It wasn’t until I heard Jessica snickering that I realized I was talking to Duff too openly.

“There she goes again,” Jessica said loud enough for me to hear. “What did I tell you? Absolute freak.”

The gossip girls burst out laughing again, but I could hear Jessica’s high-pitched crow above the others. It was the one thing that drove me crazy when we were friends. She had a nasally, piercing laugh that reminded me of the stabbing scene from Psycho. But that could’ve been wishful thinking on my part.

I’d made the mistake of being honest with her when we were freshmen. She seemed to accept the fact that I could see ghosts. But once I told her exactly what I was, that I was the grim reaper and that the departed could cross through me, our friendship shattered like a house of glass, cut as the remnants showered down on me. It left some fairly deep scars. Had I known our friendship was so fragile, had I known it could be severed with a single truth, I wouldn’t have thrown so much of myself into it.

Afterwards, all bets were off. She told the entire school what I’d said. What I was. Thankfully, no one, including herself, believed it. But the betrayal cut deep. Hurt and vindictive, I went after – and landed – the boy of her dreams, a senior basketball star named Freddy James. Naturally, that did nothing to reconcile our friendship. Her venomous spite multiplied tenfold after I started dating Freddy, but suddenly, I didn’t care. I’d discovered boys on a whole new level.

My sister, Gemma, knew the moment it happened. She accused Freddy of stealing my virginity. But saying Freddy James stole my virginity would be like saying Hiroshima stole a nuclear bomb from us. Theft didn’t fit into the equation.

As Jessica and her friends snickered across the way, I ignored them, knowing indifference would bite more than anything I could say. Jessica hated to be ignored and it worked. My disinterest seemed to be eating her alive. The abrasive texture of anger and hatred raked over my skin like sharp nails. That girl had issues.

“Sorry about the salute,” Cookie said to Tidwell.

He gestured for her to sit. “Not at all. I found it enchanting.”

Despite everything, Tidwell was a good-looking man, and clearly articulate. Now I had to worry about another possible outcome altogether: Would Cookie fall for his charm?

“I’m Anastasia,” she said, and I tried not to groan aloud. Normally noms de guerre were fine on a job, but we were in my dad’s bar. We knew half the people here, which came to glaring light when someone called out to her.

“Hey, Cookie!” an off-duty officer said as he strolled in and took a seat at the bar. “Looking good, sweet cheeks.”

Cookie blinked, taken aback, then smiled and said to Tidwell, “But everyone calls me Cookie.”

A most excellent save.

“I’m Doug.”

Oops, incriminating evidence number one. It would seem Marv liked noms de guerre, too. I’d turned so I could see them through my periphery and watched as they shook hands. Cook mumbled something about how nice it was to meet him. He said likewise. And I took another bite of quesadilla, fighting the urge to moan in ecstasy. Sammy had definitely outdone himself.

Still, I had to get over it. I had a job to do, damn it.

I turned toward them, my expression one of complete boredom, and snapped a few shots with my phone. Phones made close-up surveillance so easy. I pretended to text while zeroing in on my target. When Tidwell leaned forward and put a hand over Cookie’s, I almost became giddy. Not really a money shot, but pretty darned close.

But then I noticed something. A darkness in his gaze I hadn’t seen before. The more I watched Tidwell, the less I liked him. Almost everything out of his mouth was a lie, but there was more to my discomfort than his deception. He reminded me of one of those guys who sweeps a girl off her feet, marries her after a whirlwind romance, then kills her for the insurance money. He was a bit too smooth. A bit too personal with the questions. I’d have to do a little more digging where Mr. Marv Tidwell was concerned.

“What is that?” Tidwell asked. His voice had hardened and the emotion that dumped out of him startled me.

“This?” Cookie asked, suddenly less certain.

He saw the mic I’d hidden in the folds of her scarf. Crap on a quesadilla. Before I could scramble out of my seat, he reached over and ripped it off her, dragging her forward in the process.

“What is this?” he demanded, shaking it in her face before curling it into his fist.

I rushed toward them. The investigator in me continued to take a couple of shots for good measure. They’d be blurry, but I had to take what I could get. Cookie sat stunned. Not because she was caught, I was certain, but because of his reaction. I would have been stunned, too. He went from charming admirer to raging bull in a matter of seconds.

His face reddened and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. “Is this a game? Did Valerie put you up to this?”

Valerie Tidwell was Marvin’s wife and my client, and clearly he suspected that she suspected his extracurricular activities. The entire bar fell silent as I hurried forward, weaving around tables and chairs, snapping shots as I went, wondering why on earth Cookie was digging into her purse. I didn’t have to wonder long. Just as I got to her, she pulled a gun, and all I could think was holy freaking crap.

“Cookie!” I said as I skidded into her.

But before I could do anything, Tidwell lunged across the table and grabbed Cookie’s wrist. He knocked her back into me and we all three started to tumble to the ground the exact moment a sharp crack splintered the air.