It's live!
This special 20th Anniversary edition includes illustrations, character interviews, and holiday codas--including a new and exclusive short story-length coda written for Christmas 2021--as well as other curiosities.
All in all, over 400 pages of Adrien English and Jake Riordan!
“Whoa,” Jake said. “I could feel that
frown from the front door.”
I glanced up from the pages of the
glossy magazine Natalie had left on my desk, and stopped scowling. “Hey. I didn’t
hear you come in.”
As Jake reached me, I pulled my mask
down, and we kissed hello. The pressure of his mouth was warm against mine, and
our lips lingered…lingered… Turns out, love is sticky stuff.
We reluctantly parted—and Jake
promptly, gently pulled my mask back up. He pulled his mask up.
I sighed. “You know, it’s after-hours.
We’re alone now.”
He touched the tip of my masked nose.
“Yep. It’s just you, me, and fifty billion germs.”
The agreement we made was I’d continue
to work at Cloak and Dagger through the pandemic, but promised to be extra-diligent
and super-vigilant about following all virus protocols. Which I complied with
because A – I’m not an idiot, and B – making Jake happy is a priority for me.
I mean, it’s a mask. Try being on a
fucking ventilator. Been there, done that, and will do everything in my power
to avoid repeating the experience.
“Speaking of catching germs. How’d your
day go?” I asked.
In September, Jake had landed a job
with Brannigan Investigations, one of LA’s oldest PI firms. It hadn’t been an
easy transition. For one thing, it closed the door, once and for all, on his
career in law enforcement. Which…that door was already closed, but this was
like installing a deadbolt. But also, Jake liked the freedom of being his own
boss. What he hadn’t liked was the unpredictability of the kinds of
cases that came his way—when they came his way—or the precariousness of
his finances. So he’d taken the job at Brannigan Investigations.
Fortunately, they seemed to really like
him there, and he liked the owner, Mary Brannigan, the granddaughter of the
original Brannigan. Jake liked having resources, and respect, and a steady
paycheck.
“Good,” he said. “Even better, I’ve got
the next four days off.”
“Four days? Wow. They gave you Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and whatever Monday is?” That was more than cool because I too
had Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and whatever Monday was. Taking time
off was part of my commitment to a new healthier and more balanced lifestyle.
Jake said, “I’m thinking Monday is a
travel day.”
My brows shot up. “A travel day?
Where are you going?”
“We can talk about it on the drive
home. You ready to head out?”
“Just waiting for you. Let me grab my
coat and cat.”
He made a sound of amusement, waiting
as I rounded up Tompkins, hustled him into his carrier, and struggled into my
coat.
Jake took the carrier from me. On our
way out, he glanced at the stairs leading to my former flat. “Is Natalie out?”
he asked.
What he really meant was, Is Larkin
out? Larkin, my three-month-old nephew, was Natalie’s son. Jake adored
Larkin, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Granted, Larkin seemed to adore
everyone. I’ve never been much of a fan of babies, but that kid was pretty cute
and not entirely objectionable.
I said, “They’re spending the holiday
weekend with Lisa and Bill.” Three and a half years ago, my mother married
Councilman Bill Dauten, thus supplying me with three ready-made sisters, all
accessories included. The latest accessory being the aforementioned Larkin.
Jake frowned. “Then who’s running the
bookstore?” Jumping to the conclusion that I was backing out of our agreement.
I said patiently, “Which means, Angus
and Bliss are covering tomorrow, and then we’re closed until next Wednesday.”
Bliss was my latest hire. She
was…interesting, as girls—young women—with mermaid-colored hair so often are. I
felt she was a woman of possibilities. One possibility being—though I denied it
when Jake suggested such a thing—that I thought Bliss might provide a good
distraction for Angus, who continued to be worryingly smitten with Natalie.
Jake relaxed. I held the door for him,
patting his back as he carried Tompkins out.
“What is it about the extravagance of
minimalist coats and soft layers that so disturbs you?” Jake asked as we merged
onto the I-210.
“Huh?” I stared blankly at his profile.
“That magazine you were reading. The
one you were muttering over. The one you rolled up and stuck in your coat
pocket.”
I smiled reluctantly. “Was I
muttering?”
“Yep.” He glanced my way, his hazel
eyes humorous, though the question was sincere.
“It’s not winter fashion that worries
me, though if you’d seen some of those boots… It’s the results of a
compatibility quiz.”
His brows drew together. “You don’t
think we’re compatible?”
“Us? We’re compatible. I mean, I don’t know if we’re compatible on
paper, but we’re compatible in real life. No. Natalie was taking the quiz.”
“I see.”
I wasn’t sure he did.
“Whoever she was trying to answer on
behalf of is not someone she should be marrying. Or even rooming with. These
answers are a Dateline waiting to happen.”
“Hm.” I always loved the way the hard
line of his mouth would twitch when he found something funny but wasn’t
allowing himself an actual smile.
Reaching into the back seat, dodging
Tompkins who tried to claw me through the bars of his crate, I fished the
rolled magazine from my coat pocket. I unfurled the pages of pouty-looking
girls in coats that looked like crayon-colored collapsed parachutes (How could
something that bulky be minimalist?).
“Seriously. Listen to this. How many
times a day would you call your spouse to know how he/she is doing?”
Jake was silent.
I said, “Natalie’s answer is three
times. Which…okay. Maybe? If a lot of stuff was going on? Her stalker’s
answer—whoever he is—is eight. Eight times a day! He’s calling every hour.”
“That sounds like Angus.”
“Does it? But she’s working with Angus,
so he can just yell hey you across the aisle. It sure as hell isn’t
Warren. If he called her once a week, I’d be impressed. Part of my worry is, I’m
not sure if she’s guessing this guy’s answers, or if these are actually his
answers. What does that tell you?”
“That we don’t know,” Jake replied. “We
also don’t know if this is the new guy.”
I stared. “What new guy?”
He gave me a sideways look. “I think
there’s a new guy.”
“Why would you think that?”
He nodded at the magazine. “Aren’t
compatibility quizzes the kind of thing people do when they first meet?”
My heart sank. But yeah. He was
probably right. I said darkly, “Some people. Don’t ask me. I never
filled out a compatibility quiz in my life. Did you?”
“No.” His mouth quirked. “Maybe that
was our mistake.”
“Yeah. That was the holdup. We never
took the time to see if we agreed on…” I looked down at the magazine page and
read aloud: “What is your idea of a romantic date?”
“Obviously a crime scene.”
“Right? It doesn’t get more romantic
than that.” I tried another one. “Do you have a huge tolerance capability?”
“What does that mean? For alcohol?”
“I doubt it’s alcohol.”
“Does huge make sense in another
context?”
I snorted, but said doubtfully, “Could
they mean tolerance as in patience?”
“What answer did Natalie give?”
“Natalie says yes. No surprise there.
Mr. X says no. No. I’m telling
you, Keith Morrison is going to be knocking on our door any minute now.”
“Maybe this guy’s just being funny.”
“Maybe. Okay, here’s a weird-ass
question. I mean, what mad scientist came up with these? What are the things
you would like to take control of in your partner’s life after you both get
into a serious relationship?”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly. What does that mean?”
Jake asked, “What were their answers?”
“Natalie wrote: I would like to be
there to share his burdens and ease his worries. I would like to be a
true partner in all things good and bad.”
Jake said noncommittally, “That’s
sweet.”
“Yeah, and she means it. She’s doomed.
Bachelor Number One answered: her finances, her relationships with others
who take advantage of her, and, and, listen to this one: be a role model for her son!”
Jake was silent for a moment. “You
know, we aren’t sure whether these answers are Natalie’s wishful thinking.
Also, this guy may not be good at expressing himself. Also, some of the questions are a little off. Like that last one. I’m
not sure there’s a right answer to that.”
“Fair enough.” I tried to decipher some
of Natalie’s scribbled notes. “I can tell you right now, these responses are
not from Angus. And I doubt they’re Warren’s. Not from anything I’ve seen of
Warren.”
“No, this is somebody new.”
I murmured, “Why wouldn’t she tell us
if she’s seeing someone new?”
Jake grunted. I’ve never known anyone
who could pack so much into a nonverbal utterance.
I made a face. “Yeah. Okay. The thing
is, I’d love for Natalie to find a nice guy who would treat her well and be a
good father to Larkin. It’s not like I want to get sucked into the
family drama.”
“I know.”
“Just when I
thought I was out, they pullll me back in.” I did my best Michael
Corleone impression which, granted, was not very good.
Jake made a pained sound.
“She’s still fighting
establishing the kid’s paternity.”
That time, Jake’s “I know” was a lot
more disapproving.
“Angus is on pins and needles, waiting
for her to figure out what she’s doing. Warren’s started hinting that he needs
some kind of financial support in order to stay in her life. And I know
it’s her life and that most, if not all of this, is none of our business.”
“You care. You’re concerned. That’s
understandable. But we don’t know that there’s anything to worry about yet. Nat’s
still at the filling-out-compatibility-quizzes stage.”
I shook my head, read: “How good are
you at keeping secrets? Natalie
says she’s great, which proves she’s delusional. Mr. X says excellent.”
Jake and I exchanged looks.
