“Oh, and we probably need code names.”

Her suggestion made me choke on my next sip. “Code names?” I asked through the coughs.

“And code phrases like, ‘The sun never sets in the east.’ That could mean, ‘Switch to plan B.’ Or it could mean, ‘Let’s grab a bite to eat before the men come over.’”

“The men?” She’d really thought this through.

“Or it could mean, ‘How do you get blood out of silk?’ Because as PIs, we’ll need to know stuff like that.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” The file caught my attention again, and I turned back to the Foster house. “Blood can be stubborn.” Maybe I should just walk up and knock on the door. I could say I was helping a friend with an old case. I could ask if there were any new developments we hadn’t been informed of. I could ask if they knew that the man recently released from prison after doing ten years for a crime he didn’t commit was their son. I could ask if they knew what he’d been through, what he’d suffered at the hands of the man who raised him. But what good would adding guilt on top of guilt do anybody?

“Are you okay, pumpkin cheeks?”

I shook out of my thoughts. “Yeah, it’s just … well, two hours down the drain, and for what?” I gestured toward the Fosters’ house. “A foot in a sensible shoe driving a sensible car.”

She looked across the street toward the house. “What were you hoping to see?”

Her question took me by surprise. Even I wondered what I was really doing there. Did I simply want to see the woman who might have given birth to the man of my dreams? Did I want a glimpse of the man who may have been his human father?

Reyes was the son of Satan, forged in the fires of hell, but he’d been born on earth to be with me. To grow up with me. He’d done his homework and chose a steady, professional couple to be his human parents. He’d planned for us to go to the same schools, shop at the same stores, and eat at the same restaurants. Sadly, even the best-laid plans go awry.

“I’m not really sure, Aunt Lil.” What had I been hoping to see? A glimpse of Reyes’s past? Of his future? What he would look like in the years to come? Since it had been only a few days since a crazy man tried to kill me, I was trying not to rush terribly headlong into any situation, no matter how innocuous it might seem on the surface. I’d decided to take the week off. Reckless behavior would just have to wait until I’d healed a tad more.

“Goodness, that won’t do. You can’t just call me Aunt Lil willy-nilly. We’ll definitely need code names. What do you think of Cleopatra?”

I chuckled softly. “I think it’s perfect.”

“Oh! Trench coats! We’ll need trench coats!”

“Trench coats?”

“And fedoras!”

Before I could question her further, she was gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. I loved that woman. She took eccentric to a whole new level. Still, I had work to do, and sitting at a stakeout just to catch a glimpse of the Fosters was ridiculous. I started Misery, then picked up the Cheez-Its and stuffed a handful into my mouth the very second the phone rang. Naturally. Because when else would it ring?

I hurried and chewed before answering my bestie’s ring. Cookie worked cheap, which made her the best receptionist in all of Albuquerque, in my humble opinion. But she was also very good at her job. I’d set her on the task of finding everything she could about the Fosters. She was as fascinated as I was.

After another quick sip to wash down the crumbs, I finally answered. “Do you think if I lived on Cheez-Its and coffee alone, I’d ultimately starve to death?”

“They had another son,” she said, her voice full of awe.

I had no idea what that had to do with my question. “Does he eat Cheez-Its?”

“The Fosters.”

I bolted upright. “Can you repeat that?”

“The Fosters had another son.”

“No way.”

“Way.” I heard her fingernails clicking on the keyboard as she worked her magic. “Very much way.”

“After Reyes?”

“Yes. Three years after the abduction.”

“Do you know what this means?” I asked, my awe matching her own.

“I certainly do.”

“Reyes Farrow—”

“—has a brother.”

#Holyshit.

2

Note to self: Thanks for always being there.

—T-SHIRT

I sat stewing in a foggy kind of astonishment. Cook did, too. We sat in absolute silence, broken only by the sound of Cheez-Its crunching between my teeth, for several tense seconds.

“Are you still on your stakeout?” Cookie asked at last.

I swallowed. “Yes. I think Mrs. Foster came home, but her garage door closed before I could catch a glimpse. I have, however, bonded with the naked dead man in my passenger seat.”

“Well, there’s that.”

“Right? He has a tat. I’m sending you a picture.”

“Of his tat?” she asked, surprised.

“Of my drawing of his tat. Hold on.” I sent the pic with the caption

Don’t judge

underneath it. “Okay, how are things back at the fort?”

“A Mr. Joyce came in and insisted on seeing you today. He seemed really agitated. He wouldn’t leave his number or anything. I told him you’d be back this afternoon. Is this a new kind of Rorschach test?” She was referring to my drawing.

“Turn it sideways.”

“Oh, okay. Andrulis.”

“Do you know him?” I asked, my voice edged with hope.

“Nope. Sorry. I knew an Andrus once. He was hairy.”

I checked out Mr. A. “This guy isn’t that hairy. He is well endowed, though.”

“Charley,” she said, appalled. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Dude, it’s right there. It’s not like I can miss it.”

“Oh, poor man. How would you like to be walking around naked for all eternity?”

“You just described my worst nightmare.”

“I thought your worst nightmare was that one where you are eating a hot pickle and it burned your lips and they swelled until you looked like you’d had injections.”

“Oh, yeah, there’s that one, too. Thanks for bringing all that back up again. I should sleep beautifully tonight.”

“Did you call your uncle?”

My uncle Bob, a detective for the Albuquerque Police Department, had the hots for Cookie, and Cookie had the hots for him—but neither one would make the first move. I got so tired of watching them pine for each other that I decided to do something about it. I set Cookie up on a date with a friend of mine to make Uncle Bob, or Ubie as I liked to call him in my therapy sessions while trying to explain why I had a debilitating fear of mustaches, jealous. Maybe a little competition would light a fire under his ass. The same ass Cookie had a major thing for.

“Sure did. How’s our plan coming along?”

“You mean

your

plan?”

“Fine, how’s

my

plan coming along?”

“I don’t know about this, Charley. I mean, if Robert wanted to go out with me, he’d ask, right? I’m not sure trying to make him jealous is a good idea.”

It always took me a minute to figure out who Robert was. “Are you kidding? It’s a fantastic idea. It’s Uncle Bob we’re talking about here. He needs motivation.” I gave one last glance to the Fosters’ house before driving off.

“What if he loses interest?”

“Cook, have you ever lost interest in a pair of shoes because someone else was looking at them?”

“I guess not.”

“Didn’t it make you want them even more?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

I turned onto Juan Tabo and started back toward the office. “Okay, I’m headed that way. How about lunch?”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

My office was on the second floor of the best brewery the Duke City had to offer. It’d recently undergone a change of ownership when Reyes bought it from my dad. The idea of Reyes as a business owner warmed the cockles of my heart. Whatever those were.