I realize I’m in deep shit and might actually die here, drowned in three feet of water by a coward who wears pooped-himself khakis, when Peter abruptly lets go.
I surface with a gasp to the sound of a flock of birds being ground up in a blender. I swipe my hand across my eyes and blink, bringing the frenzy of black on Peter’s head into focus.
It’s Murder, all teeth and claws and pissed-off bared fangs, doing his best to fuck Peter up.
I have never loved an animal as much as I love that crazy cat right now.
Holding my breath, I duck under the water, grabbing the gun before I hurry to the edge and roll out of the pool onto the sun-warmed stones of a balcony even bigger than ours. A moment later, a soggy Kirby emerges from inside, followed by a flock of women in red hats carrying folded chairs, a flagpole, and other makeshift weapons.
“Colin!” Kirby hurls herself into my arms, hugging me tight before pulling back to peer up at me with worried eyes. “You’re okay? Are you okay?” Her hands skim over my chest and stomach, where my shirt is plastered to the skin beneath.
“I’m fine, and I’ve got his gun. It’s you I’m worried about,” I say, my voice breaking as I add, “Did he hurt you? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” she says, lips quirking as she glances over her shoulder. “And the Madams of Mayhem have already called the police and security. They should be here any minute.”
“And we’ll keep this shit for brains in check until they get here,” says a buxom little woman brandishing a stapler.
“Looks like the cat’s doing a good job on his own,” another woman adds, laughing. “Come over here, Mr. Kitty. We’ll finish him off for you.”
“Murder, baby, come here,” Kirby says, moving out of my arms.
I grab her wrist lightly. “No, let me. I don’t want you anywhere near that asshole.” I hand her the gun and approach the pool just as Peter gets a hold of Murder and hurls him into the air. I lean in, catching the churning fur ball right before he hits the water, fully expecting to be clawed to death for my efforts.
But to my shock, after his initial twitch of surprise at being snatched away from danger, Murder stills, shooting me a relatively chill look before turning to hiss in Peter’s direction.
“I agree.” I stroke a soothing hand down Murder’s back. “He should have his eyes clawed out and fed to the birds. Good work, buddy.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Peter growls, starting for the edge of the pool only to be stopped by a flying folding chair that hits him on the shoulder. “Ow!”
One of those women has excellent aim. Her upper body strength isn’t too shabby, either.
“Stay where you are, asshole.” A tall woman with dark brown curls poking out from beneath the rim of her red bowler hat points a menacing finger his way. “You’re done hurting people today.”
“Or cats,” Kirby adds as she gathers Murder into her arms and moves into mine, leaning against my chest as hotel security rushes out onto the balcony, followed seconds later by the police.
We turn over Peter’s weapon while the police pull him out of the pool and take him into custody, still fuming and cussing and hurling enough threats Kirby’s way that a cop feels compelled to assure us that he won’t be out on the streets anytime soon. “We’ll hold him until the bail hearing. It’ll be at least a week,” he says, glancing between Kirby and me. “I know you two have been through a lot, but we’d love for you to come down to the station and give your statement. And hopefully introduce what you’re wearing into evidence.”
Kirby nods. “Sure. Can we grab something to change into from our room first? I’ve been wearing this dress for way too long, and I’d love some real shoes.”
I glance down to see soggy fabric wrapped around her feet and shake my head. What a fucking night.
“Sure thing,” the policeman says. “I’ll have a squad car waiting for you downstairs. Just come on out whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks. We appreciate it.” I turn to ask Kirby if she needs a doctor for her feet or anything else, but before I can speak, Regina rushes onto the balcony with a dramatic cry of relief.
“There you are!” She throws her arms around me, Kirby, and Murder. “I’m so glad you’re all okay! I was so scared. That guy is fucking crazy.”
“Whereas drugging me and pushing me into a coffin where I almost died is perfectly sane,” Kirby says dryly while Murder issues a warning rumble that Regina thankfully takes seriously, stepping back.
“I explained that.” Regina lifts her hands in surrender. “It was an accident, and I really am sorry.” She shoots a glance toward where the two remaining policemen are roping off the area around the lap pool with crime scene tape before adding in a whisper, “Please don’t press charges. I’ll never do anything awful to anyone ever again, and I’ll leave you and Colin alone, I promise.”
Kirby shoots me a searching look, and I shake my head, answering her unspoken question. “She’s not pregnant. There’s no baby, mine or anyone else’s.”
“I was on uppers and downers at the same time,” Regina says with a shrug, as if that explains everything. “The combo makes stupid things seem like a good idea. So I won’t take those anymore, either. At least, not at the same time.”
Kirby arches a dubious brow, but when she sighs, I can tell she’s going to let Regina off the hook.
“The police already know what she did,” I cut in. “The casino security system got it all on tape. All you have to do is say you want to press charges and they’ll put the ball in motion. There’s no reason she should get away with what she did to you.”
“I know,” Kirby says, her tired eyes finding mine. “But I have enough drama on my plate right now. And I believe that she’s sorry.” Her lips curve into a hard grin. “And I don’t plan on coming back to Vegas. Ever again. So I doubt our paths will cross.”
“Oh, but you’ve got to come back, sweetheart,” one of the red-hatted women says, clearly having no issue with eavesdropping. “We want you to be our keynote speaker at next year’s ‘Death in the Desert’ conference.”
“We’re aspiring mystery writers,” the one with the stapler explains with a giddy giggle. “And this is just about the most exciting thing that could have happened to us. A famous writer and an attempted murder, right on our balcony in the middle of the annual meeting. Seriously. We couldn’t have asked for a better ending to our conference.”
“Glad we could oblige,” Kirby says. “But I’m going to have to say no. Unless you’re interested in having your conference in Hidden Kill Bay next year. I do own a bed and breakfast with a pool house you could use as a meeting room.”
The red hats explode in titters of excitement, already making plans as Kirby turns to Regina and says, “Goodbye.”
“So we’re good?” Regina asks.
“No, we’re not good,” Kirby says with an incredulous laugh. “I never want to see you again, and if I do, I’m going to sic my attack cat on you. But I’m not going to press charges, so scram while the scramming’s good. And lose Colin’s number while you’re at it.”
“Okay, okay, glad you guys aren’t dead,” Regina says, before fleeing back into the meeting room and the hotel beyond.
Kirby nods after her, hugging Murder closer with one arm. “You ready to get out of here? Pack up so we can leave as soon as we’re done at the police station?”
“Yes, but I have to do one thing first.” I thread my fingers lightly into her damp hair and pull her close. And then I kiss her, slow and gentle, but with an intensity that leaves us both breathless by the time I pull back to whisper, “I love you,” for the first time. “And not just as a friend.”
Her lips tremble into a smile. “I know. I heard your song. At a gas station. Before Peter got to me.”
I exhale. “How the hell did he find you anyway?”
“A combination of a frequent flier account email mix-up and being really handy with a police scanner. Turns out he’s actually an excellent privat
e detective.”
“I want to snap his head off his body,” I growl. “When I heard that gun go off, I—”
“It’s okay,” she says, rubbing her hand back and forth on my chest. “It’s over now. We’re safe, Peter and Regina are out of the picture, and you’re back in the songwriting groove.” She beams up at me. “I love my song, Colin. So much.”
I gather her closer. “Enough to forgive me for being too dumb to realize I’ve been in love with you forever?”
“Well, I was dumb, too,” she says, leaning into me as Murder grumbles in irritation between us. “Hush, baby, I need to tell Colin how stupid we both were.”
“And that you love me, too?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure…
Mostly sure…
Still, I cross my fingers behind her back and hold my breath, waiting for that sparkle in her eyes to find its way into words.
“When I woke up in that coffin and thought I was dead, that was my only regret,” she says, brushing my wet hair from my forehead. “That I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I love you.” She drops her voice, adding in a wicked whisper, “Or do all the things we did in the mirror room at least twenty more times.”
“There’s so much more fun to be had, baby.” I hug her closer. “I promise, I’m going to get you so addicted to mind-blowing sex that you’ll never be able to walk away from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Ever,” she says, lips curving. “Except home. With you, where I expect your clothes to be in my closet by the end of the week.”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am.” And then I kiss her again and again, until Murder squirms free with a disgusted yowl, but that doesn’t stop us. Neither do the titters from the mystery writers or the clicking sounds as they snap pictures.
For once, I don’t mind the invasion of privacy.
I want a picture to remember this day, the first day of the rest of my life with my best friend. My Larry.
“Can I still call you Larry now that we’re gross in love?” I ask when we come up for air.
“You’d better,” she says, grabbing my face and pulling me down for another kiss.
“You’re very forceful today,” I say, smiling against her lips. “I dig it.”
“Waking up in a coffin will do that to a girl,” she murmurs back. “Now, shut up and kiss me like you mean it.”
So I do.
For a long, long time.
Epilogue
Kirby
Two months later…
September in Maine is proof that the universe loves us and wants us to be happy. And the Hidden Kill Bay Claw Down Lobster Fest, which turns our sleepy town into a madhouse for one weekend every September, is proof that the cockroaches of the sea are delicious and worth leaving home for.
It is literally the first time Colin and I have been out of my house (or the recording studio he and Shep built behind it) for the past two months.
But why bother leaving the house when there’s so much fun to be had inside it?
In the bedroom, in particular?
And in the shower, and on the kitchen table, and in front of the fireplace, and out in the garden in the dark before the raccoons showed up and scared us half to death.
Damn raccoons. But the running inside naked and celebrating our escape up against the wall by the laundry room was hot…
“You know the worst part of being out in the world again?” I ask as Colin and I stroll through downtown toward the marina on a crisply gorgeous fall day, with Murder on his leash in front of us and the smell of steamed lobster already teasing my nostrils.
“You’re not naked?” Colin says, copping a feel of my ass as we stop at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change.
“I was going to say that you’re not naked.” I lift my face to his, welcoming the kiss he presses to my lips with a smile. “But yes. I like it when I’m naked, too. When our nakedness is mutual, if you will.”
“Oh, I will,” he says, arm going around my waist.
“So…you want to grab some chardonnay at Square Liquor, I’ll grab a couple to-go plates from the festival, and we can meet up in my bedroom in fifteen? Twenty-five if Theodora isn’t too busy to talk my leg off at her table? I would skip it, but she’s my honorary little sister and this is her first year qualifying for a chef’s table so…”
Colin wrinkles his nose. “Nah, let’s go. Walk around. See the sights.”
“What sights?” I ask as he takes my hand, starting across the street as the light changes. “We grew up here. We know the sights.”
“The ocean is different every day. And the trees are killer this year. Look at all that red and gold. Gorgeous.”
I shoot a skeptical glance his way. “As gorgeous as my boobs?”
“Not even close,” he says without missing a beat, “but your boobs will still be attached to the rest of your smoking-hot body after we eat lobster and get a little sun. You’re starting to turn translucent again, Spooky, and Murder is clearly in the mood for a walk.”
Murder is, indeed, pulling at his harness, dragging us inexorably toward the marina, but that probably has more to do with the smell of food than any great longing for physical activity. Murder’s been even lazier the past two months than we have, which is understandable considering he’s fixed, and even if he weren’t, there are no lady cats in my house.
“Okay, then we’ll walk and eat lobster,” I say, though I can’t help feeling that something is off with Colin. “Should I be worried that this is the first time in two months that you haven’t jumped at the chance to see my boobs?”
Laughing, he leans down to kiss my forehead. “No. You shouldn’t. I’m still entirely under your thrall and committed to fucking you stupid every night.”
“Good.” I smile, pleased. “I like being fucked stupid. It’s so relaxing. I never realized it before, but stupid people totally have it made.”
“I imagine truly stupid people aren’t very relaxed. They’re probably stressed out from trying to understand shit and being thwarted by their lack of brains, you know?”
I hum, pondering this as we cut across the square to the marina parking lot where, to my surprise, I see the Lips on Fire tour bus parked at the end of a long line of chartered buses that have come bearing tourists.
I point at the sleek black vehicle. “What’s up with that? It’s still a month until you leave.”
A month, thirty whole days, which is not even close to long enough.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when Colin leaves in October, but I realize he has to go. My Only One has been in the top ten Billboard Charts since he released the recording a week after we got back from Vegas, and advance sales of the new album are strong and steady, but touring is how musicians make money these days. And it’s what he and the rest of the band love—making music for their fans, taking their show on the road, living like nomads with nothing to worry about but whether their instruments are in tune and where the cool bars are in any given city.
“We’re getting the couch and chairs reupholstered and making our sleeping berths soundproof. Everyone’s finally had enough of Cutter’s snoring.” Colin nods toward the bus. “The marina rented us a parking spot until it’s done.”
I frown. “But you could have parked it at my place. It would fit in the driveway.” I cock my head, mentally measuring. “I think.”
“Then you’d have nowhere to park, and between the recording studio and my basketball hoop, I’ve already taken over most of your back yard.”
“Our back yard,” I correct him. “I want you to feel as at home there as I do.”
“I do. And I don’t want a tour bus in my driveway, reminding me of things I don’t want to think about just yet.”
I sigh. “Yeah. Me, either, I guess.”
We fall silent as we cross the parking lot, pausing only once for Murder to sniff an empty beer bottle he decides isn’t as interesting as the food smells up ahead, before we step onto the dockside path.
About ten years ago, the city widened the beachside walkway to nearly fifteen feet across, but there’s still barely room for us to blend in with the rest of the foot traffic. The Claw Down is as hopping as ever.
Before he can get freaked out by all the stranger feet, I pick Murder up, holding him close as we turn left onto the pier, now lined on both sides with makeshift cook stations and lobster-themed decorations. Even the boats moored on the docks farther down are flying festive flags, including one skull and lobster claw pirate banner that is so perfect it would usually make me smile.
But thinking about Colin far away from me for weeks on end without time to fly back for a visit has spawned a black hole in my stomach, and it’s doing its best to suck all the joy and light deep down inside it. But the black hole doesn’t get to win. If I learned nothing else from the insanity in Vegas, it’s that you have to relish the good times so you’re ready to hold on through the bad.
“Lobster ravioli, lobster fritters, or lobster stew?” I ask in an upbeat voice, determined not to get mopey until that bus actually pulls out of town. “What first?”
“I was thinking we could hit Theodora’s table,” Colin says. “Show our support, get our hands on some of that grilled lobster with coconut curry before she runs out.”
I nod seriously. “That shit is so good. I’ve been craving it since she made it for Bridget and me a few weeks ago while you were recording.”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand, exhaling in a rush. “You talked about it for three days straight. So let’s go get some.”
“Sounds good.” I let him lead the way down to Theodora’s station.
She’s one of the few female chefs with a featured dish, and her wild raven curls and bright red chef’s jacket stand out in the crowd.
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