I held the plate out to her. “You too.”

Eva took a cookie, broke it in two, and stuffed half of it into her mouth. Not shy, either.

I also plucked one of the chocolate treats off the stack.

Not because I had shaky nerves, but because they were damn good cookies. I’d made them myself, and I was just as good a cook as I had been an assassin.

I looked at the two unconscious men on the floor.

Lance lay spread-eagled next to one of the booths where Sophia had dropped him. Blood continued to drip from the cuts on Jake’s throat and temple, staining the floor a rusty brown.

I grabbed another cookie off the plate and watched him bleed.

2

2

A couple of uniformed patrol officers showed up twenty minutes later. Late, as usual. If we’d really needed them, our bodies would have been getting cold and sticky on the floor. The cops barreled through the front door and stopped, surprised by the calm scene.

Eva and Cassidy sat in their original booth. Cassidy munched on her fourth cookie and took a swig of the milk I’d given her. Eva leaned one elbow on the tabletop, holding her head up with her hand. With her free hand, she methodically broke apart a cookie and slowly ate it, piece by piece. Looked like the shock had finally caught up with her.

At the stove, Sophia ladled baked beans into glass Mason jars to take home to her older sister, Jo-Jo. I perched on my usual stool behind the cash register, eating my third cookie and reading about Odysseus blinding a cyclops.

The first cop was about my height, five seven or so, a wiry Hispanic guy with nut-brown skin and a mop of matching curls that escaped the toboggan he’d stuffed them under. Dark freckles dotted his cheeks like walnuts.

He had his gun out and held down against his leg.

In contrast, the other officer was around seven feet tall, with a shaved head as big as a cantaloupe and matching, ham-size fists. His skin was so black it was glossy, like polished jet. So were his eyes. His name was Xavier. I’d seen him working as a bouncer out at Northern Aggression, a trendy nightclub I’d had occasion to visit recently.

I hadn’t realized he was a member of the police force as well.

Xavier recognized me too and tipped his head in my direction. I returned the gesture.

Xavier didn’t have his gun out. Didn’t need to. Giants could take a couple bullets in the chest before they went down, and one well-placed punch from his fists would snap just about anyone’s neck. Strange that he’d be working as a cop, though. Most of the giants in Ashland hired themselves out as private security. Paid better, even if it was just as dangerous.