So she’d never gotten a birthday gift? No one celebrated her life?

“It’s not a big deal or anything. But I guess with you always accusing me of being young—”

“You are young. It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact.” One he desperately needed to remember.

“But now I’m legal.”

Meaning…what? At thirty-two, he was only eleven years older than her, but he felt twice her age. He massaged a kink in the back of his neck. Did she expect a gift? A night out? Jesus, he didn’t know. “So…we could go get a cake.” Or something.

Her small smile spread into a mocking grin. “Don’t be an ass. I don’t want or need anything like that. I’m just saying, no more calling me little girl.”

At a loss, Spencer joined her on the couch. Instead of lounging back, he half turned toward her. “Why are you keeping it secret?”

She snorted. “You met Jackson. You know he’d make a big deal of it or something, and I don’t want that.” Half under her breath, she muttered, “I’m enough of a burden already.”

“I don’t think he’d agree with that.” Jackson treated her like a kid sister, and he’d probably want to do whatever he could to commemorate the day, to somehow make it special for her—to make up for a past so dark, so depressing, that no young lady should have suffered through it.

“Yeah.” She smoothed a hand over the corduroy of his couch. “Maybe not. But it’s still true.”

Since she didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t say anything, but he didn’t like it. “You shouldn’t keep stuff from him. He cares about you.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “But he’s got his hands full. Remember, he’s planning a wedding.”

Was she jealous of Alani? From what he’d seen, Arizona looked at Jackson with her heart in her eyes. He was the only person she had, so he meant a lot to her. “More like his fiancée is planning it.”

“Alani is preggers, remember?”

“I had heard.” He also knew the pregnancy was a happy surprise, and in no way had forced their decision to marry. “Does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” she insisted. “But with all that going on, he doesn’t need to be messing with me.”

Dinner out, a small gift, cake and hugs…did she consider that too much fuss? “I think Jackson can handle it.”

“Besides,” she added, speaking over him, “I have a new identity, remember? No going back and especially no celebrating give-away dates like birthdays.”

In an effort to help her, Jackson had covered her background, buried the past for her as much as he could, and for her safety, he’d given her a whole new identity, including a new name. It was a way to start over, to start fresh.

But none of that would help Arizona heal from the past.

Uncomfortable with the moment, Spencer floundered, trying to find something to say. He hadn’t known her that long, and their acquaintance had been fraught with danger. As a bounty hunter, he’d been tracking criminal psychopaths—and the psychopaths had been tracking her.

Arizona, being outrageous in every way a person could imagine, had used herself as bait. Along the way, Spencer had met Jackson and learned a little about their history.

They presented their relationship as that of friends, or maybe siblings. But the nuances of their connection made anything that simple impossible. Not with Arizona’s looks and not when Jackson had saved her life.

Not when she’d once been held captive by human traffickers who, after using her, had tried to kill her as punishment for running away.

Her death would have been a lesson to remaining trapped victims. Instead, the bastards had died—and good riddance.

Luckily—at least for Spencer’s peace of mind—Jackson was already in love with Alani, so his interest in Arizona wasn’t romantic in any way. But for Arizona? He just didn’t know.

Jackson was a good man. A protector.

And right now, Spencer felt like a destroyer of evil. Nothing protective in that.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Arizona slugged him in the shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you? No one died. Lose the sad face, will you?”

He’d try. “So why are you here?” Remembering how she’d gotten in, he turned to look at the door. “You didn’t damage my lock, did you?”

“Your lock is fine—shitty, but fine.” She propped her feet on the table in front of the couch. “I’m good at picking locks.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

She stared down the length of her legs and wiggled her toes. Nonchalantly, she said, “I need some help.”

Apprehension shot through him. “With what?” Had she gotten herself into trouble somehow? Was someone after her again?

“Promise me that you won’t tell Jackson about this, either, and then I’ll tell you.”

Fearful for her, he said, “Sure, whatever. I won’t tell Jackson.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes narrowed. “That was a mighty quick agreement.”

“But sincere.” At the moment, his biggest concern was her safety. “Spill it.”

“All right.” She went back to rubbing the corduroy, and it was such a sensual thing, her hand moving slowly over the material, that Spencer felt mesmerized. “There’s this restaurant. Well, it’s actually a sleazy bar, but they do serve food during the day, too.”