“Stats?” I look around the room, trying to pick up on some body language that would explain that little tidbit of info. No one’s helping me out, though. They all keep trading glances with each other, but none of them are looking at me. All I can think of when someone says they’re keeping “stats” is baseball scores and batting averages. Do gangsters rate each other?

“Yeah, stats,” says Lucky. “Like kills, kilos moved, numbers on the street moving product, and so on.”

I shake my head, feeling a little lost in the lingo. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A shudder moves through my body. “I hope you don’t mean literally killing, like actual people or whatever.” I take another bite of my soup. “Who would keep stats on that?”

The room is completely quiet. I look up in time to catch Thibault and Lucky exchanging meaningful glances.

“What?” I ask.

“You looking for work?” Thibault asks.

“No!” Ozzie yells before I can even open my mouth.

“She has experience,” Lucky says, appealing to the man I can only assume is the boss, now that I see he’s trying to lower the boom. “It’s not a ton of experience, granted, but she’s a professional photographer, and she can get past anyone.” He gestures at me. “Just look at her.”

“Taking pictures of a cheating deadbeat one day in the park does not equal surveillance experience.” Ozzie’s head looks like it’s going to explode.

Not that I’m interested in surveillance work, but it’s kind of offensive the way he keeps throwing up roadblocks in my face. He’s way too bossy for his own good. I’d probably be pretty awesome at surveillance work. I’m discreet, I’m an excellent photographer, and I have the equipment, at least for the picture and video-taking part. My jaw sticks out a little as the expression on Ozzie’s face gets darker.

Dev gestures at me. “She’d totally blend into the crowd. Not like Toni.”

“Hey!” Toni throws a spoon at him.

He catches it in midair without blinking, saving himself from a thunk to the forehead.

“Are you calling me plain?” I ask, pretty sure I should be offended. I know I’m no supermodel, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself ugly either.

“She’s anything but plain—look at her!” Ozzie’s pointing at me, making a spectacle of us both. “She might as well be wearing neon lights spelling out ‘Look At Me’ right now.”

All the heads around the table swivel in my direction. Then they look at each other, obviously confused.

“Sorry, Oz, but I’m not seeing it,” says Lucky. He leans over and puts his arm on the back of my chair as he talks next to my ear. “Feel like earning a little money taking some pictures? We pay on receipt of invoice.”

He’s too close for comfort. I lean as far away as I can without falling out of my chair or lying in Toni’s lap. “That depends on what the pictures are of.”

Lucky laughs, sitting up straight and giving me my space back. “I like your style.”

I sit back up, not sure if that was a compliment.

“Well, I don’t, and what I say goes.” Ozzie crosses his arms, forcing his muscles to bulge out even more. He literally looks like he has boobs needing a bra, resting over the top of his forearms.

Dev smirks and points at Ozzie’s chest, talking so only we can hear him. “Look. The kids.”

Lucky tries not to smile, looking up at the ceiling instead of at Ozzie.

I think they’re talking about Ozzie’s pecs. They are pretty impressive. Then our text conversation comes back to me and more of it makes sense. When I said kids, I was talking about two nieces and a nephew; he thought I was talking about his boobs. No wonder he got so cranky. I try not to smile too.

“This ain’t no dictatorship,” says Thibault, his tone even. “We take a vote. That was the deal when we started five years ago, and it’s still the deal today.” He gently puts his fist on the table. “First thing’s first . . . what do we do with her?” He points a finger unrolled from the fist at me. “Let her stay or make her go?”

“I think maybe you should ask me what I want to do first.” I’m having a hard time keeping the annoyance out of my voice.

Thibault’s eyebrow lifts up. “You want to go back to your house and be a sitting duck for a drug dealer who wants to shoot you in the head?”

My face blanches. “Uh. No. I don’t want that.”

“That’s what we thought.” He looks around the table. “She stays here; all in favor?” His hand goes up.

I look around the table as all the guys raise a hand—everyone except Ozzie, of course. And Toni. She’s just staring at the table like she’s not even aware of what’s going on.

Ozzie’s reaction pisses me off. “You want me to get shot in the head?” It’s actually kind of hurtful that Ozzie’s voting me off the island. I thought we’d had a moment in that alley together. He rescued me . . . I was rescued . . . that means something, right? Damn, he even called me a cab and paid for it, so why is he kicking me to the curb now?

His expression changes to one of chagrin. “Of course I don’t want you to get shot in the head . . .”

Dev cuts him off before he can finish. “Excellent! So she stays. Now let’s vote on giving her some work.”

Ozzie and I both hold out our hands in front of us like stop signs.

“Now wait a minute . . .” he says.

“Hold on,” I say.

We both stop and stare at each other. He glares. I narrow my eyes.

“Sure. Go ahead and vote,” I say, flipping my hands around like I’m totally cool with everything happening right now. “I could use some extra work. Not a lot of weddings going on right now.” I’m kind of serious and kind of just yanking Ozzie’s chain. Some extra money would be nice, but I’m not sure taking pictures of drug dealers is the best career move for me.

Ozzie stares at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. For some reason, it cheers me up to see him getting all pissed about me being here. Is he scared of me? Ha! He must be. I did do a pretty good job of evading that guy who tried to kill me, even before Ozzie was helping me out. Some might even call me brave. I did lead him down into a cul-de-sac.

Or maybe I hurt his feelings about his beard. My smile falters. I guess since I’ll be staying at his place of business, I should probably apologize for that.

“Listen, Ozzie, I’m sorry for the horrible beard comments. It was just . . . way bigger than a beard has a right to be. I couldn’t help myself.”

Thibault speaks up as he laughs at me. “Oh my lord . . . all in favor of giving Little Bo Peep a trial run, say aye.” He’s still smiling at me.

“Aye.” I hear the word three times. Then there’s a long silence. I ignore Toni and turn to face Ozzie instead, smiling before I too say, “Aye.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he storms out of the room, yelling, “Sahara!” The giant dog slowly gets to her feet and ambles out of the kitchen, with Felix following closely at her heels.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m given a camping cot, a sleeping bag, and the corner of the kitchen for my very own. It’s either this or risk going home and being spotted by that guy who was following me in the neighborhood too close to mine for comfort. I stare at my setup, wondering if I’m going to get even a single minute of sleep tonight. Things are not looking very promising. I would never call myself the camping type. More like the rent-a-hotel-room-and-lie-by-the-pool type, actually. I’m itching to call my sister, but I know it’ll send her into a tailspin of panic if I do that. She’ll never be satisfied with half-explanations and excuses. I need to wait until I can sit down and tell her every last detail.