Free Kiss at Your Own Risk by Stephanie Rowe Page A

bite of the smoked cow and rolled his eyes. “This is incredible. So much better than arugula and beet salad, light on the dressing. I can feel my chest hair growing already.”
    “So we lure her out. Take her that way.” Nigel picked up another brush and began weaving it through the fingers on his other hand.
    “And kill her how?” Jarvis ripped another hunk off. “Don’t think I was listening when you mentioned that part of the plan.”
    “We’re standing here, aren’t we? Free? There’s always a way.” Nigel held up his hands. The brushes were moving so quickly it was a blur, the frosted handle nothing but a glittery prism of light flashing between his fingers. “It’s like art. Opening your mind to the great possibilities. Releasing resistance.”
    Jarvis snorted. “I think you got out too late, dude. There’s no recovery for you. Your one-eyed-snake is gonna fall off if you don’t find some testosterone soon.”
    “See the magic,” Nigel said, holding up the fluttering brushes so they caught the light. “See the beauty.”
    Blaine narrowed his eyes, focusing on the prism. Watched it flicker faster and faster until it seemed alive. A person. Running through Nigel’s fingertips. Fleeing. Running. Like a hologram of a real person. Prisms. “Wait.” He stared more closely at the brushes. “Nigel’s onto something.”
    “Yeah, insanity.”
    “No. It’s the light refraction—” It finally clicked in the back of Blaine’s mind and he slammed his fist into his palm. “Son of a bitch. A black widow would know how to kill her.”
    The paintbrushes stilled. “Nice, Trio. You’re right. She would.”
    Jarvis froze, a large chunk of jerky halfway to his mouth. His eyes were glittering in anticipation. “Hot damn,” he whispered. “That would do it.” He tossed the bag on the counter, grabbed a linen napkin, then scowled at it. He tossed it on the floor and wiped his hands on his jeans instead. “I’m in. Where do we find one?”
    “Her files.” Blaine was already striding toward his computer. Before he’d left Angelica’s lair, he’d set up a back door in her system so he could access her notes. They’d been hoping for a way to figure out how to destroy the Den of Womanly Pursuits, or get an idea of when she was scheduling new kidnappings, but he hadn’t found that information yet. “I remember seeing something about a black widow in here…” He logged onto her files, and then followed the path he’d searched before. “Here.” He went six layers deep in a set of folders. “These are all the creatures she’s unleashed on the mortal world—” He clicked on a folder called Girl Power and opened the first file.
    It was a photo of a young woman with raven black hair, green eyes, and a smile that would make any mortal man’s heart stop.
    “Look at those emerald beauties.” Nigel peered at the screen. “I’d love to paint her. I’ve never seen such innocence juxtaposed with the hardness of death. It’s as if there are two different people looking out from those eyes.”
    “Her eyes?” Jarvis snorted. “How about her—”
    “Trinity Harpswell,” Blaine read from the file. “Honored guest from age four months to ten months.” He felt a flash of regret for the baby who’d been victimized by the delusional blonde tyrant. At least he’d been four by the time he’d arrived. “Infected by the black widow curse seventeen times.” He snapped his fingers. “Bingo. We found her.”
    “Created by the great inventor herself.” Jarvis grinned. “Poetic justice. I love it.”
    Blaine shoved the chair back from the desk. “I’ll go check it out. You guys keep looking through her files and see if you can find anything else. I want all our options open.”
    “On it.” Jarvis took over the seat.
    Nigel propped himself up against the desk and folded his arms. “Yo, Trio, watch yourself. If this chick really is a black widow, it’ll be a piece of cake for her to finish you