Headhunter (With Me in Seattle Mafia 2)

“You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?” Ivie asks, turning to me.

“No, ma’am. What’s the point in that? Or the fun?” I cross to Curt, who’s already dressed in a simple T-shirt and gym shorts. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Hey, I just work here,” he says with a half-smile.

“What are we doing?” Ivie asks, her brow raised.

“Sparring.”

She coughs in surprise and then stares at the two of us. “The two of you are going to beat each other up? Why do I have to be here for this?”

“No, honey. You and Curt are going to spar. I’m going to coach you.”

She looks back and forth between us. “You’re insane.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t change things. Now, let’s step into the ring.”

“No.” Ivie crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not hitting anyone.”

“Let me ask you something.” I don’t walk to her, just stand my ground and fist my hands at my sides. “If you’d had some self-defense training, would that asshole have been able to take you out of the office like that? Would he have been able to stick that syringe into you and just walk you out of there?”

“I don’t—”

“No. The answer to that is no. Now, we’re going to make sure that no one has the opportunity to do that again, Ivie. And this is part of that.”

“I don’t want to punch Curt. He’s too nice for that.”

“No,” Curt says with a shake of his head. “I’m not. I probably have it coming, Miss Ivie.”

“You’re Southern,” she says. “Where are—?”

“Let’s do this,” Curt interrupts and walks into the ring, deflating Ivie’s sails.

“I’m going to break through that wall he’s got up,” she says to me as she stomps past. “Mark my words.”

I just shake my head and follow behind her, enjoying the way her hips sway when she’s riled up.

Ivie certainly has less experience with hand-to-hand than she does firing a gun. We spend an hour just going over the basics.

She’s sweaty and panting when I give her the order to go ahead and punch Curt in the face.

“No.” She turns to me in horror. “I’m not going to actually punch him.”

“Yes, you are.”

“It’s okay,” Curt assures her. “You can’t hurt me.”

Ivie’s eyes narrow at the challenge, and I see determination fill them as she takes the stance we’ve been teaching her, stomps on his foot, then follows through with a right hook to the jaw, sending Curt back on his ass.

“Oh, yeah?” Ivie asks, staring down at him.

“Okay, I was wrong.” He cradles his jaw in his hand and shifts it back and forth. “That hurt. Nice one, Miss Ivie.”

“Thanks.” She grins and offers her hand to help him off the floor.

But Curt doesn’t like to be touched, so he just shakes his head and climbs to his feet unassisted.

“One more time,” Curt says.

“I really don’t want to hit you again,” Ivie says and turns pleading eyes to me. “Don’t make me.”

“You’re too nice,” Curt says and approaches her from behind. Wrapping his arm around her neck, Ivie immediately slips into defensive mode. She slips out of his hold, knees him in the balls, and jams the heel of her hand into his nose, making it bleed. “Never mind. Not too nice.”

“Oh, God.” Ivie covers her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do,” Curt says and dabs at his nose. “I provoked you on purpose. A few more lessons, and you’ll be able to kick both our asses with a blindfold on.”

Ivie’s smile is wide and proud. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Curt replies. “Good job.”

* * *

“Why won’t Curt talk about himself?” Ivie asks when we walk into the house, and I start making us sandwiches for a late lunch.

“I told you, he has some baggage. He doesn’t like to be around people.”

“He can’t be more than thirty-five,” she says.

“What does his age have to do with anything?”

She shrugs and bites into a potato chip. “I don’t know. It just seems sad. He’s so young.”

I stop opening the mayo and slowly turn to her. “Ivie, are you telling me that you have a crush on my ranch manager?”

She scowls and then laughs. “No. No, he’s not the one I have a crush on at all. I just feel bad for him because he seems kind. And he’s young and handsome and—”

“If you keep singing Curt’s praises, I’ll fire him.”

She laughs in earnest and crosses over to me. She wraps her arms around my middle and lays her cheek on my chest. “I just like him. And maybe I feel bad for him.”

“Don’t.” I kiss the top of her head. “He’s where he wants to be, doing what he loves.”

She sighs and then tips her face up to mine. “I’m glad you’re his friend. I’m hungry.”

“If you stop singing Curt’s praises, I’ll finish making lunch.”