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“And if they are holding a friend of mine, I couldn’t have you severing their spines, now, could I?”
He whirled away from me with an angry growl.
Cookie was holding a hand to her chest, not sure what to make of everything. “Two men broke in?” she asked, glancing around.
“Yes. Oh! The paper.” I hurried back to my room and brought out the paper he’d practically stabbed into my chest. It was a picture of a woman with a name underneath. That was it. “Okay, I have forty-eight hours to find this woman or my friend dies.” I shrugged. “Like I only have one. Which friend?”
“I don’t know,” she said, lowering herself onto a chair. “Maybe we should call everyone we can think of. Make sure all of your acquaintances are okay. I mean, did it sound like they were actually holding a friend of yours?”
“Kind of,” I said, thinking back. “I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”
Reyes was busy pacing like a caged animal, and I couldn’t help but note the fact that he was becoming more attuned to my emotions. He’d appeared the moment alarm rose within me. It was unca
“I’m sorry, hon,” I said, walking to him. “I just couldn’t take the chance. I needed to know why they were there before I sentenced them to life in a wheelchair.”
I stopped talking when I noticed the look on his face. He was still angry, but his expression had softened.
I reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “What?”
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, ragged. “You called me hon.”
A soft laugh escaped me. “It’s a term of endearment.”
He blinked as though he didn’t know what to think.
“Hasn’t anyone ever called you hon before? Honey? Sweetheart?”
“No.”
I wondered what his human parents had called him when he was a baby. “I bet you have, you just don’t remember.”
“You should have let me rip them to shreds.”
“That may be and I may regret that later—in fact, if my track record holds true, I’m fairly certain I will—but for now, I’m fine.”
He ran a finger down my forearm, not wanting to show too much in front of Cook, most likely.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Cookie asked.
“They said no cops. I’ll call Uncle Bob and fill him in tomorrow morning.”
She nodded and rose to go back to her apartment.
“Yes,” I said, following her out. “Go, get some rest.”
“Rest?” She pointed to Mr. Coffee. “You start the coffee and I’ll get dressed. We’ll start making phone calls immediately.”
God, I loved that woman.
* * *
We called every friend I’d ever had since the day I was born. Not really, but it felt like it. My friend Pari, a tattoo artist who’d been ba
“It wouldn’t have seemed stupid if you really were being held hostage by men in ski masks,” I’d argued. Either way, that was the last time I’d call her at four in the morning.
By six, I was pretty much out of people that I could call friends. Not that it took me that long to go through the list. It just took that long for people to answer their phones. We had to call some repeatedly, a fact that they did not appreciate one bit.
Next time, I’d just let the bad men keep them.
Uncle Bob came over around six thirty, and we explained what had happened. He kept checking out Cookie, worried about the events but dying to know how her date went. I wasn’t about to tell him.
“I’m hitting the shower,” Reyes said, nodding to Ubie.
“Don’t hit George.” I scowled at him. His shower was magnificent. I’d named him George because he just didn’t look like a Tom, Dick, or Harry. “What did he ever do to you?”
Despite Reyes’s rocky disposition, his full mouth showed traces of a smile that reached all the way up to his sparkling mocha-colored eyes, the green and gold flecks brilliant even in the artificial light. He offered me a soft kiss, his mouth brushing across mine before he took it farther, showering tiny kisses along my cheek until he came to my ear. His warm breath stirred my hair as he whispered, “George misses you.” Then he stood and winked playfully.
But what he did next surprised everyone in the room. He bent down, kissed Cookie on the cheek, and whispered something in her ear, too. I sat stu
“Is there something I need to know about you two?” I asked Cookie.
It took her a moment to travel back to Earth. When she did, a soft pink glow suffused her face. “He thanked me for being a good friend to you.”
I put a hand over my heart. That guy. “He can be the sweetest thing when he’s not killing demons and shit.”
“True,” she said.
The kiss affected Ubie even more than it did Cookie. I could feel a tinge of jealousy in the mix of emotions radiating out of him. Among them were insecurity, worry, and doubt. Poor guy. If he’d just ask Cookie out, all this would be over. It would only take one of them to be bold enough to make the first move. Freaking wusses.
“Yeah, I’ll go now, too,” he said, clearing his throat as he stood. “I’m going to send over a uniform—”
“Uncle Bob, you can’t. They said no police. Just find out what you can about the woman in that picture. We have lots of protection right here.”
Ubie cursed under his breath, then said, “I’ll send over a plainclothes. I know just who to send. He can be your nephew, Cookie. Do not let him leave your side.” He took a minuscule step closer to her. “Promise me.”
“Thank you, Robert. I promise.”
“I’ll come back by this evening to check on you girls.”
“Oh, well, you could,” I said, thinking ahead, “but Cookie won’t be here. She has another date. Like I said, popular.” I winked at him.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” he asked. “Considering the circumstances.”
Cookie was busy giving me the evil eye when she pasted on a smile and turned back to him. “Right, yes, I do. I almost forgot. But if you want to drop by, I could cancel.”
“Oh, no,” I said, waving a dismissive hand, “Uncle Bob wouldn’t want to ruin your evening just to come by and talk shop—right, Ubie?”
It took him a moment to force the words past his clenched teeth. “Right. No, you’re right. You go have fun.” He started for the door. “I’ll call this evening to make sure you’re okay.”
“There’s really no need,” I said to him. My sentence was followed by a slight squeak when Cookie kicked me in the shin. I waved to Ubie, then turned on her. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing?”
“What do you mean what am I doing? I asked you first.”
“He was coming over,” she said, pointing toward the door. “He wanted to spend time with me.”
“BS, Cook.” I got up and took my cup to the sink. But only to rinse it out and pour a fresh cup.
“BS?”
“Yes, BS. He comes over all the time. He practically lives over here some weeks, but has that gotten you two anywhere? Are you any closer to dating? To making out on my couch? To having hot monkey sex in the bathroom stalls at the Sizzler? I think not.”
Her shoulders deflated. Slowly. Like a balloon with a tiny pinprick that made the slightest of squeaks as air escaped it. Only she didn’t squeak. “You’re absolutely right.”
“I am?” I stopped and thought about it. “That doesn’t happen very often.”
“I know. Enjoy it while it lasts.” When I gaped at her, she said, “What? Everyone knows I’m the brains of this here operation.”
She had a point. “Okay, I’m going to shower the residue of smoky back rooms and men in ski masks out of my hair.”
Cookie got up and started washing my dishes.