snorted. “He rushed me to his room, and when he got all grabby, I snatched his gun from him.”

Hiding his horror, Spencer asked, “You shot him?”

She looked at him like he was nuts. “A gunshot would’ve drawn attention.”

And that had been her only reason for not murdering the guy? “I see.”

“I went old-school and pistol-whipped the punk.” She made a “clunk” motion with her hand. “Clubbed him right on his melon. I had to hit him twice to really put him out. The first one only dazed him. But when I left he was breathing.”

“And then you took his cash?”

“Yeah. I was hoping for enough to get food, but the dude had five C-notes!”

“Five hundred dollars?” Spencer whistled. Losing that much would put any crook into a foul mood. Thank God she’d gotten away. “You left the area?”

“Scooted right out of there, with his money and his gun.” Proud of herself, she grinned. “Within two days of running, I had a car, plenty of cash and a weapon. I headed to another town, found a place to stay. I figured what worked once would work again, so most of my spending money came from traveling to other areas and robbing drug dealers. Occasionally I cashed up by gambling.”

The idea of her besting an armed thug should have been ludicrous, but he’d seen her in action. Given her size and how she looked, she probably took plenty of guys by surprise. “You learned to fight by fighting?”

“Survival is a good teacher.” She smirked. “Back then, I preferred the gambling.”

“And now you prefer fighting?”

She didn’t answer that. “I win a lot because I’m a good cheat. I’m also a good thief, and I’m really good at picking locks.”

Because she’d spent so much time locked in.

With an effort, Spencer kept his tone neutral. “If those skills are what helped you get by, then I’m glad you had them.”

“Even though I broke into your house?”

Keeping his gaze on his tea glass, he offered, “You could have a key if you want.”

“Seriously? You trust me?”

He didn’t, not really. Not with everything. Definitely not with too much intimacy.

But with his belongings?

He met her mocking gaze. “Would you rob me?”

“No!”

“That’s what I thought. So why not give you a key?”

Skepticism kept her quiet for a long study. Finally she smiled. “That’s real big of you, Spence.”

“Spencer,” he corrected with strained patience. He knew she shortened his name whenever she got annoyed—or felt vulnerable.

“But I don’t need a key.” She turned away with feigned disinterest. “Not like I plan to come here that often.”

Probably not, but he wouldn’t mind if she did. Whether arguing with her, wrestling with her, or having dinner, he enjoyed her company. “Then feel free to break in whenever the mood strikes you.”

“Pffft.” She half laughed. “You just took all the fun out of it.”

Spencer smiled in return, but he in no way felt amused. He couldn’t imagine what kind of guts it took, or how it would shape a person, to live through what she’d described. He knew the basics from Jackson, but while she was in a talkative mood, he wanted to hear it—all of it—from her perspective.

“So how does Jackson factor in?”

“Yeah, that’s the interesting part, huh?” A little livelier now, she leaned forward and smiled at him. “See, the bastards didn’t take kindly to me getting away, but when they finally caught up to me, they didn’t want me for the usual.”

To sell, barter and abuse. Gently, he asked, “Why did they want you?”

“To teach the others a lesson—by killing me.”

Under the circumstances, Spencer let the curse pass. They were bastards—and so much more. In contrast to the awful words, Arizona’s cavalier mood made it all too clear how much it still hurt her.

“They…” She faltered, then rallied again. “They roughed me up. I tried to fight, but they tied my hands behind me, and then…” She hesitated, her brows pulling down in a small frown.

It gave him warning of the awfulness of the details she’d share. He braced himself, but not enough.

Voice quieter now, she whispered, “They tossed me over a bridge into a river.”

Air left his lungs; his muscles bunched. He’d known, but hearing it from her made it more—more vivid. “They wanted to drown you.”

She shook off the melancholy. “It was such a miserable night, storming like crazy with lightning cracking everywhere and thunder so loud, you could feel it. I was so scared that when they threw me over, I barely had the sense to stop flailing and try to land feetfirst, to suck in air before that icy water closed in around me.” Using both hands, she pushed her hair back from her face. “I pretty much figured I was dead.”

“Jesus.” His stomach bottomed out. He desperately wanted to hold her, to draw her into his lap and hug her tight and tell her…what? That nothing bad would ever happen to her again?

He knew she’d never allow that, so he settled on reaching for her hand. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”