Charmed (Death Escorts #2)(7)
Author: Cambria Hebert

A flash of blond filled my vision before I caught her arm and yanked her back against me once more. Her chest was heaving and her nails dug into my arms, but I ignored it all.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?” I growled into her ear.

“How did you move that fast?” She gasped.

Her voice. I knew that voice. It grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. So much for it not being the infuriating girl with a man’s name.

“You better have a damn good explanation for why I found you in my house, going through my things, George.”

She stiffened and I felt her retort rise up inside her.

“Ah—ah—ah,” I sang in her ear. “Now is not the time to piss me off any more than you already have,” I warned.

Wisely, her mouth snapped shut as I spun her around to face me.

Chapter Four

“Cat suit – a close-fitting one-piece garment that covers the torso and the legs and frequently the arms.”

Frankie

Once my shift from hell at work was over I drove straight to the closest gas station and filled my arms with enough sugary goodness to get me through the next week, or maybe just tonight, and dumped it all on the counter in front of the cashier who took in my haul with his usual disdain. I ignored him and went to grab some Dr. Pepper, Cherry Coke, and Yoo-hoo and added that to my pile.

At the last minute, I added a pack of pink bubblegum and winked when I got a glare in return.

Once inside my Jeep Wrangler, I cranked up the heat and tore into a bag of Sour Patch Kids, popping about five into my mouth at once. I enjoyed the way the sour coating on the outside burned my tongue. I backed out of the lot and drove the short drive to my apartment, with the radio too loud and too much candy in my mouth.

I let myself into my apartment, flipping on the light as I shut the door, and then leaned back against the painted-wood finish and sighed. Peace at last. I wasn’t a loner, I wasn’t a quiet person who enjoyed staying in rather than going out, but after the day I had… it was nice to be alone.

I took in the Tiffany-blue walls (hey, every girl need’s a little Tiffany’s in her life, even if it is only paint), the cream-colored sofa, mirrored coffee table, and the scattered magazines around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was all mine. I dropped my bag of goodies on the floor beside the couch and shrugged out of my coat as I walked to the wall of posters all hung in vintage frames.

All the posters were of the same person. The woman I respected, was intrigued by, and yeah, maybe slightly obsessed with: Marilyn Monroe. She died before I was born, but even still her class, beauty, and the way she took life by the horns was still quite evident.

“Marilyn,” I said to her, “what would you do if there was someone hanging around—someone that you just knew was up to no good?”

I smiled. She hadn’t answered (if she had, I would probably check myself into a mental ward), but I found my answer anyway.

“This calls for a good old-fashioned cat burglary.” I spun away from the pictures, grabbed a Dr. Pepper and the rest of my Sour Patch Kids, and went into my bedroom.

I opened up the closet doors to my very packed, too-small closet and several articles of clothing fell out and buried my feet. I ignored them and started pulling out all the black items I could find.

A knock on my front door echoed into my room and I began pawing my way out of the closet, tripping on a few items and spilling some of the soda over onto my hand. Now that was just a waste of perfectly good sugar.

“Come in!” I yelled, giving up trying to break free of the clothes.

A few seconds later Piper, my best friend, appeared in the doorway. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Inventory,” I said, sipping the soda and scrutinizing her appearance. She looked tired, but that wasn’t anything new. Going to school, working, and volunteering at a health clinic would do that to anyone. I looked past her lack of energy for something more, for the grief that she seemed to wear like a second skin. It was there, but it wasn’t any worse than before—if anything, it seemed just a little lighter. “What are you doing?”

She held up a sack. “I brought Chinese.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I said, holding out my can so she could take it. “Here, take this. I’m about to go ninja style on all these clothes holding me hostage.”

Then I winced at my word choice. Good one, Frankie, remind her all about the time she was kidnapped at gunpoint and thrown in a trunk and held hostage by a killer. A killer who walked into the DMV today like he wasn’t a criminal.

I snuck a peak at her to see if what I said caused some horrible flashback, but she was grinning, no doubt wondering how I was going to escape my closet.

I began kicking at the shirts and pants, but all that did was wind them further around my feet. I took a step forward and toppled over, right into the giant pile of black that I’d made. I squealed, landing face first, and pushed myself up onto hands and knees and proceeded to crawl out of the mess. On my way, I found the knit black cap I’d been searching for.

“Score!” I exclaimed and paused to pull it over my head.

“What’s with all the black?” Piper asked as we left the mess behind and went into my galley-style kitchen.

“Guess I’m feeling moody,” I said non-committedly. I still wasn’t sure what I should tell her about today.

“What happened in here?!” Piper exclaimed, staring at the explosion that was my counters. Bowls, spatulas, and several appliances with awry cords cluttered the countertop. Cupcake liners were scattered about and there were multicolored sprinkles making a rainbow in the sink.

“I did some baking last night,” I said. “I was hoping the maid would come by today while I was at work. Good help is so hard to find these days.” I sighed.

“You don’t have a maid, Frankie.”

“Shh! Don’t ruin my fantasy.”

“Well, where are the cupcakes?” Piper asked, snooping through the cupboards.

“I threw them away.”

“That’s a crime against sugar!” she said and then gasped.

I laughed. “Actually, the crime was the way they tasted.”

“Everything you make tastes great. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah, well, when there’s a place like the Iced Princess to compare yourself to, standards are high.”

Piper made a tsking sound as she pulled out the Chinese from her bag. I grabbed some plates and we loaded up on noodles, veggies, and chicken. We ate in silence at the tiny table on the far end of the kitchen for a few minutes before I brought up the hard stuff.