“I am?” I stopped and thought about it. “That doesn’t happen very often.”

“I know. Enjoy it while it lasts.” When I gaped at her, she said, “What? Everyone knows I’m the brains of this here operation.”

She had a point. “Okay, I’m going to shower the residue of smoky back rooms and men in ski masks out of my hair.”

Cookie got up and started washing my dishes.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. Please, stop.” I added a touch of melodrama to be more convincing. “Really, Cookie.”

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

“I’m just kidding. Wash away. Someone’s got to do the dishes, and God knows Mr. Wong isn’t pulling his weight.” I glared accusingly at him before heading to the bathroom.

“I’ll just wash these while Amber finishes getting ready.”

Amber, who was doing her hair at my kitchen table because Cook refused to leave her alone after our most recent adventures, protested. “I could’ve gotten ready in my own bathroom, Mom.”

“We have to get a move on,” she said, ignoring her offspring, “or you’ll be late for school again.” She quirked a quizzical brow. “It’s weird how much that annoys them.”

I shook my head, befuddled as well as I entered my bathroom and closed the door. Then and only then did I let the tremors wash through me, did I acknowledge the blurred vision and rapid heartbeat that hit me every time I thought of those men in my room, of that gun to my head. I looked in the mirror. I was better than this. I could overcome it. Fear would not take hold of me again. Not ever.

I took out my toothbrush and squeezed a line of toothpaste over the bristles. But I was shaking, and the tube caught on the bristles as it glided past. When they bounced back, they flung a speck of toothpaste in my eye. Mint-flavored toothpaste with fluoride and tooth-whitening grit and shit.

I screamed and covered my eye with both hands, falling back and knocking my Little Mermaid figurine off the shelf. “My eye!” I cried, trying to focus past the pain. “My left eye! It burns!”

Before I could regroup, the door to my bathroom was ripped open and Reyes was standing on the other side. He stood there panting, his alarm causing adrenaline to rush through him in hot waves.

“Holy mother of God,” Cookie said, her hands encased in plastic yellow gloves.

That was the exact moment I realized Reyes was as na**d as the na**d dead man sitting in my Jeep. And he was wet. Very, very wet.

Reyes turned to her as she gaped at him.

“Oops,” I said, realizing what I’d done. I’d practically summoned him with my screams of agony.

He just stood there like an anointed god, not even trying to cover his junk, and said, “I was in the shower.”

“How is George?” I asked, but before he could answer, we all turned slowly to the fairy princess standing behind her mother.

Amber stood with jaw dropped and eyes like saucers. Huge, happy saucers. Cookie dived toward her and attempted to cover said eyes with those big yellow gloves, but Amber was quick. She stepped to the side and easily thwarted her mother’s plans, receiving a full frontal of the son of Satan for a solid twenty seconds.

That was dangerous on any level.

I bolted into action the minute I could tear away from his perfect physique: wide shoulders, steel bu**ocks, and that ever-popular dip in the hip. But I had a job to do. I rushed in front of him and couldn’t miss the playful wink Reyes gave Amber as Cookie ushered her out. She blushed and giggled under a cupped hand.

“Holy crap, Reyes,” I said in my best scolding tone. “You can’t just expose yourself to twelve-year-old girls.”

Cookie hurried back in to grab her things. “That’s right,” she said, fumbling with her list of things to do for the day while trying to avoid Reyes’s sleek, na**d body sparkling in front of her.

I rolled my eyes, retrieved a towel, and wrapped it around his waist. He smirked as he watched me from underneath his lashes, not bothering to help in the least.

A hopeless sigh slid through Cookie’s lips as she finally looked at him. “You’ve set the bar too high now. No one will live up to—” She gestured to all of him. “—all of that. You’ve ruined my daughter.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t. I could tell.

A smile broke across Cookie’s face. She pointed an accusing finger at him. “No, you aren’t.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, not really.”

“Rascal,” she said before she closed the door behind her. Or tried to. It just kind of hit the doorframe and bounced back. She tried again with the same result. Then again. And again.

“Cook, it’s okay,” I said, peeling the injured door out of her hands, which were still covered in yellow rubber. “I’ll get the door.” When she nodded and started across the hall, I added, “I’ll need those gloves back.”

I examined my door. It was fine. The doorframe, however, had seen better days. “Did you do this?” I asked him. “How can I lock my door if I can’t even close it?”

“That is a problem.” He’d come up from behind and reached a long arm over my head, imprisoning me. “Guess you’ll have to stay at my place.”

I fluttered my lashes. “Or Cookie’s.”

He handed the towel back to me, a wicked expression on his face as he walked back to his apartment. Naked. All shimmery and sleek. Cookie had nailed it. Holy mother of God.