"National pride," he said. "So why don't you go kick his fucking arse?"
"Because kicking ass isn't always the answer, Jacky."
"Works for me," he said.
"We'll call that Plan B."
"Would be my Plan A. A good arse-kicking always clears the air."
I laughed. "I'll keep it in mind."
"Break's over. Hands up."
He leaned back into the bag and I unleashed another furious onslaught. Pretending the bag was my ex-husband was doing wonders for me.
"You're sweating like a pig, Sam," screamed Jacky. "I like that!"
"You like pig sweat?"
He just shook his head and screamed at me to keep my fists up. I grinned and unleashed a flurry of punches that rocked the bag and nearly sent little Jacky flying, and attracted a small group of women who gathered nearby to watch the freak.
And as I punched and sweated and kept my fists up, I knew that fighting Danny wasn't the answer. Luckily, there were other ways to fight back.
Chapter Five
After a long shower and a few phone calls to some friends working in the federal government, I was at El Torito Bar and Grill in Brea - just a hop, skip and a jump from my hotel.
I was wearing jeans and a turtle neck sweater. Not because it was cold outside, but because I looked so damn cute in turtle neck sweaters. The stiff-looking man sitting across from me seemed to think so, too. Special Agent Greg Lomax, lead investigator with the FBI, was in full flirt mode, and it was all I could do to keep him on track. Maybe I shouldn't have looked so cute, after all.