Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
“Even if they don’t remember specific names of hurricanes, anyone who ever lived in Florida would know what we mean when we ask, ‘Did Irma get you?’ What does he do for a living?”
“He said he’s retired.”
“Retired from what?”
“He said he was a jockey.”
I felt my eyebrows edge up toward my brow. “He has sort of a large ass relative to the rest of his body. Did you notice that?”
“I can’t say that I noticed his ass as much as you did, dear.” Carlo sipped the coffee, added a little more cream, and sipped it again. Then he put the creamer back in the fridge before fixing me with that calm but firm expression that says he’s about to cut me off. “Honey, have you ever heard other couples in conversation? It usually doesn’t sound like a police procedural. Why are you going on like this?”
“There was something off about him. All the usual things people know about. Not knowing what I meant by a rescue. He sounded like he’s been in a coma for ten years.”
“Well, maybe he has. Honey, aren’t you being a trifle…” Carlo paused and I saw his lips press together as if he was going to say “paranoid,” and then they remolded themselves around “… suspicious? Just because you got burned once it doesn’t mean everyone in Arizona is a villain.”
That made me a little angry, mentioning how I’d let myself get suckered. I wanted to tell a real funny lighthearted story about how many times I’d been caught for underestimating villains.
Like the time I saw the man in the wash while I was collecting rocks there, and knew immediately that he had a thing about raping older women, and I thought I could get the truth out of him by letting him drag me into his van. No, that wasn’t funny.
Or like the time I thought someone had to be okay because of a good sense of humor. Until I found out they’d killed a child.
Or like the time I watched a man bleed out and only regretted he died so slowly …
Nope, nothing funny going on here. What came to mind was a slideshow from my FBI years, getting shot in the leg, and Laura having her ear stapled because I couldn’t see what was in front of my face, and men who liked to fuck mummies, and Jessica, oh the worst of all because Jessica died and it was my fault. Those were the stories I could tell but never had, and now I never would because they weren’t like the stories Jane would tell, lighthearted and funny and, and good.