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my
husband.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Ratski stumbled backward, his head smacking
against the edge of the table and bouncing off. But it only phased
him for a second before he was on his feet, turning toward Ramirez.
I watched as events seemed to play out in slow motion. Ramirez
cocked his fist back again. Ratski lunged at Ramirez. Marco
squealed and covered his eyes. Ling jumped on Ratski's back, and I
put all 110 pounds of myself behind the effort of holding my
husband's arm back. I might have been successful too, if I hadn't
been wearing adorable slingback heels which slipped on the slick
linoleum giving me the traction of a pony on an ice skating
rink.
    "Stop! No! Don't hit him!" I yelled in vain,
appealing to both men at once.
    Luckily, one thing the Glitter Galaxy did
not skimp on was security. A bouncer in a black shirt appeared from
nowhere, inserting himself between Ratski and Ramirez just as
Ratski managed to shake Ling off.
    "Take it outside," the bouncer yelled, his
voice a deep rumble.
    "LAPD," Ramirez spat back.
    "I don't care who you are. There is no
fighting in the Glitter Galaxy."
    While Ramirez could have argued with him, I
could see the fire dulling in his eyes, sanity returning. Clearly
beating up a ball player in a strip club was not going to get him
anywhere.
    He turned, his eyes falling on me instead.
"You," he said stabbing a finger my way.
    I did a dry gulp. "Me?"
    "Outside. Now."
    I nodded agreement, dread building in my
stomach as I made a beeline for the door. I felt Ramirez's breath
hot on my neck as he followed me, but it wasn't until we were
outside in the bright sunshine again that he spoke.
    "What the hell were you doing in there?"
    I bit my lip. "Having a drink." Which was
the truth. I had thoroughly enjoyed my one cosmo.
    His eyes narrowed, and a vein in his neck
started to bulge. "Nice try, Springer. What were you really doing
there?"
    "What? I can't enjoy a strip club in the
afternoon like any other L.A. housewife?"
    His eyes turned into fine slits. "And
Marco?"
    I swallowed hard. "He was…enjoying the strip
club too?"
    Ramirez closed his eyes. His nostrils flared
with the effort of taking deep breaths. I could feel him mentally
counting to ten. When he opened them again I couldn't see much
difference in his expression, but the vein in his neck had stopped
pulsing.
    "Please tell me why I just punched a guy for
calling my wife names in the middle of a strip club?" he said, his
voice treading that fine line between controlled calm and explosive
anger.
    "Sorry," I said.
    "For?"
    "Look it was Marco's idea."
    He sighed. "Go on."
    "I didn't even want to come. But Ling said
that she knew Ratski, and that the boyfriend is always guilty, and
that Bucky is best friends with Ratski, so maybe Ratski had some
inside info about Lacey's death. Which, I know, seemed like a long
shot but…" I trailed off as a teeny tiny light bulb went off in the
back of my mind. "Hey, exactly why are you here?"
    Ramirez sighed again. "Turns out there were
rumors that Bucky and Lacey were having some issues."
    "Shut the front door! Ling was right? Bucky
killed his girlfriend?"
    Ramirez held up a hand. "I wouldn't go that
far. But they'd been heard arguing lately. Bucky said he was with
Ratski and another player when Lacey was killed, so I was checking
up on his alibi."
    I glanced at the door of the club. "I don't
suppose Ratski's gonna be in the mood to talk to you now."
    Ramirez sighed again, expelling the last of
his air, and ran a hand through his dark hair, making it stand up
in little tufts. "No. He's not."
    "Sorry," I said, as much for my part in the
scuffle as his. "But, if it makes you feel any better, that whole
defending my honor thing? Kinda sexy."
    The ghost of a grin tugged at the corner of
his mouth. "A little better."
    "Tell you what," I said, taking a step
toward him, "the kids are at my mom's for another hour, and I just
picked up this move in there where you hang upside down from the
pole and arch your