Читать книгу Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 12

Tam muttered something foul in some half-remembered language as she tore off her goggles. She wiped her hair back off her sweaty forehead and flung down the troublesome pendant with disgust.

She hated it. The colors weren’t melding. She had envisioned a tangle of bronze and green-tinged copper clockwork bits layered with delicate filigreed gold to hide the mechanism that housed the little hypodermic, but it wasn’t fitting together right, and the semi-precious stones she’d chosen looked dull and blah. The piece didn’t throb or hum, or whisper seductive, ominous things; it had no menace, no driving intensity, no sex appeal. It was a necklace that a funky college girl with a pierced nose might buy from a pothead vendor in a Seattle open-air market for fifteen bucks. Not Deadly Beauty.

She was losing her touch, her eye, her concentration. In a word, everything. Lack of sleep, maybe. Not that she’d ever slept much.

The light over the door strobed. Rosalia was intercomming her. She pulled off the earphones, thinking wistfully of the twelve-hour-long trances she used to go into to work. Absolute concentration, no distractions. Miles inside the sweet privacy of her own twisted mind.

Those days were gone. And she had no one to blame but herself.

She stabbed the button that stopped the savagely melancholy Spanish gypsy lament howled out by broken wine-and-cigarette-roughened voices. A sentimental choice. Unusual for her. Usually she went for hard rock. Something feverish and raucous, to burn out the fog in her head and help her get to the faraway place where the images of the jewelry came to her, glowing and glittering and

twisting in her mind.

She hit the intercom. “Yes, Rosalia? What is it?”

“A visitor,” Rosalia replied, in her native Brazilian Portuguese. “The red Volkswagen. I think it is the dark lady with the boy baby.”

Tam dropped her face into her hands. No. Please. Not Erin again.

It had only been a week since the last concerned visit, full of great examples of beatific madonna-style mothering and tit-sucking and cooing and crooning and gentle, well-meant, incredibly irritating advice.

She tossed down the goggles and punched up the security program onto her studio computer monitor. Sure enough. There was Erin’s red Volkswagen Bug, parked outside the outermost line of defense. Waiting to be beckoned in. Tam switched to another camera angle, and made out the car seat in the back, with Kev’s chubby, heavy-cheeked profile. Probably already hungry for his liquid lunch. She was in for it.

Her sigh felt almost like a growl as she deactivated the various devices. Time to brace herself for the irritating questions. Had she done a fucking blood test to check for anemia? Was she taking a fucking multivitamin and mineral supplement? Did she want to do another fucking barbecue lunch on Sunday with the McCloud Crowd? To which the answers were always no, no, no, and leave me alone, already.

But Erin was tough. Thick-skinned. She didn’t back down easily.

Erin’s car started up again, and Tam watched it glumly as it advanced up the road. The McClouds made big fun of all her security doodads, but she could care less. Daddy Novak would probably love to kill Connor and Erin and their spawn too, for their part in Kurt Novak’s death. But if they wanted to paint targets on their asses and hang them out in the breeze, that was their affair. She wanted no part of it.

She washed her hands and headed down the stairs to the entrance. Rachel was heaping towers of blocks with Rosalia on the floor in the big living area. The instant she saw Tam, she dropped everything and hurled her little body in Tam’s direction, squeaking, arms outstretched. Tam scooped her up and hugged her hard. She hefted the toddler, gauging her weight. A little heavier this week. Thirty grams, maybe, depending on whether the diaper was wet. Since taking on Rachel, Tam had become a human precision scale.

Erin was parked in the garage and getting little Kev out of his car seat when Tam opened the door. Kev was almost as big as Rachel was, even though he was two years younger, the snorting little piglet. Tam tried not to hold that against him. It was difficult sometimes.

Tam ran an appraising eye over Erin as she hoisted the chubby kid onto her hip. The other woman was finally slimming down from her baby weight, though she was still very soft and squeezable. Tam suspected that Connor liked his wife just that way. Whatever. To each his own.

“And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” There was no way to modulate the bitchy edge in her voice, so she didn’t try.

Erin ignored her completely, saving her smiles for Rachel. “And how is this pretty little sweetheart today?” she crooned. She bent forward and gave Rachel a kiss on the back of her tousled, black-curled head. Rachel clutched tighter, buried her face in Tam’s neck, fingers digging in like little kitten claws.

Progress. Four months ago, that brief kiss would have sent Rachel into screaming convulsions of fear. She was mellowing. Her little body was tense, but not trembling much. As Tam reset the alarms, Rachel even lifted big dark eyes a little to peek out at the baby on Erin’s lap. Little Kev returned her regard with grave, oddly adult curiosity.

“You’re not quite so thin this time.” Erin’s voice was full of motherly approval. “That’s really great. You look better already. Much.”

Tam suppressed a sharp reply. Her appetite was as crappy as ever, but Rachel had this annoying new mealtime game without which she would not eat, called you-take-a-bite-and-then-I-take-a-bite. So, by brutal necessity, a certain quantity of butterfly pasta, banana slices, crackers, fish sticks, Cream of Wheat, yogurt, and turkey burger patties were introducing their fat and calories into her system.

She supposed it wasn’t so terrible. She’d been looking pretty damn haggard, not that she cared much. Rachel didn’t give a damn what her new mother looked like. Beauty had just been another weapon in Tam’s arsenal, but it was not one she cared to ever use again. It was only useful to attract and maniuplate men, and she’d aggressively phased that necessity out of her life. After that last revenge stint with Kurt Novak and Georg, she was so, so done with that groping, sweaty drama. She swallowed down a greasy clutch of nausea at the mere thought of it.

Rachel consented to being put down on the kitchen floor, where Rosalia was laying out coffee things and a plate of shortbread cookies. Cookies, for God’s sake. While Tam wasn’t looking, her house had morphed into a cozy, fluff-lined nest. That was what came of letting other people into it. Tam watched with something akin to horrified fascination as Erin dove face first into those lethal cookies. Look at the girl go. Cellulite city. No fear, no shame. It boggled the mind.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Erin said, reaching for her second cookie. “You make me feel like a captured space alien whose feeding habits are being studied by scientists. If you don’t approve of amazing homemade shortbread cookies, why serve them?”

“I didn’t,” Tam said, casting a speaking glance toward Rosalia. “She did. Can you see me baking cookies? I don’t do cookies. I’m not even on speaking terms with cookies.”

“True enough. I can see you cooking up deadly poisons to dip hairpins into, but not pastry,” Erin admitted as she unrepentantly poured a heart-clogging quantity of half-and-half into her coffee.

Tam winced. “Jesus, Erin. Watch it with that stuff.”

“Don’t be afraid for me,” Erin soothed. “Nursing makes you fearless. The cookies are fabulous, Rosalia. Can I have the recipe?”

Rosalia smiled her thanks and nodded as she herded the little kids into the adjoining room. Tam abruptly missed the noise and distraction. The sudden silence and Erin’s sharp, amber brown eyes made her twitch. After an endless string of stress nightmares and largely sleepless nights, she was too raw and rattled and frustrated right now to keep her shields properly up. She hated that.

“Are things going any better?” Erin asked gently.

Irritation made Tam lash into attack mode. “Is what going better?” she snapped. “What the hell are you referring to?”

Erin shrugged. “In general. Your health. Your sleep, your appetite, your daughter. Since you won’t tell me any specifics, I have to ask general questions.”

“You don’t have to ask questions at all. Where is it written?”

“I ask you because I care,” Erin said, quietly stubborn.

Being shamed into feeling like a spoiled, sulky bitch did not do any favors to her mood. Tam felt her irritation ratchet up a couple notches. “I didn’t ask you to care,” she said.

Erin gave her a reproving look. “Cope,” she said dryly. “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I actually came here today for a reason other than just to torment you and waste your time.”

“Oh. Astonishing,” Tam muttered.

Erin was silent for a long moment, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Tam could actually hear her, in the ether, counting to ten and praying for patience. It gave her a pang of mingled guilt and satisfaction. She’d pierced the protective layer of Zen-like, cow-hormone-induced calm. Zing, she’d scored a point. Tam tried hard to enjoy it.

Erin let out a long, slow breath that she had surely learned in a mellow new-age yoga class. In with the good vibes, out with the bad. “It’s about this really weird thing that happened to me at work yesterday. It might be a business opportunity for you,” she said.

Tam blinked. That was, in fact, utterly unexpected. “Huh?”

“At the museum. I did a consultation for this guy. He came all the way from Rome. He wanted an expert opinion on a replica of a piece of Celtic-themed jewelry he’d found. He’s trying to locate the designer, and he had a lead that she was in this area. So he opens up the case, and I look in, and I just about drop my teeth. It was one of your designs.”

Tam felt a cold, unpleasant chill spreading from the pit of her belly outward through her limbs. “Which one?”

“One of the torques. The one you named for me. The Erin.”

Tam drummed her fingers and stared down into her cup of black coffee. The Erin. A piece she’d done to help exorcise the demon of Kurt Novak, not that it had helped much. “Describe it,” she snapped.

Erin looked puzzled. “I just did. It’s part of the series of—”

“No two pieces are alike,” Tam said. “Tell me which stones were in it, the number, the color scheme, the number of gold threads in the braid, the size of the finial. Rubies or garnets? Amythyst or sapphire?”

“Oh.” Erin thought for a moment. “It was similar to the original,” she offered. “But the stones were cabochon rubies, I think. Not garnets.”

“Gotcha.” Tam filed that into her database, made a mental note to call the broker in Marseilles who had handled that particular sale, and went back to drumming her fingers, silently processing data.

She was alarmed. And unnerved. Someone who had been able to connect Erin to the creator of Deadly Beauty had access to information that could only spell trouble for all of them. She had passports and multiple alternate identities set up for herself and Rachel, and various emergency bolt-holes already prepared in remote parts of the globe, but those identities weren’t as ripe or well constructed as her current one. And a woman with a child was more visible, more memorable.

More vulnerable.

Besides. She liked this home. Rachel liked it, too. And she liked her work, a lot. If she changed identities, she would never be able to do metalworking again. The very thought of it made her furious.

Plus. The McCloud Crowd might bug her, but they were the only safety net Rachel had. If she took the kid to South Africa or Sri Lanka, their space station would be that much farther from solid ground and normality. Relative safety, maybe, but not a life. Not an extended family.

Still. If her identity was compromised…she should get those extra passports out of the safe, pack up Rachel, and go. Right now.

Erin waited, and waited, growing visibly impatient. “What?” she prompted sharply. “What are you thinking?”

Tam hesitated for a moment before replying, her voice hard. “I think you and Kev and Connor should take a very long, quiet vacation somewhere. Like an uncharted island in the Pacific, maybe. By private boat. I think Seattle just got a whole lot more dangerous for everybody.”

Erin’s gaze darted nervously to the kitchen entrance to her son, who was flopping and rolling enthusiastically on the carpet in the other room while Rachel giggled her appreciation and egged him on. “Um…” She swallowed, visibly. “Aren’t you overreacting a little?”

“No,” Tam said bluntly. “Not even a little.”

“Damn,” Erin sighed. “I have this verbatim conversation all the time with Connor and my brothers-in-law. Not you, too. Isn’t it remotely possible that a thing can sometimes be exactly what it seems?”

“It is exactly what it seems,” Tam said. “A trap.”

Erin’s mouth tightened. “I can’t keep looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life,” she said rebelliously. “I just can’t. It drives me nuts.”

Tam shrugged. “So don’t complain when you get stabbed in the back, honey.”

“Oh, shut up. You are hopeless,” Erin snapped.

“Literally and figuratively,” Tam agreed. “But come on, Erin. What are the odds? Of all the experts on Celtic antiquities to consult with about this piece, he picks you? Granted, you’re good, and a lot of people know it, but you’re far from the only one, far from the most famous one, and certainly one of the youngest ones. Five years ago you were finishing grad school, doing unpaid internships.”

“But he has consulted other experts,” Erin said stubbornly. “He mentioned some of them. He even talked to my old thesis advisor, who’s the head of the Antiquities Department at—”

“Did you call and corroborate?”

“Yes, I did!” Erin’s voice was defensive. “And yes, he’d been there. They all admired the workmanship of your piece, by the way.”

Tam grunted. “How gratifying. So this guy’s prepared. And awfully motivated, don’t you think? Scouring the world to locate the maker of some obscure jewelry reproductions? It smells, Erin. Like a dead dog.”

“I would hardly call your stuff obscure,” Erin countered hotly. “It’s original and beautiful, and according to this guy, in certain circles, it’s getting famous. Your pieces are hot investments. They acquire value incredibly fast. This Janos told me one of the Deadly Beauty spray hairclips sold at auction for triple what the original owner paid for it, which was no small sum to begin with. If I remember your prices correctly.”

“Janos?” Tam narrowed her eyes. “Never heard of the guy.”

Erin dug out a business card and handed it across the table to Tam. “Valery Janos. He says he has a bunch of interested buyers. He’d like to arrange a private showing. His consulting business hunts objects for people who have too much money and don’t know what to do with it, if I understand correctly. Wish fulfillment, that kind of thing.”

Tam studied the card. “Capriccio Consulting,” she murmured. “Valery Janos. Not an Italian name. Rome, huh? I’ll check him out.”

“I’m sure you will,” Erin murmured. “I sure did.”

The odd note in her voice made Tam look up abruptly from the card. There was a sparkle in her eye and a sly curve to her smile that put Tam on alert. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Erin bit her lip and dropped her gaze coyly. “Oh, I don’t know. He just so happens to be insanely, unbelievably gorgeous.”

“Oh, really?” Tam said slowly.

Erin’s shrug was elaborately casual. “Breathtaking.”

“Bet you didn’t mention that detail to Connor,” Tam said.

Erin rolled her eyes. “What, you think I’m stupid?”

Tam waited for a beat. “Tempted?” she asked sweetly.

Erin’s brow creased in a thoughtful frown. Tension shivered for a moment in the air. Erin broke it with a burst of whispery laughter.

“Um, no,” she said demurely. “Not in the least. I noticed him, of course. I’d have to be dead not to. But I’ve got my hands full, on every level, in the best way possible.” She left a pause. “So…don’t worry.”

“Why the hell should I worry?” Tam snapped back. “What the hell business is it of mine?”

Erin lifted an eyebrow. Tam turned away. The other woman’s occasional razor-sharp perception bothered her. She didn’t like anyone’s gaze to pierce that deep. Nor was she interested in examining why it rattled her to think of Erin’s bond with Connor being threatened.

It actually made her…well, disquieted. Kind of angry.

Please. That was deadly stupid. Alarming, too. It meant she was needing something she couldn’t have. Relying on things that were unreliable by their very nature. Desire, trust, honor. Love. Hah. When a woman started pinning her already shaky psychological security on that kind of crap, she might as well just open her veins and be done with it.

“Truth is, I wasn’t thinking of this Janos for me,” Erin went on. “I was thinking about you.”

“Me?” Shock was replaced by disbelief. The tension in Tam’s chest was released with a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, please. As-fucking-if.”

“Six four, huge shoulders, barrel chest, chiseled cheekbones, perfect jaw,” Erin said dreamily. “Olive skin, great eyebrows, sexy little accent. Nice cologne, and I’m not even a fan of man scents. Fathomless, liquid black eyes with long, inky lashes. Beautiful, big, manly hands. Deep, mellow voice. Tight ass. Long legs. Eight hundred dollar shoes.”

Tam snorted. “You should have gone into advertising. You’d be richer. All I need right now is some spoiled Eurotrash clotheshorse to waste my time.”

Erin looked hurt. “Hey. All I said was that he was handsome and charming. Hardly a basis upon which to automatically despise him.”

“He’s a man, isn’t he? If he’s pretty, he’ll expect to be worshipped. Who has the energy to kneel down and lick some man’s swollen ego?”

“Hmm.” Erin looked quizzical. “I don’t know. Connor’s handsome, and he doesn’t expect to be worshipped. Except when he…ah, well, never mind.” She subsided, a blush rising up on her face.

Oh, please. The innocent, pink-cheeked milkmaid routine made Tam’s teeth hurt.

“I was thinking, you don’t have a date for Nick and Becca’s wedding, do you?” Erin said. “Why not ask this guy if he’s free on—”

“Erin. You are kidding, aren’t you?” Tam demanded. “Because if you aren’t, you’re scaring me.”

Erin looked at her with that sharp, narrow gaze that Tam disliked intensely. “There hasn’t been anyone for you since…” Her voice trailed off, but they both heard the name. It echoed through their worst nightmares, linking them together. Kurt Novak.

The sharp, instinctive gesture Tam made to ward off evil surprised her. One of her great-grandmother’s tics. One of the few things she remembered about the old woman. She’d died when Tam was small.

Strange. The man was stone dead, after all. No doubts about it. She’d seen pretty much every last drop of his heart’s blood decorating the walls, thanks to Erin’s amazing courage under fire. Which continued to surprise her years later. Girl nerds. You never knew.

“You can’t let him poison that for you forever.” There was a tight, vibrating intensity in Erin’s voice. “It’s just not right.”

Brittle laughter would have been the best response, but Tam’s chest was screwed too tight to move. “There is no ‘that’ for me, Erin.”

“But you can’t just shut it off like a faucet and—”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. My choice.”

The edge in Tam’s voice put a hot flush of hurt embarrassment on Erin’s face. She sprang up and turned her back, sipping her coffee as she stared out the window into the forest. The children’s laughter and Rosalia’s low voice murmuring encouragements in Portuguese floated in.

Tam stared into her coffee. Angry for feeling guilty. Guilty for feeling angry. What a crock of pointless shit this was. Who needed it.

“I guess I should go.” Erin’s voice was tight. “It’s almost naptime for Kev, and I should take advantage of—”

“Why do you put up with me, Erin?” Tam asked abruptly.

Erin was startled into turning. “Huh?”

“I’m a rude, abrasive bitch. That’s not likely to change, ever,” Tam said, her voice stony. “So why? Why do you bother?”

Erin opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I—I—”

“Is it pity? Because I don’t need pity.”

“You certainly don’t deserve it,” Erin observed tartly, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom. “But you did save my life, you know. And my husband’s life. That makes up for a few behavioral quirks.”

“You saved mine right back, so we’re even,” Tam said. “And besides, it was an accident. I wasn’t in that shithole with any heroic plans to save anybody. I just wanted to wipe out that psycho son of a bitch, get my revenge, and save my own skin. You owe me nothing. So why?”

Erin shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “It’s true. You’re awful. You’re the rudest, most irritating, pain-in-the-ass friend I’ve ever had, or even imagined having. But you’ll also race off at the drop of a pin and risk your life to save a bunch of helpless little kids from organ thieves. That kind of behavior racks up big points fast.”

Tam made a derisive sound. “Oh, horseshit. That was just for fun. I was bored, OK? I needed some action.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Bored,” Erin scoffed. “You are so full of shit. So you took Rachel on because you were bored?”

Tam choked on her coffee. “No, I took Rachel on because I was insane,” she muttered. “But I want to know, Erin. You’ve got Connor. Margot and Raine and Liv now, too. They’re so much nicer. You don’t need me, for anything. So why the hell do you bother with me?”

Erin seemed to grow five inches. Her face glowed hot pink with anger. “You know what I think?” Her voice rang. “I think you should see a talented shrink since you don’t have the guts to talk to your friends about whatever godawful bug is up your ass. I’ve seen this before. You try to drive everyone away so that the view outside matches the view inside. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll eat a worm. Well, fuck that, Tam. And fuck you, too. I’m sick of it.”

Tam blinked, startled into fascinated silence. It was fun to get Erin worked into a lather. She was slow to start, but once she got going, watch out. Blood spattered the walls, left and right. Wow.

“You cannot afford that self-indulgent, scorched earth bullshit anymore,” Erin fumed on. “You’ve got a child! Kids need family! Lots of it! Community. Aunts, uncles, cousins. And so do you, whether you’ll admit it or not, you stubborn, snotty bitch! So just grow up already!”

Tam let out a low whistle, impressed. “Whoo-hoo. Feisty.”

“Do not condescend to me. You know what else? We’re it, whether we like it or not. We’ve been through some bad shit together, and that makes you family. Congratulations, you get to be the scary aunt that everybody’s afraid of. Every family’s got one.”

“I could change my name, go into hiding,” Tam mused.

“Oh, shut up,” Erin snapped. “I’ve had enough of your crap.”

Tam’s mouth twitched. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” she murmured throatily. “Rosy glow, heaving bosom…”

Erin slammed her cup onto the table. “Don’t even start. You can’t convince me that you’re a lesbian, either, so don’t jerk me around.”

Tam hid her smile in her coffee. “Aw, come on. It keeps ’em guessing. Gives me more space.”

“You have plenty of space,” Erin snapped. “And we’re tired of guessing.”

Tam suddenly thought to peek over at the door, where Rosalia’s wide-eyed fascination suggested that her English comprehension far outstripped her verbal skills. Rosalia’s gaze slid away guiltily, and she nudged the kids deeper into the living room.

“It’s hard to find a category for you,” Erin bitched, dropping into her chair. “How do you define a friend like Tam? Well, if blood-thirsty terrorists were threatening my family with a dirty bomb, she’d be there to rescue us in a blaze of glory with diamond-studded hand grenades. But would she give me a ride to the airport? Fucking forget it!”

The smile sneaked out before Tam could stomp it. “Why should I? What a freaking bore. That’s what men are for. What’s the point of putting up with their crap if they don’t provide abject servitude?”

Erin harrumphed. “Speaking of men and abject servitude and all that good stuff, what am I supposed to tell the pretty boy? That you only do big business with ugly, smelly, badly dressed men?”

Tam picked up the card Erin had given her, and scowled at it. “Don’t tell him anything. Don’t even take his calls. I’ll check him out. Since chances are good that all he wants is to stick a knife into my eye.”

Erin made a frustrated sound. “Why can’t anything ever be just normal or nice for you? A business opportunity, a cute guy to flirt with? A date for the wedding? Why is it always blood and guts, life or death?”

The inane goofiness of the question and Erin’s sad, plaintive voice touched her buried tender spot. Tam’s voice came out so gentle she barely recognized it herself. “There’s no normal or nice for me, Erin,” she said. “There never has been, never can be. But don’t sweat it. I just do the best I can. I’ll be OK. Really.”

Erin looked doleful. “But I want better than that for you.”

Tam stopped the automatic sarcastic reply that rose to her lips with tremendous effort, and stayed silent. “Well, I appreciate that sentiment,” she said, stiffly. “In my own way. For what it’s worth.”

Erin looked down, blinking hard. Several agonizing seconds passed, each more fraught with tension than the last.

Tam snapped under the strain. “Don’t you dare start sniffling on me! One tender moment is enough, all right? I can only take so much!”

Erin sniffed her tears back aggressively. “Oh, fuck you.”

Tam let out a sigh of mock relief. “Thank God. That’s more like it,” she said. “Back on solid ground.”

Erin stalked past her, muttering under her breath, and collected her kid. Kev complained about being separated from his new captive audience, and then, oh joy, then Rachel got cranky too, at having her brand new live toy taken away, and so commenced the mad maelstrom of shrieking and flopping and writhing, then the changing of diapers, the distribution of cookie bribes, the reloading of bags, bottles, binkies, bibs, wipes, snacks—Christ alone could remember what all. Tam was on the verge of shrieking with frustration by the time Rachel was calmed down in front of the boob tube, zoning out on Elmo, and the donkey laden Erin and her baby were finally heading down the stairs.

God help her. She’d helped execute blood-drenched coup d’états in third world countries that were less freaking complicated.

She started down after Erin. “I’ll go down and disarm the—”

“I can do it,” Erin cut in. “I learned the goddamn codes. All eight of them. Good-bye.” And off she flounced without looking back, offspring howling and wiggling, diaper bags swinging angrily. Pissed as hell.

“Leave them off,” she shouted down after Erin’s stiff, retreating back. “It’s about time for Rosalia to leave anyhow.”

Erin muttered something rude, and slammed the door to the security room. Tam shrugged inwardly. What the hell. Narrow-eyed, she stared down at the card that lay on the table. Picked it up, fingered it.

She actually felt curious, in spite of her apprehension. Tempted to check it out. Maybe…maybe she wouldn’t dismiss this out of hand without investigating further. Very, very carefully, of course. She’d been so wound up in dealing with Rachel’s problems, it had been a long while since she’d organized any sales. The coffers could always use a fresh influx of ready cash. She liked cash.

She stared at the cookies that were left on the plate in the middle of the table. She could smell the butter from the other side of the room.

Some perverse impulse prompted her to grab one. She examined it from every side, sniffing all its glittering, sugary, cholesterol-laden, artery-plugging, insulin-resistance-causing, cellulite-provoking glory.

Deadly in its own way. Like one of her jewelry creations.

Rosalia appeared in the kitchen entryway. Tam’s cookie-holding hand dropped down under the table as if she’d been caught stealing.

Too late. She could tell, by the discreetly delighted smile the older woman tried so hard to hide. “Nine o’clock tomorrow?” Rosalia asked.

Tam mumbled an affirmative. “Go right on out,” she said. “The security’s disarmed. Erin left it open.”

Rosalia nodded toward the cookies. “Enjoy,” she said. “Next time I do the caramel leche cookies. You try, you like for sure, hmm?”

Tam winced inwardly. She’d created a monster. “Tomorrow then.”

Rosalia clumped down the stairs, humming cheerfully. Tam stared at the cookie in her hand. It seemed to stare back, smug and impassive.

Oh, what the fuck. She was destined to die anyhow. She took a bite, chewed. Sugar fireworks went off in her brain. Wow.

She chewed it very slowly and realized with surprise that she was genuinely curious to see just how handsome and charismatic a guy had to be to dazzle a woman as gooey-in-love with her husband as Erin was. He had to have some mojo. He probably thought he was God incarnate, which was a big freaking bore. Or else he was a merciless hired killer engaged to take her out. Which was much more interesting, but a big, fat, dating disadvantage. And mortal danger tended to be a sexual turnoff. She took another bite of deadly bliss, staring down at the card. Janos. Hungarian, maybe. If the name was real, which was doubtful.

She realized she was smiling at the irony of it. Demure little Erin, earnest girl nerd, trying to fix her up. Trying to get her laid, of all crazy things. Hah. Cute. Misguided, wrong-headed, insane…but very cute.

She tossed it into her mouth, wallowed in the sugar orgasm, let the buttery, sugary sexuality surrogate melt on her astonished tongue.

Huh. Go figure. She felt…inexplicably better. Scary, that.

The only way to know for sure if her current identity was truly compromised would be to suss the guy out, do her X-ray eyes routine on him. Men were easy to read, particularly for her. A few well-placed words to strip them bare, cross section them, and the thing was done.

After all. She’d hate to throw away everything she and Rachel had here out of sheer paranoia. She would have to be careful, but hey. She’d always liked risk. Though she could no longer afford to like it, not with Rachel to factor into the mix. She reached for another cookie.

It might even be kind of entertaining to cut this guy down to size.