Reaper's Fire
Page 30

“Yeah, bigger shipment than usual,” I told her. “There’s some sort of client-appreciation thing happening at that law firm. They ordered a ton of individual gift boxes. Don’t know the full details, don’t care. Just know that they pay cash up front.”
“Well that’s good, I guess,” she said. “They trying to suck up to Brandon? I’ll bet he hasn’t told people about the divorce. He wants you back—you’d be good for his campaign.”
“Ha!” I said, giggling. “He’d change his mind if he knew about that sex tape . . . Speaking of, I told Cooper about it.”
“What?” she asked, obviously stunned.
“I told Cooper,” I repeated. “He’s a good listener and it just sort of slipped out. He’d probably hear about it sooner or later anyway. Get this—he seemed to think it was kind of funny.”
“Well it is kind of funny,” she admitted. “I mean, if it wasn’t such a time bomb hanging over you, I’d be giving you shit over it every day. I just hope it never goes viral. You don’t need that kind of headache.”
I walked into the kitchen, setting my purse on one of the counters.
“You know, it was kind of liberating to tell him about it,” I admitted. “It sucked, but it’s not like it ended my life. It was kind of nice, not feeling like I had something to hide.”
“Tinker, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “You had sex with a consenting adult in your own hotel room. The asshole in this situation is Heather Brinks, may she rot in hell. Or maybe the bathroom in Walmart. That’d be a good punishment, too.”
“You’re right, although it doesn’t always feel that way,” I said, sighing. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again. Like me, instead of being sad . . .”
“Wish I had an answer,” Carrie replied, her voice serious. “Some day there will be a new normal.”
“There has to be,” I replied, then gave myself a mental shake. “Hey, I need to get going—I have those special orders to fill.”
“You sure it won’t backfire on you, letting the lawyer dudes assume you and Brandon are together?”
“Well, we’re still legally married and own a house and stuff,” I said reasonably. “He’s the one doing all the arguing and stalling. If he’s going to play bullshit games, then why shouldn’t I take advantage for the sake of my business?”
“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” Carrie said, sounding pleased. “Work it. I’ll see you in a couple hours. Love and kisses.”
“Love and kisses.”
• • •
Two hours later, I’d packaged up almost half of the pumpkin caramels for my weekly delivery. Randi wasn’t back from her appointment yet, which wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t the end of the world. I could package and watch the store at the same time. Wasn’t like a ton of people came in here anyway, and anyone showing up on a Monday would be local. I really should just shut the place down . . . By eleven I’d entered the zone and almost missed the bell jingling out front when someone came in.
“I’m in the back—be out in a minute!” I shouted, kneeling down to grab a fresh stack of cardboard boxes out of the cabinet under the far counter. Footsteps echoed across the scratched wood of the floor, then I felt someone’s presence behind me in the small kitchen. I stood up, smile firmly in place, then froze.
Oh fuck.
Talia Jackson stood staring through the doorway.
Guilt and shame coursed through me, my cheeks heating.
Say something! my conscience hissed. But what? Sorry I made out with your boyfriend last night, but he kissed me first so maybe you should take it up with him? Yeah, that’d go over just great.
Cooper’s girlfriend gave me a super-creepy smile, hands tucked behind her back as she cocked her head almost flirtatiously.
“Wow, that’s a lot of chocolate,” she said, nodding toward the stack of trays on my work counter. Each metal tray held close to a hundred candies, and there were six of them. I nodded carefully, senses on full alert. “Whatcha doing?”
“Packaging them up for sale,” I said, wondering what her game was. “My courier will be here later this afternoon—he drives them to Seattle and delivers them to all my customers.”
“And you make all of those by yourself?” she asked, moving toward me. Her eyes hardened. “Lot of work. Be a shame if something happened to them.”
Oh shit.
She stepped forward, face darkening. I backed away, bumping into the stainless steel sink. Talia took another step, stopping right next to the tower of trays. Then she very slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back and raised a long, sharp knife, pointing it at me accusingly. It was one of those big survival knives, the kind that’s practically a machete.
“You and I need to talk,” she said sweetly.
My heart started hammering, eyes darting, trying to find some way to defend myself. This girl was certifiably insane or close enough that it didn’t matter. My hand bumped into an unwashed metal cooking sheet in the sink. If she lunged for me, maybe I could use it as a shield, because apparently my life was turning into a Quentin Tarantino movie. The setting was certainly right—it was just the two of us back here, and I knew for a fact these old brick walls were thick.
Nobody will hear you scream.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, trying to sound calm, although I heard the quaver in my voice.
“You want to fuck my man,” Talia said, wagging the knife like I was a naughty child. “I’ve seen how you watch him. I didn’t really care at first—you’re nothing but a dried-up old hag and he’s not interested, so why bother? But you stepped over a line last night and now you’re going to pay.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, swallowing. There was something about her eyes—they were intense. Too intense and bright. Not only that, her pupils were really tight. God, was she on drugs?
“Oh, you’ll be sorry,” she said, casually poking one of the chocolates with her knife. I fumbled for the dirty tray behind me, wrapping my hand around the edge. If she attacked, I’d have one chance to defend myself—I couldn’t afford to fuck this up.
“These are very pretty,” she continued, nodding toward the chocolates. “And I’m sure they’re good. Otherwise your ass wouldn’t be so fat. No wonder you don’t have a man.”