Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

A n entire river of words tries to gag their way out of my throat at once after Cooper all but accused me of killing both Peter and Frankie. I mean, sure, they were on my lethal list of to-dos, but I'm not about to fess up to it or anything else for that matter.

"I'm kidding," he says as he takes another bite of his pizza right in my parents' kitchen, his eyes still trained on mine. "But there is a real killer out there, maybe two. Are you up for talking suspects? Who's on your short list?"

"The short list is the only one I've got." I take another quick bite and swallow it down. "Harmony Honeycutt and Fiona Harper are the only two on it. My third suspect was just nailed to his chair with a butcher knife."

Cooper tips his head. "Harmony is interesting with her manifesting mumbo jumbo and Fiona is as well with her tax-deductible charity."

I grunt, "Apparently, manifesting your best life is serious business. Just ask the hundreds of women hanging on Harmony's every word and doling out some cold, hard cash to read all about it, too. And before you ask, I've read every last page of her name-it-and-claim-it tome. And I still don't get why I'm not in the Caribbean by now. And let's not forget Fiona's trunk sale. Nothing like selling off your damaged goods for a good cause—which is what she was doing. She said all proceeds went to her charity." I think about it for a minute. "Neither woman had anything all that good to say about Peter."

Cooper shakes his head. "He wasn't exactly a saint. Which one do you think had the most to gain by taking him out?"

I hover over my pizza for a moment. "Harmony had a motive. The guy wanted what he thought was his—and what he thought was his was lining Harmony's bank account. She had every reason to manifest him out of existence for good. Not to mention that Fiona said he had some dirt on Harmony that he was blackmailing her with in order to get to those funds."

"Interesting." Cooper nods thoughtfully. "And Fiona?"

"Outside of the fact that he helped her set up her foundation and that she thought he was no angel, I've got nothing."

"Maybe they were running their own scheme?" Coop sighs at the thought. "I'll have to do some more digging."

"Funny thing is, Harmony's whole schtick is positive thinking, but she seems to be pretty negative when it comes to Peter. I guess blackmail will do that to a person."

"And sans the blackmail, that's on par with most exes."

"Most exes don't resort to murder."

"You'd be surprised who would be willing to kill for money." He pins me with those baby blues of his and doesn't let go despite the fact I can't seem to breathe at the moment.

It's clear Coop is hinting at yet another killer disaster, namely me.

"I don't want you to think about either of those suspects anymore." He takes another bite of his pizza. "I'll interview them both again and see if I can trip them up. Maybe one of them will slip and reveal something useful."

"But I like thinking about it," I counter. "In fact, I got both of those women to open up to me. I should be the one tripping them up."

He takes a deep breath and his chest expands the size of the wall—a strong muscular wall with a delicious six-pack. Suddenly, I have a craving to move on to dessert.

"I'll admit, you're really good at this," he says, albeit reluctantly, judging by the look on his face. "I mean, you have a way of getting people to talk, to reveal things they wouldn't normally share—not with me at least. But I'm the detective around here. Besides, there's no way I want you to get hurt. Once the killer knows you're onto them, it might be your food that they poison next."

"Lucky for me, I'm not allergic to peanut butter."

"Something tells me the killer isn't above using something that might be just as toxic for you. I can't risk it." He reaches over and picks up my hand. "I can't risk anything happening to you. I care about you, Effie." His eyes are back to penetrating mine. He looks at me with that serious yet oh-so-hot detective face. "Okay, Eff, let's talk about Frankie ‘The Bull' Santoro. What did you want to discuss with him before you offed him?"

I swat him playfully on the arm. "I did not off him, and you know it."

"Just checking." He ticks his head to the side as if he wasn't sure. "Seriously, what did you want to talk to him about?"

I take a deep breath and try to play it cool. "Fiona mentioned that Frankie and Peter were friends and that he might have been able to shed light on Peter's murder. I thought he might know something useful." There's no way I'm fessing up to the fact I needed to convince Frankie to pay my uncle what he owed him before he found a bullet in his back.

The knife in the back was something I didn't see coming—and clearly, neither did Frankie.

Cooper leans back and studies me with a frown. "Effie, is there anything I need to know about you that could potentially have"—he sighs once again and frowns twice as hard (have I mentioned he's hot when he frowns?)—"legal consequences?"

I give an audible gulp without meaning to.

My heart skips a beat or ten or twenty because I know exactly what he's hinting at. My work as a hitwoman isn't exactly something we've had a heart-to-heart about ever since he caught me gawking at my picture brightening up his office.

"You know I work at the bakery. Whether or not Lottie runs a clean operation is her business." I spear him with my own hard stare. "But apart from the occasional burnt cookie, there's nothing illegal going on there as far as I can tell."

"I'm not talking about cookies, Effie. I just want to make sure you're not getting involved in anything that could get you into real trouble. For your sake—and mine."

My lips press white.

He knows.

And he knows that I know that he knows.

And for reasons that I can't quite understand, he hasn't thrown me to the floor, cuffed me, and dug his knee into my back as he reads me my Miranda rights.

His blue eyes seem to burn a hole through my skull and straight into my soul.

"Effie"—he says, low and serious—"are you working for your uncle in a nefarious manner? You can trust me," he says that last bit just below a whisper as if maybe I can't.

My heart races as he continues to stare me down. Just as I'm about to blurt out the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Nona Jo waddles into the kitchen.

Nona Jo is short, round, and speaks fluent sarcasm.

"Don't mind me." She's quick to wave us off. "I'm just here for my midnight snack."

"It's only eight," I point out, even though I'm more than relieved to see her. Her stomach has some serious timing.

"Eight is my midnight," she says, completely oblivious to the tension hanging in the air. She grabs a slice of pizza from the box and wags a finger at Cooper and me. "The two of you better stay together like mozzarella on a hot pizza because if you don't, you-know-what will happen."

I force a tight smile despite the fact the implication of her words isn't lost on me. Coop doesn't realize that if we don't stay together, my Uncle Jimmy will ensure that Coop's life is over. Literally.

"But don't you worry." Nona Jo busies herself at the counter for a second. "I've got a couple of big surprises up my sleeve for you two lovebirds," she says in an all too cryptic tone. "You'll see soon enough! And you'll thank me for it, too!"

Nona Jo trots out of the kitchen with a satisfied smile, clutching her midnight snack like the prize it is. And the moment she's out of sight, Cooper pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms around me. I can feel the warmth and the strength of his embrace, and it makes my heart do a little flip.

"About that question I asked just before she walked in," he says, initiating that infamous hot frown of his once again. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to know, and I don't want you to answer it."

I blink up at him, stunned. "You sure about that, Detective? I thought you lived for solving mysteries."

He gives me a wry smile. "I do. But I've come to realize some things are better left unsolved, especially when it comes to you and me."

I bite down on a smile. "You mean, like how we're going to make this relationship work despite our—differences?"

"Exactly," he says, his eyes pegged to mine. "You're a magnet for trouble, and I'm a cop. It's like Romeo and Juliet but with more handcuffs."

"Just great." I snort. "Does that mean we're doomed?"

"Not if I can help it," he murmurs, nuzzling that facial scruff of his over my cheek. "We'll figure it out, one way or another. Just promise me that you'll try to keep out of trouble. No more nefarious thoughts."

"I'll do my best. But no promises. I seem to attract trouble like Nona Jo to her eight o'clock midnight snack."

Coop's lips curve just this side of a smile as he comes in for the kill, but before he can land one on my lips, Watson storms in barking and dancing as he does his best to beg for a bite of our pizza.

Personally, I'm shocked the popcorn held his attention for so long.

"You've got some timing," I say, giving his furry little head a quick pat.

"And some appetite." Coop hands him a slice and Watson gobbles it up before it can hit the floor. "I've got an appetite, too," he says with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"Well, well"—I stifle a laugh—"look who's full of nefarious thoughts now? Don't worry, Detective. I know exactly how to handle this."

Coop's lids hood and his lips curve in the right direction. "I dare you to."

"I never back down from a dare."

And I don't.

We make out in my mother's kitchen as if we were the only two people in the house.

Thankfully, Watson keeps watch for my brothers so the next person with a knife in his back isn't Cooper.

That would be an easy homicide to solve.

However, Peter Honeycutt's and Frankie "The Bull" Santoro's homicides are anything but easy to solve.

Both men were on my hit list and both men are dead.

It begs the question, do they have the same killer?

And was the true killer Jimmy Canelli?