“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. Please, stop.” I added a touch of melodrama to be more convincing. “Really, Cookie.”

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

“I’m just kidding. Wash away. Someone’s got to do the dishes, and God knows Mr. Wong isn’t pulling his weight.” I glared accusingly at him before heading to the bathroom.

“I’ll just wash these while Amber finishes getting ready.”

Amber, who was doing her hair at my kitchen table because Cook refused to leave her alone after our most recent adventures, protested. “I could’ve gotten ready in my own bathroom, Mom.”

“We have to get a move on,” she said, ignoring her offspring, “or you’ll be late for school again.” She quirked a quizzical brow. “It’s weird how much that annoys them.”

I shook my head, befuddled as well as I entered my bathroom and closed the door. Then and only then did I let the tremors wash through me, did I acknowledge the blurred vision and rapid heartbeat that hit me every time I thought of those men in my room, of that gun to my head. I looked in the mirror. I was better than this. I could overcome it. Fear would not take hold of me again. Not ever.

I took out my toothbrush and squeezed a line of toothpaste over the bristles. But I was shaking, and the tube caught on the bristles as it glided past. When they bounced back, they flung a speck of toothpaste in my eye. Mint-flavored toothpaste with fluoride and tooth-whitening grit and shit.

I screamed and covered my eye with both hands, falling back and knocking my Little Mermaid figurine off the shelf. “My eye!” I cried, trying to focus past the pain. “My left eye! It burns!”

Before I could regroup, the door to my bathroom was ripped open and Reyes was standing on the other side. He stood there panting, his alarm causing adrenaline to rush through him in hot waves.

“Holy mother of God,” Cookie said, her hands encased in plastic yellow gloves.

That was the exact moment I realized Reyes was as naked as the naked dead man sitting in my Jeep. And he was wet. Very, very wet.

Reyes turned to her as she gaped at him.

“Oops,” I said, realizing what I’d done. I’d practically summoned him with my screams of agony.

He just stood there like an anointed god, not even trying to cover his junk, and said, “I was in the shower.”

“How is George?” I asked, but before he could answer, we all turned slowly to the fairy princess standing behind her mother.

Amber stood with jaw dropped and eyes like saucers. Huge, happy saucers. Cookie dived toward her and attempted to cover said eyes with those big yellow gloves, but Amber was quick. She stepped to the side and easily thwarted her mother’s plans, receiving a full frontal of the son of Satan for a solid twenty seconds.

That was dangerous on any level.

I bolted into action the minute I could tear away from his perfect physique: wide shoulders, steel buttocks, and that ever-popular dip in the hip. But I had a job to do. I rushed in front of him and couldn’t miss the playful wink Reyes gave Amber as Cookie ushered her out. She blushed and giggled under a cupped hand.

“Holy crap, Reyes,” I said in my best scolding tone. “You can’t just expose yourself to twelve-year-old girls.”

Cookie hurried back in to grab her things. “That’s right,” she said, fumbling with her list of things to do for the day while trying to avoid Reyes’s sleek, naked body sparkling in front of her.

I rolled my eyes, retrieved a towel, and wrapped it around his waist. He smirked as he watched me from underneath his lashes, not bothering to help in the least.

A hopeless sigh slid through Cookie’s lips as she finally looked at him. “You’ve set the bar too high now. No one will live up to—” She gestured to all of him. “—all of that. You’ve ruined my daughter.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t. I could tell.

A smile broke across Cookie’s face. She pointed an accusing finger at him. “No, you aren’t.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, not really.”

“Rascal,” she said before she closed the door behind her. Or tried to. It just kind of hit the doorframe and bounced back. She tried again with the same result. Then again. And again.

“Cook, it’s okay,” I said, peeling the injured door out of her hands, which were still covered in yellow rubber. “I’ll get the door.” When she nodded and started across the hall, I added, “I’ll need those gloves back.”

I examined my door. It was fine. The doorframe, however, had seen better days. “Did you do this?” I asked him. “How can I lock my door if I can’t even close it?”

“That is a problem.” He’d come up from behind and reached a long arm over my head, imprisoning me. “Guess you’ll have to stay at my place.”

I fluttered my lashes. “Or Cookie’s.”

He handed the towel back to me, a wicked expression on his face as he walked back to his apartment. Naked. All shimmery and sleek. Cookie had nailed it. Holy mother of God.

* * *

After the plainclothes got to Cookie’s apartment, I let him walk her over to the office while I sought out Misery. Cook would have a busy day with everything I’d thrown at her, and I had enough to do to keep me busy for minutes. Probably half hours.

I needed a man. A man I could push around and shout orders to like a military commander. I needed a man named Garrett Swopes. He was the only one of our group who’d visited hell. Besides Reyes, of course. I excavated my bag for the keys to Misery, which were brand-new and not like my old keys at all, and headed that way. I unlocked Misery with the fob. That was new, too. Misery had never had remote anything. She’d been old school. Stick the key in. Turn. I was surprised I didn’t have carpal tunnel with all the sticking and turning. But now, I just pushed a button. It was so

Jetsons.

I made that whirring sound every time we took off down the street.

After opening the door, I tried to climb inside. I would have succeeded, too, if an eighty-pound Rottweiler hadn’t been sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Artemis,” I said as she panted happily, her stubby tail wagging as fast as bumblebee wings flutter, “you can’t drive. The last time you drove, we almost killed a mailman.”

She whined and put a paw possessively on the steering wheel, her huge brown eyes pleading.

I leaned over and checked Mr. Andrulis. He didn’t seem to mind Artemis. I rubbed her ears. “Okay, look, I know traditionally your species and the mailman variety of my species have never really gotten along, but we can’t kill them. We can’t target them.” I was never sure if she did that on purpose or not.

She let out a loud bark, indicating something just over my shoulder. I let my gaze wander in that direction and realized we had company. A man in his early thirties dressed in a gray hoodie and fatigues stood watching us. Well, me, since he couldn’t see Artemis.

I nodded congenially before turning back to Artemis and saying through gritted teeth, “Seriously, girl, you have to move.”

“I’ll wash it for you,” the guy said, taking a couple of steps forward. I’d recently had a gun to my head and wasn’t in the mood for any more shenanigans from the penis-endowed gender. I reached into a side pocket of my bag as nonchalantly as I could and wrapped my fingers around Margaret, my Glock.

“I’m sorry?”

If he was homeless, he hadn’t been for long. He was clean, his clothes almost new.

“Your Jeep. I can wash it. I have a side business.” He took another step toward me and handed me a homemade business card. It’d been printed on regular paper, then cut out with scissors. Apparently by a preschooler.

“Well, thanks, we’re good for now.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple of bucks on you?” he asked, sniffing into a knit fingerless glove.

“You take a few steps back, and I’ll look.”

“Really?” he asked, excited. “Thanks.” He stepped back, and I once again excavated my purse for a wallet as I let my gaze slide past him.