Feeling completely overruled, she nodded jerkily. The room exploded into a flurry of movement—her putting the remaining magazines out of the way, Emil disappearing into a back room and emerging with more handcuffs, and her brother staging the crime scene to his liking.
“Back-to-back,” Robbie ordered, gesturing to the two chairs he’d arranged before the settee.
She sank into one, and Emil squatted at her side with the handcuffs.
“Will it hurt?” she whispered, settling her hands in her lap.
“Not the way I do it.” Her core throbbed at the promise, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. He gently enclosed her wrists with the smooth, cold metal, then looked up. “How’s that?”
“It’s all right.”
Robbie urged Emil into the other chair. “Your turn. And since you’re ten times more dangerous than Ollie, I’m going to put handcuffs on your hands and your feet.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Olive exclaimed.
“It’s my mistake for mentioning I had three sets. Can’t blame a man for using the knowledge he’s given.”
Olive opened her mouth to object again, but when Robbie puffed out his chest at Emil’s words, she swallowed the protest. Robbie had so little fun these days. If Emil didn’t see a problem with it, then she wouldn’t either. She listened as Emil explained how to apply the handcuffs—and how to unlock them—and convinced herself everything would be fine.
“All right, kid.” The chair creaked as Emil settled into it. “How do you want to play this? Should we cry? Beg for mercy?”
“You two stay right there,” Robbie ordered.
Olive raised a brow. “Well, we’re not going anywhere.”
“Good.” He beamed. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait—what?” Emil demanded.
“I have important police business outside.” He spun on his heel and darted through the living room.
“Robbie, the keys!”
“Olive, get him!”
She sprang forward just as Emil hurled himself toward the mischievous wretch. They both missed—and slammed into each other. They went down hard in a tangle of limbs and muffled yelps, upending the settee before hitting the floor in a heap. He grunted when her elbow jammed into something firm. His ribs? His arm? Hard to tell, considering she was now half on top of him, her cheek smushed awkwardly against his shoulder. She twisted one way, and he wiggled the other. But it was futile—they were firmly wedged between the settee and the wall. In the next room, the door slammed shut, followed by footsteps pounding down the boardwalk.
A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, tearing free in an undignified, breathless wheeze. Emil’s chest vibrated with his laughter, and the movement was so startling that it sent her into peals of laughter. Their mirth fed off each other until she could hardly breathe, tears prickling at her eyes.
Oh, how marvelous it was to laugh with someone.
“We were hoodwinked,” she managed between snorts.
“He’s craftier than I expected, but luckily, I kept the extra set of keys in my pocket.”
“Thank goodness.”
He contorted his body, then froze. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
“The keys…they’re in my back pocket.”
She shoved her hands against his chest. “I am not putting my hand in your pants!”
“Then it looks like we’re stuck. Forever.”
She dissolved into giggles once more. “Stop it. I’m getting a cramp in my side.”
