“I’m sorry, baby. I’m just upset. You know I drive horribly when I’m in a bad mood.”

He’s still glaring.

“Don’t worry. You’ll see Sahara again. I’ll work it out . . .”—my voice catches on the last word—“somehow.”

Walking up the front sidewalk with Felix under my arm, my feet are practically dragging. I don’t want to be here alone, but I don’t want to be at work. I can’t look at Ozzie right now. I need to calm down before he starts lying to my face. And I can’t go to my sister’s place. She’ll try too hard to cheer me up, and I’m not in the mood. I need to wallow in my pain for a little while. Own it. Live in it like a second skin so that when Ozzie begs for my forgiveness, I won’t cave in. I do that too easily. I need to toughen up. Something tells me Ozzie will have amazing powers of persuasion.

I walk in the door and throw my stuff on the ground: my purse, the singlestick Dev told me to keep and practice with, and the folders I had at the table. Felix I lower to the ground gently, of course. He didn’t do anything wrong; he’s guilty of the same crime I am—loving too much, too fast, too easily.

I don’t know why I grabbed all that stuff from work. I guess my heart wants to pretend I’m still working at Bourbon Street Boys, even though my brain is telling me to quit. Stupid heart. Trying to get itself trampled and not just massively bruised.

I’ve got the wine out and glass of it halfway to my lips when Felix starts barking like a crazy fool.

And then it hits me.

The house alarm never went off when I walked in. What happened to the beeeep, beeeep, beeeep?

I lower my glass very slowly to the counter, pricking my ears for any sounds that might explain Felix’s agitation. I hear nothing, but he is pissed for sure. If I didn’t know better, I’d surmise he’s looking out the front door windows that stretch from ceiling to floor. Usually he stands sentry there, so him barking at things like grass moving or a car driving by isn’t normally a big deal. It’s just that he’s so enthusiastic about it this time. He sounds mad, and Felix never sounds mad. And he usually gives up after three or four barks.

Suddenly he yelps really loud and then stops. A whine follows. I’ve only heard that noise once from my boy, when he pulled a back muscle jumping off the couch as a puppy.

My heart stops beating. I’m pretty sure someone just kicked my dog, and the only someone who would kick an adorable Chihuahua mix like my Felix has to have a black heart and an empty husk for a soul. I want to call the dog to my side and shove him in a cabinet where he can’t get hurt, but I don’t want to alert the dirtbag who abuses animals to where I am.

I slowly remove a knife from the block on my counter and sidle toward the doorway that leads into my dining room from the other side. Hopefully, whoever is out there will go down the hallway, and I’ll be able to run out the door with Felix in my arms before he even sees me.

Please, God, let Felix be okay, and let him still be in the hallway by the front door.

Felix starts growling, and it lightens my heart just a little. If he’s mad enough to be angry, that has to mean something good. I follow the sounds that are coming from his tiny throat. He’s somewhere in the living room, and hopefully he’s alone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

I’m leaning down to pick Felix up from the rug in the living room when the voice comes.

“Well, well, well . . . if it isn’t Petite Rouge,” he says with a Creole accent.

My brain does a quick translation.

Petite Rouge. Little Red.

Then it hits me.

Little Red Riding Hood! It’s me! I’m Little Red!

Then the second fact hits me.

There’s a frigging murderer in my house, and he’s going to kill me!

And then the third and final fact hits me.

What is up with all the goddamn nursery rhymes being attached to my person, anyway?

I nod once at him, my body language expressing a cool I do not possess more than skin deep. “David.” The knife is up by my shoulder, trembling because my entire body feels like it’s being overtaken by an earthquake. I’m not ready to die. I have so many unresolved issues to deal with! What will Jenny do without me, and the kids? What about Ozzie? What about Fee?

If this asshole even so much as takes a step toward me, I’m going to bury this knife in the closest part of his body. He has a gun in his hand, though, so I know it’s not likely I’ll ever get close enough to use my weapon. I should have asked Ozzie to show me that weapon first. Dammit. Now it’s too late. It’s too late for everything. I never wanted my life to end with this much regret.

“And you know my name,” he says. “How nice.” The expression on his face is anything but pleased.

“Why are you here?” I ask, hoping that if I keep him talking, maybe someone will come over and find me, rescue me before he makes his move.

“I would have thought that would be obvious. I’ve been waiting here awhile, actually. Where have you been all day, I wonder?”

I shrug. “I’m a photographer. I’m all over the place.”

He stares at me for a long time.

I have to shift my weight to the other foot. My leg is going numb from the stress. I have almost no power left anywhere in my body, thanks to my workouts today. I hate that I’m facing this guy with the strength of a three-year-old. Sammy could beat me in an arm wrestling competition.

“Now what is a photographer doing at Frankie’s pub with Harley, I wonder?”

“Harley?” I look as confused as possible. “I have no idea who Harley is. I was there to meet my sister.”

I’m probably going to die here tonight, but if I can leave this world restoring Ozzie’s cover, maybe he can get to the bottom of what they’re doing and help put them all in jail. It’s not much in the way of revenge, but it’s better than nothing. Maybe they’ll put a plaque in the hallway at Bourbon Street Boys with my picture on it, next to the letter from the chief of police.

I try to smile. “The bartender told me your name when I mentioned you were cute.” My smile falls apart at the outrageous lie. He’s never going to believe that. He can’t be that oblivious to his horribleness could he?

The guy smiles back, lifting his eyebrows a few times for good measure.

Bleh, who am I kidding? He probably thinks he’s God’s gift to women with that lumpy, bald head of his.

“So, your sister, eh? And who might that be? Maybe I know her.”

“It’s none of your business who my sister is.” Right. Like I’d give that information up to a murderer. He must think I’m Little Bo Peep or something.

He loses his smile and moves toward me slowly. I circle right, trying to get closer to the front door. My purse, my Taser, and my singlestick are waiting for me there. Just ten feet away . . .

“You saw me in the bar,” he says, his hand going around his back, taking the gun with it. “You weren’t supposed to be there. Frankie’s isn’t your kind of place, am I right? I had a lot of friends there that night, but you weren’t one of them.”

“It was kind of hard not to see you, considering you shot a bullet at my face.”

“You were with Harley. Don’t try to lie and say you weren’t. I saw the way he was looking at you. Sending texts to you. I was shooting at him, though, not you.”

I act disgusted. “For the last time, I was not there with this Harley person. I was there to meet my sister. Some big, hairy Wookiee grabbed me and tried to attack me when I was there in the back room. I figured he was a friend of yours.”

His eyebrows go up.

“I tazed him in the alley when he chased after me.”