She quickly took a mental inventory of everything stowed in her purse that could possibly be used as a weapon, and had nothing useful. If she whipped out a small bottle of perfume or a manicure set to ward off her stalker he would surely mock her. No, the perfume would only be an irritant. Tomorrow, she would definitely be buying the pepper-spray she kept putting off. Casting frantic glances side-to-side and ahead she looked for something that could be used as a weapon. There up ahead, peeking out from the overgrown ivy spreading across the sidewalk she spotted something shiny under the dim glow of the streetlights. Relief and hope filled her as she drew closer and could see it was a forty-ounce Old English beer bottle, most likely discarded by a hoodlum like the one that followed her. Excellent this could work; she watched enough bar-fight scenes on the big screen. She refused to be a victim and would confront him head-on with the broken bottle in hand to scare him off. If necessary, she would lash out and strike his face with the bottle and make him bleed. The thing Samantha Davies was not was a coward; she may suffer from panic attacks but that wouldn’t prevent her from putting up a fight – survival was in her nature. She learned how to survive the streets, growing up virtually alone, in some of the toughest neighborhoods.
>>>Excerpt from Justice and Mating Collides <<<