" If you wanted to kill me, why haven't you smothered me in my sleep?" " No sport in that." She gestured towards the ceiling. " Can I expect to be strung up on that bar and gutted like a deer?" He looked up at the bar and frowned. " Too much sport. Lots of heave-hoeing. Big mess to clean up after. Instead, why don't you just drink the poison-laced whiskey?" He extended the glass toward her again and when she didn't move he said, " No? Okay then." He shot the drink. She might not want the edge taken off but he sure as hell did. "