“You shouldn’t be gambling at all. It’s a bad habit. Terrible odds,” she said, taking his money with a wink.
“Says the girl who just cleaned my wallet.Youshould try some of those websites. It’s a big weekend for college ball. Take that twenty and put a few bucks on every game. Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.”
Vero’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the twenty in her hand as my father retreated to the kitchen. She slipped the bill in her pocket with a faraway look, hardly noticing when I collapsed into the warm imprint my father had left in the cushion beside her. I wondered if Vero was thinking about her cousin, wishing she was with him watching football on his couch. Had she only agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my family because I’d asked her to? Because my mother had insisted? Was there some unspoken moral code that said you had to suffer through turkey dinner with someone’s family, just because you’d buried a body together?
“You can still go to Ramón’s if you’re having second thoughts,” I offered.
She turned to me with a look of surprise, as if the suggestion had plucked her from wherever her mind had roamed. “But your mom—”
“My mom will understand. She’ll probably even pack you some turkey and pie to go.” As much as my family drove me nuts, I couldn’t imagine spending a holiday without them. I dragged my van keys from my pocket and dropped them in Vero’s hand.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I’ll catch a ride home with Georgia after the kids go to bed. Go spend the weekend with your cousin. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”
Her laugh was wicked. I knew she wasn’t thinking of the library when she said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
CHAPTER 3
My sister dropped me off at home just before eleven. My van was in the garage and Vero’s Charger was gone. She’d left a handwritten note on the counter, reminding me I had a pitch due to Sylvia on Monday, and I tucked it under a stack of bills, pretending not to think about it.
I bent in front of my open fridge, playing Tetris with the leftovers my mother had sent home with me, struggling to get the mountain of disposable Tuppers to fit. After I withdrew two beers to make room, the door still wouldn’t close, and I eventually gave up, removing a carton of ice cream from the freezer and shoving the last container of cranberry sauce in its place.
Triumphant, I kicked off my shoes, grabbed a spoon from the drawer, and retreated upstairs with my beers and Ben & Jerry’s, trying not to notice the stifling silence of the empty house. Vero’s bedroom door was closed, like it often was at night after she’d gone to bed, but her absence felt tangible. I should have been thrilled to have the house to myself, but now that I did, I wasn’t sure I liked it.
After changing into an old pair of sweats and a loose-fitting, faded T, I lay on my bed under the dim glow of the lamp on my nightstand, the open tub of ice cream resting on my chest. I sucked mint chocolate chunk off the spoon, torn between working on my pitch for Sylvia and grabbing a rare full night of sleep while I could. I didn’teven know what my next book was about. Every time I sat down at my computer to work, I ended up thinking about the women’s forum instead, worrying over the buried thread containing Steven’s name.
I jabbed the spoon in the container and stared at the ceiling. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I should put some money aside for a decent attorney. Maybe I should fight for full custody. But what would I say? How would I justify it?Your Honor, I really can’t let my kids spend weekends with their father because there’s a bounty on his head, and I only know this because, given my recent success eliminating problem husbands, a former client thought I might be well suited for the job. And while I have no immediate plans to kill my ex-husband, I’d rather my kids not be with him if someone else decides to try.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand. I set down the carton of ice cream and dragged the phone toward me, grinning when Julian’s picture flashed on the screen.
You home?he asked.
Yes.
Up for company?
Headlights swung through the gaps in the blinds, flooding my bedroom with light. I rolled out of bed and padded to the window, pushing down a slat to find his maroon Jeep idling in my driveway.
Be right out,I texted back.
I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, dragging a sweatshirt over my head as I descended the stairs. The air outside was sharp and cold, and I hugged my sweatshirt around myself as I hurried across the lawn. With a shiver, I threw open the passenger door of Julian’s Jeep. I’d hardly had a chance to slam it closed when he leaned over the gearshift, taking my face in his hands.
The pads of his fingers were soft, the skin around his mouth smooth and freshly shaven. He smelled like nutmeg and aftershave, and the smell of woodsmoke clung to the thick wool of his sweater.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, grinning against my lips. He pulled back far enough to tug a knit hat over my head, brushing my hair back from my face and tucking it behind my ears. His honey-gold locks were hidden beneath a dark beanie, the soft curls peeking out from underneath it.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I spooled one around my finger. “I thought you were spending the holiday with your parents.”
“I did.” His thumb traced a lazy outline around my lips. “I was on my way home. You left your hat at my apartment last week. Thought you might be missing it.”
“Oh,” I said, rising onto my knees and looping my arms around his neck, “I was definitely missing it.”
His eyes twinkled as he reached under his seat. The driver’s seat slid back on its track, dragging us with it. “Missing anything else?”
“I can think of a few things,” I said, climbing over the gearshift, not caring if Mrs. Haggerty peeped out her window and gave herself a heart attack.
“I needed to see you,” he murmured between kisses. His hand slid under the cocoon of my sweatshirt, drawing an icy pattern up my bare back and pausing in the middle where my bra strap should have been. He grinned, his low moan rumbling against my lips as his hands moved down to my thighs and he pulled me harder against his lap.
