“No, Reyes is not suing anyone.”

I turned as Reyes entered the room in a towel.

“But she said other things,” Cookie said, sending a worried expression toward Reyes. And I had to hand it to her. Her gaze dropped to the towel only once. Maybe twice. “She seemed to know an awful lot about you. About what you were like in prison. And how you reacted during the trial.”

“Really?” I asked, pinning him with an accusing glare. “You must have had a lot to say yesterday.”

He shrugged. “All she got out of me was ‘no comment’ and ‘stop touching my ass.’”

Ugh. He just had to say that. He knew how I felt about other women fondling his ass. Normally it was kind of funny, since I got to touch it anytime I wanted, but for some reason, the thought of news chick touching those steely bu**ocks did not sit well with Betty White. Her right ventricle contracted in a jealous rage.

Reyes sucked air in through his teeth when Betty’s reaction hit him. That kind of jealousy felt like microscopic razor blades slicing across the skin. It was painful and oddly seductive. That combined with the towel, and I’d never leave my apartment.

“She showed up here this morning, hoping for that interview,” I told him.

He frowned and a spark of anger flared to life inside him. At least I knew he hadn’t invited her.

“What did you tell her?”

“No,” I said, tearing my gaze away to address Cookie. “What kinds of stories? What exactly did she talk about?”

Cookie turned off the morning news and put the remote back on the side table. “She said that he saved a man’s life during a lockdown and that he took out three assassins sent to kill him on his first day in the general area thing. Whatever that’s called.”

“Neil Gossett,” I said through clenched teeth, hunting for my phone. “And it’s called gen pop.”

“Deputy Warden Gossett?” Reyes asked me. “He would know better.”

“No, he should know better.” I punched his name into my contacts and pressed the number to his cell. Phone. Not prison. They didn’t have phones in prison cells as far as I knew, not that Neil was actually inside.

“Well, if it ain’t Charley Davidson,” he said, answering in a most chipper mood. If he’d seen the newscast, he had to know why I was calling.

“Hey, Neil,” I said, being chipper right back.

Cookie leaned in and whispered, “I’m heading to the office. Stop by before causing any trouble.”

I gave her an incredulous look and pointed to myself in question.

“What’s up, sweet cheeks?” Oh, yeah, Neil knew. He was being way too nice. We’d gone to high school together, and the only time he was nice to me was when he wanted to date my sister, Gemma.

“Well, for starters, Reyes and I are affianced. And we have a bun in the oven. Her name is Beep.”

“That’s not a name you hear every day.”

I didn’t see Neil for ten years after high school, and when I did, it was only because of Reyes. Neil was a deputy warden at the state pen in Santa Fe, where Reyes was residing. But today would mark a new era in our friend-ish-ship. I was about to bust his hussy ass.

“While we’re on the subject, did you just happen to spill your guts to a very pretty yet skankish newswoman lately who may or may not have been asking questions about the father of Beep?”

“You make it sound so dirty.”

“Neil,” I said, appalled. “Isn’t that, like, against regulations or something?”

“Technically, yeah. But she wined and dined me.”

“Meaning she got you drunk enough to spill your slutty guts.”

“Something like that.”

“You are such a slut.”

“I am. I really am. But she was a charmer.”

“Yes, I’m sure she was.”

“No follow-through, though. After all the flirting and innuendo, she said she was saving herself for Superman. So, yeah, she was a nut. It’s become a pattern.”

“Women looking for Superman?”

“No, nutcases hitting on me.”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re one of those men who wants a lady in public but a whore in the bedroom.”

“Um, that’s pretty much every man alive.”

“Oh, right. My bad. Well, don’t get any STDs in your quest for happiness.”

“Is that the only reason you called? To bust my balls?”

“Duh.” I hung up. At least we knew who news lady’s source was. Not that it did anyone any good, but it killed the curiosity burning inside Betty White.

11

“A wine, please.”

“Ma’am, this is McDonald’s.”

“Okay, a McWine, please.”

— MCDONALD’S DRIVE-THROUGH, 2 A.M.

I let the scalding water wash over my aching head while dodging a stray departed animal that was part Rottweiler and part waterfowl. Sharing a shower with a hundred-pound Rottie was not my idea of sterile, even if she was incorporeal. And there were safety concerns. I could slip and break something vital.

Alas, Artemis didn’t care. She jumped on a stream of water as it splashed against the tub floor, her ears cocked and ready. She growled at it, focusing all her attention on stopping the rogue water stream when another popped up and demanded her immediate attention. The water surged right through her, of course, but she didn’t seem to notice as she pounced, growling to give it a stern warning. To give them all a stern warning. No splashing allowed! So it is written. So shall it be done.