Three Fates

him.”
     
     
    “YOU SON-OF-a-bitch!”
    She was speaking to him, all right, in a low growl as she planted her fist squarely on his jaw. The sucker punch shot Gideon hard on his ass on the grimy rug outside the door of the dingy room in the last of the fleabag hotels they’d booked.
    He tasted blood, saw stars and heard what sounded like the “Hallelujah Chorus” ring in his ears.
    He swiped at his lip and eyed her maliciously as she stood, in a black bra and panties, with her hair still dripping from what the hotel laughingly called a shower.
    “That’s it.” He got slowly to his feet. “For the good of mankind, I have to kill you now. You’re a bloody menace to society.”
    “Come on then.” She rocked on the balls of her feet, lifted her fists. “Take your best shot.”
    He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. For five hideous days he’d crisscrossed Europe with her in tow. He’d slept in beds that made the cots in the youth hostels of his short, carefree holiday after passing his A levels seem like celestial clouds. He’d tolerated her demands, her questions, her complaints.
    He’d ignored the fact that he shared very close, even intimate quarters with a woman who got paid to dance naked, and whose body ensured she’d be well paid for the task. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman even when she’d been deliberately provocative.
    He’d fed her—and Christ could she eat—and made certain she had the best shelter his dwindling budget would allow.
    What did she do? She punched her fist in his face.
    He took a step toward her, his hands bunched at his sides. “I can’t hit a woman. It pains me more than I can say, but I can’t do it. Now move aside.”
    “Can’t hit a woman.” She lifted her chin, daring him. “But you don’t have any trouble stealing from one. You took my earrings.”
    “That’s right.” He couldn’t hit her, but he did give her a good shove so he could step in and slam the door. “And I got twenty-five pounds for them. You eat like a horse, and I’m not made of money.”
    “Twenty-five?” Her outrage doubled. “I paid three hundred and sixty-eight dollars for those, after an hour’s hard bargaining in the jewelry exchange on Fifth. You’re not only a thief, you’re a sucker.”
    “And you’ve vast experience hocking earrings, have you?”
    She didn’t, but she was sure she could have done better. “Those were eighteen-carat, Italian gold.”
    “Now they’re going to be fish and chips at the pub, and a night’s lodging in this hellhole. You keep hammering at me about being partners, but you don’t contribute anything.”
    “You could have asked.”
    “Sure, you’d’ve handed them over if I’d asked. You, who takes her handbag into the flaming shower with her.”
    Her full, taunting mouth curled. “You’ve just proven I was smart to do so.”
    Disgusted, he grabbed a shirt, tossed it to her. “Put something on, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect for yourself.”
    “I’ve plenty of respect for myself.” She’d forgotten she was in her underwear. She tended to miss fine details when the red haze of temper came over her. But now, the contempt in his tone had her heaving the shirt across the room. “I want that twenty-five pounds.”
    “You’re not getting it. You want to eat, get some clothes on. You’ve got five minutes.” He started toward the bath. He should’ve known better than to turn his back on her.
    She leaped on him, wrapping those long legs like steel bands around his waist, yanking his head back by the hair until lights exploded in front of his eyes.
    He spun, tried to buck her off. She clung like a burr and managed to hook an arm around his throat. With his wind-pipe in danger of being crushed, he reached up, got a good hank of her hair himself. Her howl when he pulled it was pure satisfaction.
    “Let go! Let go of my hair!”
    “You let go of mine,” he choked out. “Now.”
    They circled, her heaped on his back, both of them cursing, both of them yanking. He rammed into the side of the bed, lost his balance. When he hit, he landed on top of her, hard enough to knock the wind out of her and loosen her grip. Before she could recover both, he flipped and pinned her.
    “You’ve got a screw loose,” he muttered, struggling to hold her arms when she started to fight back. “Dozens of screws loose. It’s twenty-five pounds, for God’s sake. I’ll give you twelve and five if you’re so crazed for it.”
    “My