Free Superstition by Karen Robards

dubious as he felt, but, hell, it was Vince’s call. With Dave following and Vince bringing up the rear, he headed semi-reluctantly toward where Nicky was now standing in the middle of a huddle in front of the screen door. A few feet away, in the middle of her own huddle, Leonora was once again breathing into the paper bag.
    “Testing, one, two, three . . .” Nicky was saying into a small black microphone that had just been attached to her lapel.
    “Great. We’re good to go,” a man called from inside the house.
    “Not quite,” Joe said in his best authoritative tone. Nicky looked around at him. Her hair shimmered with ruby highlights as she turned her head and her hair swung away from her face. Pretty. Too bad he was getting ready to sink right to the bottom of her favorite-people list. “Like the mayor said, no permit, no TV show. I’m going to have to escort you people off the property. If you refuse to go, you leave me no choice but to place you under arrest.”
    Nicky’s lips parted as she sucked in air. Joe could almost hear the sizzle as her fuse ignited. Her big brown eyes shot sparks at him. Then, boom, she whipped around and took two long strides, which put her right in his face.
    “That’s it,” she said, her eyes blazing. “I’ve had it with all the aggravation. You I don’t need. Take a hike.”
    Joe blinked as he absorbed the full impact of her ire, but stood his ground. As Vince had reminded him, he was Chief of Police. Vince, as mayor, was his boss. If Vince wanted these people gone, then it was up to him to make them disappear. All things considered, though, it had been more fun being an innocent bystander.
    “Ms. Sullivan . . .” he began. Too late. She’d already turned her back to him and was marching back toward the door.
    So much for reason. He sighed inwardly.
    “You in there.” He raised his voice, talking over her to the cameraman, whom he could see just inside the house. “Shut off those cameras. We’re closing you down.”
    She whirled and came back, heels clicking furiously. “I don’t think so.”
    He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked her over. “You’re backing me into a corner here.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Do you want to get arrested?”
    Her lips thinned. Her face tightened. Her eyes blazed. They were practically shooting out fire now, like twin flamethrowers. Yikes, she was mad. Holding that scorching gaze, Joe practically felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
    “Listen up, you,” she said. “We’re on TV, live, in about ninety seconds. Anybody who interferes with this broadcast, from this moment onwards”—her glance slid toward Vince, who, with Dave, was standing just behind him, then snapped back to skewer Joe like meat on a shish kebab—“will be looking at a lawsuit. A huge one, I promise. Do you understand me?”
    “One minute,” the voice called warningly from inside the house.
    “Okay,” she called back. Her eyes narrowed, then glittered. She was in Joe’s face again, glaring up at him, radiating menace despite the fact that the top of her head reached approximately to his mouth and he outweighed her by, he guessed, at least seventy pounds. “You hear that, Barney Fife? We’re on the air in one minute. That means you’ve got a choice. You can go ahead and arrest me on live TV with millions of people watching, or you can back off .”
    She jabbed a slender forefinger toward his nose for emphasis. It stopped about six inches short of its goal and stayed there like a pale arrow frozen in the air.
    After this, Joe reflected as his gaze lifted from that well-manicured finger to her eyes, he was going to have to lose the shirt. She was making the Mayberry connection, too.
    “Nicky, we need you in position now .” The black-haired woman gestured frantically from the doorway.
    “Coming,” Nicky answered, glancing around. Then she refocused on him.
    “Your call,” she said through her teeth. Her fists were clenched. Her