Free Shadow of Vengeance by Kristine Mason Page A

bunch of Bigfoot BS and, it appeared, live with Frankenstein’s frickin’ sister.  
    “Welcome to the House of Joy,” the woman said, in a low, ominous tone, then spat into a Styrofoam cup. “I’m Joy. Follow my rules and we’ll get along just fine. If you don’t…” She ran a finger along the inside of her mouth, pulled out the hunk of tobacco, then dropped it into the cup. After setting the disgusting, phlegm-filled cup onto the wooden bench flanking the foyer wall, she cracked her knuckles. “Put it this way, I’ll personally haul your asses out of my house.”  

Chapter 4
    Standing at five foot two inches, Rachel had grown used to people towering over her. Joy, big boned and probably almost as tall as Sean, could probably snap her in two. Between her crusty, don’t screw with me attitude and her formidable size, Rachel believed Joy would, and could, haul their asses out of her house.
    Rachel glanced from Joy to the gross cup of spit setting on the bench. Before she threw up in her mouth, she quickly looked away. “I’m Rachel Davis,” she said, then offered her hand. “And this is Owen Malcolm.”
    Joy shifted her steel gray eyes to Rachel. “Joy Baker,” she replied and shook Rachel’s, then Owen’s hand.
    “Baker? Are you related to Hal Baker?” Rachel asked.  
    “He’s my brother. And I hear tell from Jake that Hal quite possibly saved yours.”
    “I have no doubt that he did. Actually, I was hoping I’d have the chance to thank him.”
    Joy leaned against the wall and folded her beefy arms across her ample chest. “The bastard is always stopping by for a free meal. You’ll get your chance.” She gave Owen a once over. “You’re a little too pretty to be a cop.”
    Owen flashed Joy a smile that Rachel suspected earned him plenty of notches on his bedpost. Despite being a dating pool bottom feeder, he really did have a sexy smile. The kind that not only distracted her, but made her toes curl.  
    “Good thing I’m not a cop,” he replied.
    With a roll of her eyes, Joy pushed off the wall and walked out of the foyer.
    Rachel looked to Owen, then followed Joy. They moved past a state of the art kitchen filled with cherry cabinets and granite countertops, a dining area with a table big enough to seat ten, then into a large great room.  
    “This is the community room,” Joy said. A ginormous flat screen TV hung above the mantle of the fireplace, where a beautiful fire blazed. Two huge, dark brown leather couches, along with a couple of beige over-sized chairs, and espresso-colored tables filled the room. An enormous, bronze and brick red area rug covered a large portion of the dark wood floors. With the walls painted mocha, the natural light streaming in from the windows overlooking the big backyard, and the artwork hanging on the walls, the room gave off a cozy and comfortable feeling.  
    The complete opposite of its owner.    
    “There’s a bathroom over there,” Joy pointed to the corner of the room. “That other door leads to the basement. There’s a washer and dryer down there. I won’t do your laundry, but feel free to use ‘em.” When they reached the staircase, she paused. “You see the door near the sunroom? That’s my room. Don’t even think of going in there.” She eyed Owen, then Rachel. “Understand, Shorty?”
    Shorty? Absolute fury whorled through Rachel’s body as her mind spiraled with bitter, poignant childhood memories. Images of the kids at school and in her neighborhood suddenly took front and center, replacing the behemoth of a woman looming over her from the staircase. Ricky Lawrence and his pitiful crew appeared first. They had constantly teased her about her height, her small boobs, red hair and freckles. Then there was Ginny McAndrews, such a snobby bitch, and her equally snobby gang of mean girls. They loved to make fun of her for not having a dad around, for wearing the secondhand clothes her mom would buy from Goodwill, and they’d call