Charmed and Dangerous

by Toni McGee Causey

  Great. Bad dream and bad hair. But at least she wasn’t bald, like that little schlumpy guy she was talking to.

  Oh. Wait. Make that the schlumpy little guy she was shooting.

  Why in the hell was she shooting this guy? Five times. Damn, but it was a beautiful pattern. At least her dream got that part right. Still, he didn’t remind her of anyone she knew. He was way too schlubby to be IRS. Stupid subconscious. Why couldn’t it at least let her pretend to take out some of the jerks driving her insane? Mr. No-Extension-For-You IRS Guy would have topped her list. Then her dreams swirled again, and she felt the rush of wind tangling her hair, her arms wide as if she were flying under the streetlights in the small commercial district of her tough, no-nonsense industrial hometown of Lake Charles, Louisiana.

  When she woke up, she had a raging headache, her mouth was painfully dry and then she peeled her eyes open, and holy fucking shit.

  There was something definitely . . . bloodlike in her hair. Just beyond the foot of the bed, her closet was open. She instantly glanced down, dreading what she’d find, but no, she still had on the same T-shirt she’d worn to bed. So it’d been a bad dream. A way too realistic bad dream. Note to self: ease up on the chocolate suicide cake after dinner.

  When she turned her head, she froze, her body running cold and clammy because her Glock was right there, on her bed, in her right hand. It was supposed to be locked up. It was always locked up, especially with Stacey living there now. Bobbie Faye gingerly sat up and checked the clip.

  Five bullets were missing.

  Clearly the Universe thought it was payback time.