“I’m just pissed somebody got to them before I could,” TJ says.
Bobbi frowns. “What do you mean?”
Biting back a smug smile, I look at TJ.Yes, tell her whatIdid. It sucks I can’t take credit for it, but then I can’t take credit for most of the good I’ve done for the world.
“Home invasion,” TJ says. “Got roughed up some.”
“Seriously?” There’s no shock like feigned shock.
“Uh-huh. Reggie called me, begging me to hook her up with some exclusive security that’s not going to break the bank.”
Josie makes a face. “Because nothing says exclusive—or secure—like cheap.”
I nod inwardly. I like this woman. “So what happened?”
“Somebody shot up the hot tub at their house—actually, her fiancé’s house. Which I sort of feel not that bad about since she was always so obnoxious about it, like nobody but the two of them have ever had a hot tub.” Cassie rolls her eyes.
Bobbi looks at me, eyes wide, and mouths,Huxley?
Why would she think my almost-lawyer brother would do something like this?Oh, wait—the text!I firm my chin to hide my amusement as I shake my head, then turn to Cassie.
“Buttheyweren’t shot, right? So what if somebody messed up their hot tub?” I shrug. “Just get the insurance to pay for it.”
TJ gives me a look. “Theywereshot. With tranq darts. And then tied up.”
“What?Are they okay...?” Bobbi says.
TJ grunts. “Some money and some valuable sports memorabilia were taken. Floyd’s computer. Also, Reggie supposedly had her hair sheared off almost to the scalp.”
“That hair is her pride and joy,” Josie says, wincing.
That’s right.The sports stuff and money were to throw the police off the track. I threw all of it into the Pacific. But the bitch said shit about Bobbi’s pride and joy when the bakery first opened, so the hair was more eye-for-an-eye justice.These are the worst croissants I’ve ever had, my ass.
TJ continues: “And your landlord? He got shot in a ball.”
“Jesus!” Bobbi gasps, her jaw dropping before she cringes.
“Again, just a tranq dart.” TJ raises his eyebrows. “Coulda been alotworse.”
“Coulda been blown off with a bullet,” Cassie says viciously.
TJ shudders.
I do my best to not smile with pride. Damn, I’m good. Floyd let out a cry somewhere between a dying cow and a rutting hyena. He passed out even faster than Reggie. Then again, the pain probably knocked him out before the tranq drug hit.
“Then he got four cuts on his arms.”
One cut per stitch, which will take at least sixteen stitches total to fix. Or so I think. I’m not as precise with knives as Mom, and might’ve gone a little overboard because I’ll be damned if he’ll only need fifteen.
“You look awfully pleased,” Bobbi observes.
I shrug, but the twitching of my lips betrays me. “I think whatever karmic force is responsible for what happened to Reggie and Floyd did a helluva good job.” I make sure to hold Bobbi’s eye for the next line: “It should get the NobelFleecePrize.”
She laughs, shaking her head. Josie and Cassie join in.
TJ gives me a hard look for two heartbeats. “You’re not wrong.” A corner of his mouth pulls upward. Then he adds in a voice just loud enough for me to hear: “Maybe you aren’t a completely useless bastard after all.”
I feign confused innocence.
