Married? I’d barely gotten to the point of kissing him without losing my lunch. I collapsed on the sofa and nodded, suddenly desperate for a drink. “Yes, please.”
After opening the wine, she held up two menus. “Chinese or Mexican tonight?”
“Neither.” I stood, thankful for the task that couldkeep both my hands and my mind busy. “I’m cooking, remember? Now get the hell out of my kitchen.”
I washed my hands, put an apron on, and grabbed chicken from the fridge. Then I heard the click of a phone camera shutter. Addison was taking my picture.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She grinned and pushed something on her phone. “Sending Ashey a picture of you acting all domestical. You’re barefoot,but not pregnant. At least not yet.”
I searched for something I could throw at her, but before I found anything she was gone.
* * *
Saturday morning, Iawoke at eight-thirty, made lattes, armed myself with the lid of Addison’s largest pan as a shield, and slowly crept into her room.
Our spy gear had arrived the day before, and after a thorough sweep of the apartment, we were confident(and relieved) there were no listening devices anywhere in the condo. Addison had also purchased body cameras, which we were going to try and incorporate into our disguises, hoping they’d record anything we might miss. I was anxious to get it all on and make sure everything worked.
After setting Addison’s latte on the nightstand and fanning the aroma in her general direction, I scanned the areawithin her reach, looking for possible throwing objects. Her Kindle was on the opposite nightstand (no doubt she’d stayed up late reading another trashy motorcycle club romance), so I set it on her dresser across the room, increasing my chances of survival. Then I held up my makeshift shield and began the process of getting her butt out of bed.
“Addie, wakey-wakey,” I said barely above a whisper.
She mumbled, but other than that, didn’t move.
“Addison?” I said, in a sing-song voice. “Time to get up, AddiePoo.”
She took a swing at me and I dodged, blocking my face with the lid. Addison wasn’t generally a violent person... as long as she was allowed to sleep past sunrise. But it was still January, so the sun wouldn’t be rising for a while, and we didn’t have that kind of time if we wantedto make it to the funeral home by ten.
Changing tactics, I crooned, “I bet you’re gonna look really great in that dress.”
Another swing, but this one had less force behind it. She was warming up to me.
“Come on, Addie. The killer always shows up at the funeral, and we need suspects.”
One eye popped open. “Are you sure I love you enough to get up this early?” she asked.
I nodded, fanningcoffee fumes at her again. It was a delicate process. “Abso-freaking-lutely.”
Now both eyes were open, but she still didn’t look convinced.
I got on my knees—just outside of her swinging range—dropped the lid, and put my hand to my heart. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” I asked, quoting an old Rod Stewart song I knew drove her nuts.
A pillow flew at my head.
“Have I told you there’sno one else above you?”
Another pillow.
I switched songs. “You are the wind beneath my wings,” I quoted.
“Yeah? Well you’re closer to the fart beneath my butt,” she grumbled.
“Want me to sing it? Don’t think I won’t,” I threatened. I cleared my throat. I couldn’t carry a tune but my voice carried and pretty much stayed off-key. I was like the opposite of a siren, using my songs to push peopleaway, rather than lure them in to seduce them. It was my super power. “Last warning. Get up, or this bard of death will make your earholes bleed.”
“Fine, I’m getting up,” Addison said, throwing back her covers. “But you’re not wearing your combat boots.”
I threw my head back in frustration. Although I didn’t really want to wear my combat boots, it was fun to rib Addison about it. But they werecomfortable and black so they did match my outfit. “But the skirt is super long. Nobody will notice.”
