Trap (A Ball & Chain Thriller, Book 8): Ball & Chain Thriller Series, #8

By John W. Mefford

A deadly crime ring.

A race to find her father.

And a daring scheme.

 

Hunted by ruthless mercenaries everywhere they turn, Willow Ball and Cooper Chain have a date with destiny in a foreign land. Can Willow finally reunite with her father?

 

It's not that easy. Girls are being kidnapped, then discarded and killed. And when a murder hits close to home, Ball & Chain can't sit back and watch this travesty any longer.

 

But who can Ball & Chain trust with their lives?

 

On the run from assassins on both sides of the law, Cooper and Willow are forced to team up with an unlikely crew if they have any hope of saving these young people. Can they also crack the lid on the international crime ring?

 

With everything on the line, their audacious plot just might work. Or it might be a trap that devours them. One thing is certain: this ending will send a shiver up your spine.

 

Set in the stunning city of Amsterdam and chock full of wild characters and snarky suspense, this Ball & Chain thriller will have you shuddering one minute and gasping for air the next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W. Mefford
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9798224426188

John W. Mefford

Amazon Top 50 Author, #2 bestselling author on Barnes & Noble, and a Readers' Favorite Gold Medal winner. A veteran of the corporate wars, former journalist, and true studier of human and social behavior, John W. Mefford has been writing his debut novel since he first entered the work force twenty-five years ago, although he never put words on paper until 2009. A member of International Thriller Writers, John writes novels full of intrigue, suspense, and titillating thrills. They also evoke an emotional connection to the characters.  When he’s not writing, he chases three kids around, slaves away in the yard, reads, takes in as many sports as time allows, watches all sorts of movies, and continues to make mental notes of people and societies across the land. To pick up two of John's thrillers for free, copy and past this URL into your browser: http://bit.ly/20WJzqi Connect with John on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JohnWMeffordAuthor

Book preview

1

Willow

What was next, waterboarding? That was the only thought that clawed its way through my mental haze.

And then it happened again.

Dammit. I could hear the rasp in my voice as I grabbed the seven-iron that had just slid down the plane’s window side of my seat and smacked against my kneecap for the fourteenth time. Yes, I’d counted. I didn’t bother saying anything to the white-haired gentleman who owned the golf club he used as a cane, because he was snoring like a drunken elephant.

He slept while I felt like I was being tested with the latest sleep-deprivation torture method. Who the hell uses a golf club as a cane? And how would an airline or TSA ever agree to allow it?

Is Willow getting gwumpy after being in the air for over eight hours?

That was my boyfriend, Cooper Chain, and he was smiling ear to ear. I gave him a blank expression. It was better than giving him the bird. He was right, though. I was grumpy, even if we were close to finishing our trans-Atlantic flight to Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Cooper nudged me with his elbow only to ensure I kept my gaze on his childish, if not cute, smile. We routinely teased each other, only occasionally snagging skin with our piercing verbal arrows. And when we did...well, we were experts at making up. That was how we rolled. And it worked for us.

I was about to offer a response when the man in front of Cooper pushed his seat all the way back, ramming his knees. Ay! Cooper yelped, then cursed under his breath.

Is Cooper getting gwumpy from being held hostage in this germ-tube for over eight hours? I asked with a quiet giggle.

With his face strained into a knot, he said, I thought my first lap dance would be in Amsterdam, not thirty thousand feet above it.

Ha-ha. Very funny, motherfucker.

He jerked his head toward me like he’d just seen a ghost. Then he touched my forehead. You’re cussing like, I don’t know...Lauren.

His daughter. Only fourteen, but at times she had the vernacular of a college kid. She was in Miami with her mother while Cooper and I were on a covert mission to hopefully meet up with my father in Amsterdam. I have no filter, Cooper. I’m feeling a little loopy.

Not sure if he heard me. He was too busy squeezing out from his seat to stand in the aisle. I need to walk, run, do something, he said as he turned to look toward the front of the plane.

You’ve been checking out that hot woman in first class this whole flight, I joked.

Uh... He started popping his knuckles. He rarely did that, so I knew something was afoot.

What’s going on?

He opened his lips, shifted his eyes left and right, then he bent down closer to me. It’s nothing. I’ll tell you once we’ve landed at Schipol Airport.

If it’s nothing, then why is there something to tell me?

He worked his jaw a bit.

You can’t lie to me, Cooper. I poked my head over the seat toward the front. There was a mesh curtain that separated us from first class, although I could see a flight attendant’s blue uniform moving about on the other side.

Do you know someone in first class, maybe another stellar person from your past?

After more than a pregnant pause, Cooper casually said, It’s nothing.

That meant it was something, although he wanted to wait until after we landed. I was too fatigued to push back. Fine. I’m just ready to get off this damn plane. I pulled out a pamphlet about Schipol Airport and threw my legs up onto Cooper’s seat. Then I heard his tongue click twice, and I glanced up.

He cupped a hand over his mouth. Wanna become an official member of the mile-high club? he asked with a pop of his eyebrows and a nod toward the back.

In the bathroom? That’s disgusting. I returned to reading the pamphlet.

Oh, you want me to ask for a blanket.

He was still going there. You want us to have sex right here with two hundred passengers around us?

He shook his head, then pointed to the back. Of course not. I’m going to use the restroom.

I snorted out a laugh. Have fun with that.

He took two steps and ran right into a woman. Not just any woman, but the Brooklyn native who’d been haunting Cooper almost the entire flight.

Oh, excuse me, Aunt Gladys. I didn’t see you headed this direction. Let me get out of the way so you can sit down. Cooper shifted back into our row of seats to allow Aunt Gladys—no relation, but she insisted on us calling her that name—to slide into her row on the other side of the aisle.

I didn’t think you were going to goose me, Cooper. She clapped out a laugh that I was afraid might shatter glass.

Cooper replied with an awkward chuckle while I huddled in the background. Being in the aisle seat, he’d taken the brunt of her nonstop chatter. I guess that was the tradeoff for me being exposed to the golf-club torture.

A lady with a full figure like mine has got to get her steps in. Aunt Gladys picked up her magazine and lowered herself into her seat.

Very smart of you, Cooper said and started heading toward the back.

She grabbed his arm. Five thousand steps a day. That’s my goal. What am I saying? I don’t have goals, I have tasks. I won’t let anything stop me from getting in my five thousand steps, not if I want to have my pepperoni pie from Big Tommy’s.

You have great discipline, Mrs.—

Hey now. Remember, you and Willow are like family. And my family calls me... Her cheeks turned rosy red as she coiled her face into a broad smile, waiting for a response.

Aunt Gladys, Cooper said with a hint of exhaustion.

She didn’t notice his lackluster reply, which was probably for the better. Aunt Gladys might win the gold medal at the Gabfest Olympics, but if you crossed her, she’d likely jab one of her fake nails into your throat until an artery was punctured. She’d chattered on and on about her life story, one that she admitted was a bit on the rough side until she met the man of her dreams at age eighteen. They were married forty-three years until he passed away six months ago from a heart attack. During a brief respite while she was napping, Cooper asked me if heart attacks could be brought on by endless chatter. Being a nurse, I offered my medical opinion. Depends if he was stressed by it or had learned to drown her out.

He shook his head and whispered, "I was wondering if she’ll have the heart attack."

I pinched his rib cage. That’s not nice.

I was just joking. Kind of.

While still holding Cooper’s arm—it looked like she was restraining him—she leaned forward and addressed me. Have I told you that you and your boyfriend remind me of another couple?

Yes, a number of times, Cooper said before I could answer. He knew my patience was thin. I appreciated him taking one for the team.

With her free arm, she opened her magazine, licked her fingers, and snapped to the next page. Then she glanced up again while tapping her plump cheek. It’s something from my past, but I just can’t grasp it. Maybe my mind is starting to lose its elasticity.

Her thick Brooklyn accent had given her a little trouble spitting out that last word. I’m sure you’re just tired, like the rest of us. Ready to get off this flight and take a shower, I said.

You’re so kind. She studied me and then turned her eyes to Cooper. It’s going to drive me bonkers if I can’t remember it.

He peeled his arm from her. I need to make a pit stop.

Don’t let me interrupt Mother Nature, she said. Lord knows there are some things you just can’t control.

Cooper gave me a wide-eyed glance as he walked off. I thought he might just camp out in the bathroom until the plane landed, even if it was illegal.

Thankfully, Aunt Gladys went back to her entertainment magazine—all the pages looked water-logged from her constant finger-licking exercise. I shut my eyes for a few blissful seconds, allowing the hum of the plane’s engines to pull me...

Footfalls pounding up the aisle shook my chest. A man in a ski mask whizzed by me, waving a gun and yelling something that wasn’t in English.

Screams pierced the air, and Aunt Gladys yelled, Hijacker! We’re all gonna die!

2

Cooper

I wiped my eyes with a tissue and stared into the bathroom mirror.

You might as well audition for the Blue Man Group. I could hardly hear myself talk. I glanced into the metal toilet bowl. It was still churning like a Category 3 hurricane after literally blowing up in my face, dousing me with blue dye.

I plucked another tissue from the dispenser and wiped my forehead—it only smeared the blue dye. I shook my head. Willow is going to laugh her ass off. After a long sigh, I splashed water onto my hair. Since I had a new buzz cut at the direction of our Fed contact in New York to alter my appearance, I could now see blue scalp. It was as though the blue dye was spreading like a flesh-eating bacteria. So goes blending in with the masses, I said, using a fistful of tissues to wipe off my neck. It only produced more blue smears.

I emptied the tissue box and scrubbed my face until it looked like I was wearing rouge underneath a bed of blue dye. How do you clean this shit off?

I froze. Did I just hear people screaming? I put my ear to the door. For a second, it sounded like a raucous celebration. Maybe it was someone’s birthday, and flight attendants were leading a chorus singing to the person who was turning a year older.

But people on the flight spoke Dutch, German, English, French, and a couple of other languages I wasn’t sure of. So, that theory didn’t hold much weight.

My imagination took off in an uncoordinated, stumbling sprint. My initial thoughts were all over the place, but one thing was clear: something wasn’t right.

Unable to detect the exact nature of the noise over the grumble of the toilet, I pulled at the bathroom door latch. It didn’t budge. What the hell?

I pulled twice as hard. It still didn’t budge.

More screams on the other side of the door, and these were much closer. What was going down? Using my weight as leverage, I yanked on the latch, two, three, four times. There was no give.

Hey, I’m stuck in here! I pounded a fist against the door, yet wondered at the same time if that was the wisest decision.

Too late now.

I paused. Only more screams. Crap!

I rammed my shoulder into the door. It jarred but didn’t open. I spun in a circle, trying to think of some method to get the door open. My eyes stopped on the mini counter. I hoisted my feet up to the small space next to the sink and encircled my hand around the knob on the latch. Now horizontal to the floor, I was in the position of a human battering ram. Using my opposite hand, I started to pound the latch like a sledgehammer. On the fourth try, the latch snapped to the right, the door swung open, and I dropped to the floor.

My eyes were inches away from a pair of purple sneakers. Then a person grabbed me by the shirt, pulled me up, and pressed the barrel of his pistol into my chest. The man, at least a couple inches taller than my six-one frame, wore a ski mask. Through the slits, his freaky-long eyelashes fluttered like bat wings. But they couldn’t match the pace of my heart. I held my breath and froze for what seemed like minutes. Then the man—obviously a hijacker—burst into laughter.

Dummbatz! he hollered and laughed maniacally while bending over at his waist. I had no idea what he was saying, but I think he was making fun of my blue skin. The gun lowered from my chest, and I exhaled. I slowly started to feel more eyes on me. I turned and gazed at a sea of fear, although one teenage kid was smiling. My blue skin was making quite the impression.

A man started barking out orders from the front of the plane. Bat Eyes jerked his head to the right, immediately losing his laugh. He hollered something in return. I think they were speaking German.

Auf deinem platz! Bat Eyes shoved me up the aisle while jabbing his gun into my back. Unsure what he was ordering me to do, I held up my hands and started walking.

I’m going, I’m going, I said, hoping his trigger finger wouldn’t twitch. I tried to look over my shoulder, but he screamed something else at me, and I turned to face forward. That’s when I saw Lucia. The other hijacker had his arm wrapped around her neck and a pistol to her head.

Posing as a flight attendant, Lucia was our guardian angel—that was her term, not mine. When I first met her in Miami, she claimed to be a former bookstore owner. While I doubted her initial story, two things were certain: she was a Latin beauty and had skills akin to the Black Widow. She’d been instrumental in helping me navigate a shit storm in the Deep South. I only later learned that she was acting as a contractor for the DEA. Plausible deniability was apparently business as usual in the federal crime-fighting arena. But I understood the necessity. The multi-agency investigation into the crime syndicate that had ravaged Dallas with a new type of heroin—dubbed Operation Stingray—had been compromised, which was why Willow and I could trust only a few souls on the planet in our quest to reach her father. I’d seen Lucia when we boarded the plane, but had yet to share the information with Willow.

Auf deinem platz! Bat Eyes yelled.

Didn’t he say that earlier? I turned to look at him, wondering what the hell he wanted from me.

Cooper, he’s telling you to sit in your seat.

I whipped my head around to see Aunt Gladys peering up at me. You know German?

She nodded, but it was stiff, her eyes shifting from me to the gunman. She was afraid.

I sat down but kept my gaze on the gunman, even as Willow whispered, Thank God you’re okay.

The gunman hulked over me a second. There was a scream from up front, and he ran toward first class. I leaned into the aisle and saw Lucia being pushed around. I put my hands on the seat, ready to launch myself at the hijacker who had just left me.

Don’t do it, Cooper. Willow put her Vulcan-like grip on my shoulder. He’s got a gun, and he’ll use it. I know it. I can’t lose you.

I turned to face her and put my hand on her leg. They have Lucia.

Her eyes almost popped out of her head. She’s on the plane? Why didn’t you tell me? She started panting.

I know...I should have. I just thought I’d tell you after we landed, so you wouldn’t worry.

Well, it’s pretty fucking obvious why they wanted her on this flight.

Not sure if the gunmen are actually after us, though. Wouldn’t they have grabbed us or even killed us by now? I replied.

They want money, Aunt Gladys said in a hushed tone, then quickly glanced toward the front of the plane.

The hijackers were barking directions at Lucia and another flight attendant, waving their guns at both of them.

Money? I said.

I speak German, remember?

How much?

They first want them to land the plane. Then they want a million euros. Once they make the demand, they’ll wait one hour. If they don’t get their money, they’ll kill a passenger every ten minutes until they do get it.

My God, Willow said, leaning against my shoulder. Then she scrunched her nose, pulled back, and gave me a once-over. What the hell happened to you? Why are you covered in blue shit?

I had a situation with the toilet.

You obviously lost that fight. She wiped her finger on my bare cheek. This might be the greatest disguise of all time.

Exactly what I was going for.

More screams from up front. I leaned into the aisle and saw Bat Eyes pounding on the pilot’s cabin door. The guy seemed unhinged.

It’s okay, I said, turning back to Willow. We’ve got some time. I raked my fingers through my hair—instead of feeling long blond locks, I only felt the sticky blue goo in my short hair.

Time for what? We’re stuck in this tube, and we’re five miles off the ground.

Ruhig! Bat Eyes raced down the aisle, fanning his gun across the crowd.

I wanted to ask Aunt Gladys for the interpretation, but I think he was telling us to shut up. Every person in our general space was riveted to the gunman. No one spoke. No one moved. He yelled something else in German, then his colleague barked something out from up front. Bat Eyes marched in that direction.

I leaned into the aisle again and saw Lucia on the phone as the gunman held a pistol at her face. Jesus. I took a dry swallow as Willow leaned over my shoulder to look up front.

Could she be talking to the pilot?

You’re probably right. But why? I asked.

Lucia hung up the phone. A few seconds later, the plane started descending. We’re landing, Willow said.

Aunt Gladys crossed herself. That’s when the clock starts ticking. If you have a cell phone, you might want to send out a quick text to your loved ones. It might be the last they hear from you. I’d do the same, but Herb is already sitting in his lounge chair with the Big Man upstairs. Maybe I’ll be joining him. A tear rolled down her cheek.

I started to reach out across the aisle, but I didn’t want to attract unwanted attention from the gunmen. Aunt Gladys, everything will be okay.

How do you know? she said tearfully.

I just know, dammit.

Willow squeezed my shoulder. I appreciated the backing, even if I had no evidence to support my claim. A minute later, Bat Eyes escorted one of the flight attendants to the back of the plane. I made a quick peek over my shoulder. The woman had a petrified look on her face and was clasping her seat belt.

The plane started to drop at a sharper angle. I peered out the window and saw wide-open fields. We were nearing the ground. Aunt Gladys was right. Once we landed, the clock would start ticking.

What do you think’ll happen once we land? Willow whispered into my ear.

No idea. Don’t know how Netherlands law enforcement handles hijackers. They might give in to their demands. Or they might play hardball and not give them a single dollar.

Euro.

Whatever.

Willow huddled a little lower, then peeked through the crevice between our seats toward the back.

Is the hijacker doing anything? I asked.

No. Well, he’s pacing back and forth in front of the flight attendant. Looks anxious. You think he’s on something?

Who knows? But if he’s hijacking a plane, mental stability isn’t his strong suit. I wish we could shove a bunch of valium down his throat and make him sleep. Or something like that. I smiled, trying to add some levity to our grave situation.

I’m hungry.

I turned to see Aunt Gladys reaching for her purse under the seat in front of her.

Don’t, I said with a quick shake of my head.

But I get hungry when I’m anxious. My stomach is growling.

Aunt Gladys had gone from being a pain in the arse to acting like a toddler.

Eat later. I’ll buy you a steak dinner. I would have said anything to get her to be quiet and not make a move for her purse. If Bat Eyes saw that, he’d probably assume she was going for a weapon. And then he’d surely put a bullet in the back of her head.

Aunt Gladys lifted back up in her seat and started chewing a nail. Whatever works.

The engines of the plane whirred louder, the flaps on the wings pulled up, and rubber squealed off the concrete runway. We bounced a few times, tilted right, then finally settled and rolled forward. The reverse thrusters kicked in, and we slowed down and made a series of turns. As I saw the gate come into view, the plane stopped. We were about a hundred yards out. Just then, Bat Eyes marched past us toward the front.

I saw his counterpart get on the same airplane phone the airline attendant had used earlier. He started shouting, punctuated by jabbing his pistol toward the floor of the plane. I heard a few cries around us. Apparently, more than Aunt Gladys spoke German on the plane.

Oh, God bless all of us, Aunt Gladys murmured.

His message had to be what she had told us earlier—he was communicating his ransom demands and the consequences if law enforcement authorities did not deliver the money within the hour.

One person would be shot every ten minutes.

The gunman slammed the receiver into its wall cradle so hard I thought he might crack it. Everyone I could see from my seat lurched. They were on pins and needles, many fearing the worst. And rightly so. I had no insight into how law enforcement would react to the demands, and I had zero control over what these two gunmen might do...after an hour, or even on a whim in the next few seconds.

I scoured every corner of my mind, searching for some way to end this situation without anyone being harmed, starting with the woman to my left. My beloved Willow Ball had shown me what deep, enduring love was all about. It was difficult to express the words to her; I only knew my heart felt something it had never felt before. When we said we loved each other on our last night in New York, it cemented our relationship. Strangely, I didn’t feel pressure or compelled to run from it. Right now, though, I felt an intense desire to protect her, the woman I loved. And my pool of ideas was drained to one desperate hope.

I think I’m going to rush the hijacker, I said with one hand anchored on my armrest.

Do what? Willow exclaimed.

I’m guessing a few other men will jump in, and we’ll somehow wrestle the gun away from Bat Eyes.

Bat Eyes?

The tall hijacker who grabbed me when I fell out of the bathroom.

She nodded.

So, once we’re able to corral Bat Eyes, I’m hoping Lucia will have the opportunity to take down the other guy. All she needs is a few seconds, and that guy will pay.

It won’t work. He’ll see you coming. You need a diversion. She shoved a golf club at my ankles and started to squeeze past me.

What are you doing?

It’s the diversion. Just get ready.

I tried grabbing at her, but she slipped out of my grip and walked toward the rear of the plane. Willow, what are you—?

Bat Eyes yelled in our direction. Willow acted like she didn’t hear a thing. And then he came barreling down the aisle for her.

Crap!

Setz dich, Schlampe! he barked.

That didn’t sound nice. Why was Willow playing this dangerous cat-and-mouse game? I was about to throw myself into the hard-charging hijacker when I realized I was holding a golf club, the one that the white-haired man used as a cane. I had an idea.

With my heart about to explode out of my chest, I waited for the right moment. When Bat Eyes reached two rows in front of me, I slid the golf club across the aisle, hooking it just inside the metal bars under the seats.

The next two seconds played out like a slow-motion highlight reel. His head and gun started to turn in my direction, but he didn’t slow down. I was busted. I lifted an arm to protect myself, yet knew I wasn’t encased in an Iron Man outfit. I couldn’t stop a bullet. As I braced myself for the impact, I heard screams around me, but one stood out. It was Willow shouting out my name. There was desperation in her voice. I didn’t want that to be the last time I heard her say my name.

A split second later, the hijacker’s purple sneaker clipped the golf club—he’d been so focused on my movement he hadn’t seen the metal shaft. Gravitation and a lack of coordination then combined to create the fastest drop of a human I’d ever seen. But it didn’t end there. The moment he bounced off the floor, his pistol fired. With panicked screams all around me, I looked down and saw a shredded hole in the fabric of his ski mask on the back of his head, blood gurgling along the edges.

You okay? I yelled back to a frozen Willow.

Yeah, you?

I heard a tussle from up front. I jumped out of my seat and started running, but just as I crossed the threshold into first class, Lucia performed some type of scissor kick on the hijacker’s knees. His gun fell from his hands. Then she did another roundhouse kick, clocking his jaw. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Badass, I said.

She grabbed his gun, hopped over to the plane phone, and spoke into it. Then she turned to look at me and shook her head. Auditioning for the Blue Man Group?

3

Willow

I didn’t have to complete a medical exam to know that Bat Eyes was dead. With people screaming all around me, I raced up the aisle, grabbed a spare blanket, and threw it on top of the dead man.

You saved us, Willow. Aunt Gladys tugged on my arm as tears welled in her eyes. I don’t know how you did it, how you came up with the idea, but you saved all of our lives.

It wasn’t really me. Cooper—

She shot out of her seat and took me in her arms. I could hear sniffles, even above the rising tide of chatter. Within seconds, people engulfed the aisles, and some younger passengers crawled over the seats, I think to avoid the dead man. I swung my sights toward the front of the plane just as it started to roll forward. The pilots were getting us to the gate. Cooper had a foot firmly on top of the other hijacker’s back—the guy wasn’t going anywhere. Standing on my toes, I spotted Lucia through the sea of people. She was focused, her head down, as her thumbs typed feverishly on her cell phone.

I am absolutely famished. I’ve got to have a snack, Aunt Gladys said, leaning down to pick up her purse.

My eyes went back to Lucia. She pocketed her cell phone and then moved within inches of Cooper, whispering in his ear. Even in her blue flight attendant’s uniform, you could see she had a knockout figure. With her raven hair and flawless skin, she was nothing short of beautiful. Was I jealous?

Maybe a little envious, only because I knew she had swooped in to save Cooper in Miami. While I was on the run through the hills of northern Alabama, they had survived their own near-death experiences. And I knew those moments created a bond.

Cooper locked eyes with me and waved me forward. I started to squeeze my way through the people traffic when Aunt Gladys grabbed my hand. Stay close by. I want to talk to you and Cooper and invite you over to my sister’s place. I feel like you’re truly family. She nodded while chewing off a bite from her Snickers candy bar.

Uh, sure, I said, even though I knew it couldn’t happen.

As I made my way forward, the plane lurched to a stop and the main door started to open. That’s when my stomach did flip-flops. I thought about the next steps. Police or some variation of Netherlands law enforcement would surely want to question everyone on the plane. We’d be sequestered, unable to separate ourselves from the group. But worst of all, we’d be under closer scrutiny, as authorities dug into our lives to try to understand if anyone else was connected to the hijackers. I glanced around me, wondering if an accomplice was lurking amongst the group of passengers.

Excuse me, I said, gently pushing my shoulder past a man with spiked hair who was speaking in English to another man.

Don’t have to be rude about it, he snapped.

I ignored him and finally reached Cooper just as men in dark uniforms boarded the plane. They carried guns and wore bulletproof vests with something written in Dutch on the front.

That stunt you just pulled... Do you know how crazy that was? Cooper hugged me before I could respond. He kissed my neck, and I reciprocated. Then I smacked my lips a few times. I’d picked up a taste of his blue goo.

Look, I said, your plan was basically a suicide mission. We didn’t have time to debate it. I just did what I thought would work. A diversion.

He rubbed my upper arms while shaking his head. What happened to the Willow who follows all the rules and doesn’t take chances? he asked with a cute wink.

Not all of my chances have been good decisions.

True, but you’re batting average is pretty damn high. I’m just wondering if you’re Willow’s twin.

"In