Vickie Stringers Dirty Red is back. This time shes on the run. Having apparently wounded all of her enemies, and even her beloved Q, Red finds herself away from Detroit living the life of luxury in Arizona. Shes become a successful home broker with a bestselling book, and it seems as if all of her dirty tricks have finally paid offfrom framing Detective Thomas to ruining Keras freedom. Unfortunately for Red, shes made more enemies than she can count, and she soon finds herself running across the country in fear of them all while still being in love with Q. Everyone seems to have a reason to pay her the ultimate revenge, and even the most unlikely become partners if it means finally bringing an end to all of Reds dirty schemes. In yet another fast-paced and spiraling edition in this bestselling series, Vickie Stringer writes about a woman who will do anything to save her life and the people who go so low attempting to stop her. "The reigning queen of urban fiction." -- Publishers Weekly Vickie Stringer does it once again! Y'all gonna love this one! -Wahida Clark, Cash Money Content Author Vickie M. Stringer is the author of Essence bestsellers including Imagine This , Let that Be the Reason , Dirty Red , Still Dirty and Dirtier Than Ever . She is the publisher of Triple Crown publications, one of the most successful African American book publishers in the country and abroad. She has been featured in such prominent news media as The New York Times , Newsweek , MTV News, Publisher’s Weekly , Vibe , Millionaire Blueprints , Writer's Newsweek , Black Expressions , and many more. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her two children. C H A P T E R O N E The oak front door of Red’s hacienda may have muffled Catfish’s threat, but Red still heard it loud and clear. “You can run, but you can’t hide!” She lay on the floor of the front hallway defeated, still soaking wet from her hot tub, trying unsuccessfully to control her tears. The taste of the Cristal she’d been enjoying just minutes earlier suddenly turned bitter on her tongue as she wondered why she hadn’t been more prepared for this day. She’d planned for it, put most of the pieces in place, but she still had a few things left to do. Like buy a gun. God almighty, why hadn’t she at least gotten a gun? The one loose end she’d left hanging out there was Catfish, and that nigga was now standing on the front step of her spacious new home in Scottsdale. But how? Her getaway had been clean. She knew that. And Catfish was a scraggly, bottom-feeding muthafucka. He’d be the last person who could have tracked her. “Legit money is easy to trace,” he’d echoed in her head. She didn’t understand how he’d gotten onto her money, legit or not. Yeah, there were business licenses, but nothing with her name on them. Everything was under the name Go 2 Holdings. Even Gomez Realty was under the holding company on paper. And there were businesses called Gomez Realty in cities all over the United States. Why would Scottsdale stand out? That was the other part of her plan—go someplace that nobody who knew her would ever think she’d go. Leaving Detroit was a given. What would Catfish think she’d do? She had contacts in New York and knew the town. That’d be the first place a dumb muthafucka like Catfish would look. Maybe he’d think she’d want someplace like Detroit, only bigger and better. Then Chicago would fit the bill. If she was really on the run maybe he’d think she’d want to leave the continental United States—hell, she was a boricua and spoke Spanish like one. Why didn’t homegirl just go to Puerto Rico? Or even Florida would be a logical choice. She could have had Miami wrapped around her little finger. Thinking ahead she didn’t go to any of those places. She went to Scottsdale. How the fuck had Catfish figured to look for her here? She heard a tapping at the door. Not knuckles. Something else. Hard. Knocking. Like metal. Like the barrel of an automatic. “Bitch, I hear you whimpering in there,” said Catfish in an artificially sweet voice. She could tell his face was right up against the doorjamb. “Pull your shit together and open up. This door look strong, but you know I’m ’bout to come through it. One way or another.” Red sat up on the floor, swiped at her tears, and wiped the snot from under her nose with the back of her hand. He’s right, she thought. Get it together. If you gonna get ruined, it can’t be by a low piece of shit like Catfish. She thought about pieces of her plan she had working for her. She still had the stashed money. She had accounts in a number of different banks, and a hundred grand in cash in a safe deposit box in one of them. And she had a go kit upstairs—an old, beat up canvas bag containing a passport, a credit card, some clothes, and ten grand in cash. But the chances of her being able to run upstairs, grab the bag, and get out of the house before Catfish came in shooting were not good. Then there were the f