“I’ll do it.” He was trained, he was a man, and…he wanted to shield her from as much ugliness as he could.

“I don’t need you to. I can fend for myself.”

But she didn’t have to, not anymore. More firmly, to make sure she understood, he said, “If it comes to that, if the situation turns that violent, I will be the one to handle things.”

Her chest rose with agitated breaths. “Just like you killed Chandra Silverman, even though it was my right?”

They’d already debated who had more right in that regard. But he knew his actions concerning the evil organizer of a human trafficking ring had veered from wanting revenge for the death of his wife to concern for Arizona.

She deserved to regain a normal outlook on life, not add to the nasty memories by chalking up a kill—even against someone who deserved death as much as Chandra had. She might not realize it, but it wouldn’t give her closure. It’d only darken her dreams more.

Given Arizona’s livid expression, she didn’t agree. Spencer stood and walked to her. “Just calm down for a minute.”

That damned pointy finger of hers poked hard into his chest again. “You calm down!”

He grabbed her hand. “That’s enough.”

She strained against his hold, then gave up to lean into him with her ire. “It’s one thing for you to play the White Knight, but if you think you have the stones to change me, forget it.”

“Change you how?” That he still held her hand—and she allowed it—surprised and pleased him. More gently now, he enfolded her fingers in his own and, drawing her closer, held them against his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen violence. I’ve lived it. And I can take a hit as easy as the next guy.”

Over his dead body. “You’re not a guy.” She was a small, susceptible female—and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being physically injured.

“Doesn’t matter. Now that I’m free, I plan to stay on the delivery end of things.”

“Doling out retribution?”

Her jaw locked. “I will do what I think is right. What is best. You can either help, or you can stay out of my way.”

No, she wouldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m here to help, remember?” He moved his thumb over her taut knuckles, hoping to quiet her. She could make a credible fist, but she lacked the power necessary to fend for herself against brutal men, especially the immoral breed of flesh peddlers. “That’s why we need some ground rules.”

“I agreed to your stupid rules already.”

True enough. And since he wouldn’t let her out of his sight, he could keep her from using most of those weapons. Most. “What do you carry on you?”

Understanding the question, she relaxed a little. “Depends on where I go. Usually a knife, pepper spray and stun baton. The baton is telescopic, so it can fit in my purse.”

She indicated the big slouch purse that looked liked it could hold the kitchen sink. “Incredible.”

Shrugging, she added, “If I’m blending in but still want a gun, I carry the little Beretta Bobcat. It’s easy to hide. And if I don’t have to conceal things, then I carry my Glock, maybe my rifle, too. And I wear my vest. If I’m on night surveillance, I have these cool night-vision goggles that come in handy. They weren’t cheap, but they’re worth the cost.”

Fully armed and protected, like a damned trooper. “What did you plan to carry tonight?”

“Not much, since my new clothes won’t make it easy.” After freeing her hand, she went to her duffel bag and withdrew a wicked switchblade. She pressed a button, and it snapped open. But closed again, the profile was slim and would be easy to hide in the bottom of her purse. “It’s not my favorite, but it’ll do.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her. “What is your favorite?”

Animated, she took out a leather sheath and slid free a big, dangerous knife. The fluorescent overhead light glimmered on the blade as she turned it this way and that. “My baby.”

His heart grew heavy at the sight of the weapon. The fixed blade tactical knuckle knife wasn’t a utility knife by any stretch of the imagination. It wouldn’t be used for a quick defense. No, it was for attacking, and it would cause a lot of damage if used against someone—or if turned against the owner.

“She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

He tried to be suitably interested, rather than appalled. “Stainless steel, tanto-point. Nonreflective black powder coating.”

“Yup.” Arizona fit the handle over her fingers like brass knuckles. “Comfortable, too.” She turned her hand, her hold secure, familiar.

Spencer grunted a reply.

Glancing at him, she said, “I have a nylon harness that gives me easy access but keeps it hidden until I want to show it.” She grinned. “Sometimes that’s all it takes. Most guys see this, and they back off.”

Muscles coiling at her boast, he drew a steadying breath. “Sometimes?”

“Other times…” she returned the knife to the sheath and put it in back in her bag “…we battle. But for someone who knows how to use it, a knife is a terrific equalizer, so don’t sweat it, okay?”

Fury stole his common sense and cool control. Her cavalier attitude defied belief. Sure, she might be able to hold her own against a man if he was drunk enough, dumb enough or completely unschooled. But for her to think, even for a single second, that she could keep a thug from turning that lethal blade back on her…