Page 8 of Destined Chaos
“Mr. Gambit?” I walked back into the entry and glanced up at the second-floor landing, wondering if Gambit’s wife had brought the healthy stuff. If so, I was not going to be her favorite person.
“He’s not here,” a woman said from behind me.
I spun toward the voice to find a can of pepper spray pointed toward my face. She was staring at me, as baffled about my presence as I was about hers.
“Who the hell are you?” The woman, wearing spandex shorts and a bra top, was covered in dirt and scratches, dripping in sweat. Her Caribbean-sea blue eyes were crisp and clear. Her scowl was less appealing.
“I can ask you the same thing,” I said. “Mr. Gambit doesn’t have any women on his crew, so either you’re a squatter or—”
The woman lifted her brow. “How do you know Gambit?”
I shook my head. “You first, lady. Who the hell are you?”
“Libby Slaughter, and you’re in my house.”
I winced. My annoyance quickly turned to embarrassment. This was so not how I wanted to finally meet the owner I was going to sweet-talk into selling me her property.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Gambit and I are friends. He’s actually….” I held out the donuts in a peace offering. “Never mind. Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Libby glanced at the donuts. A look of longing filled her eyes. She could afford the calories. She looked like there wasn’t a fat cell on her body.
Her frown deepened, and she met my gaze. “Who are you?”
“Hugh Bennett, one of the Bennett seven. I’m local, but you probably don’t care,” I said and watched as she lowered her pepper spray.
Her lips twisted at the corners. “I don’t remember many locals. My mom and I left when I was five.”
“Right. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“What loss is that? Gambit? Did you run him off?”
“What?” My brows dipped. “I was talking about your grandfather.”
She measured me with a cool appraising look. Libby’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“What do you mean, Gambit ran off?”
“Up and quit,” Libby said, walking past me to the kitchen. She grabbed a glass and poured the green gunk into it, taking a sip. “He claimed the house was trying to kill him.”
I gestured over my shoulder with my thumb. “Is that why he had the sleeping bag and salt?”
Libby’s blush deepened. “No, that wasn’t him. That was me.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you moving in or out?”
She sighed. “That’s still up in the air. At the rate of the repairs, I might have to supervise the situation.” She gestured with a sweeping motion, ushering me back toward the door. “Now, it’s nice to meet you and all, but I’ve got a lot to do today. I have to find a new contractor that isn’t scared of ghosts so I can get this house finished and sold.”
“Right.” I tried to hand her the donut box. “Sorry again for the intrusion.”
She pushed the box back in my direction. Aggravation seeped into her face. “No problem. Next time you probably shouldn’t walk into a stranger’s house. You might get shot.”
“The door was open, and Gambit was expecting me.”
“I’m not Gambit, and I’ve got an itchy trigger finger, so maybe next time, you might want to knock, and if no one answers, there’s a good chance that I’m not here.”
I pulled the front door open. The contact from my hand on the knob was all I needed. I glanced over my shoulder. “You might want to see to the hot water heater soon.”
“Why, did Gambit mention it?”
