A wayward hand dipped, cupped my ass as his mouth left mine in search of my pulse. Pleasure shuddered through me, and it took every ounce of strength I had to whisper into his ear. “You can have me, all of me, after you tell me where you are.”
He stilled, waited a long moment to get his breathing under control, then stepped back and narrowed his eyes on me. “After I tell you.”
“After.”
The room cooled significantly in a matter of seconds. I had angered him, and in the blink of an eye we were back to our impasse. I was worried about whiplash at this point, the back-and-forth nuances of our relationship so finite, so unmovable.
“You would use your body to get what you want?”
“In a heartbeat.”
He was hurt. I could feel it echo through him. He stepped closer again, leveled his face inches from mine, and whispered in the softest of voices, “Whore.”
“You can leave now,” I said, unable to quell the sting his statement elicited.
He vanished, a void of bitter emptiness churning in his wake. Then it hit me. The whore, or, um, prostitute. The silver screen star. What had I been thinking?
* * *
“Cookie, hurry, get up.” I shook her hard enough to make her teeth rattle, then made a beeline for her closet.
She bolted upright and tossed up her dukes like a cartoon character. I would have doubled over laughing if my concussed head had not been throbbing.
But I did giggle. “You have some serious bed-head, girlfriend.”
She smoothed her hair self-consciously and squinted at me. “What’s going on?”
“I have an idea.”
“An idea?” She glowered a solid minute until a pair of sweats smacked her in the face. I couldn’t help it. I sucked it up and doubled over in laughter. Mostly ’cause revenge was a dish best served cold. Or at least a little chilly.
“You need to work on your aim,” she said, peeling off the sweats and offering me a sleepy frown.
“My aim is perfect, I’ll have you know.”
My head felt on the verge of a nuclear disaster as we sneaked out the back and around to Misery in a shameful attempt to avoid the cops on watch. I felt bad, but if I showed up with a police escort, I doubted I would get anywhere fast. When we pulled up to the Chocolate Coffee Café, Cookie cast a hopeful gaze my way. “Did we miss something? Did you find more evidence?”
“Not exactly.” I turned to her before we got out. “I have an idea. It’s just going to look odd to Norma and Brad and anyone else who might be in there, so I need your help.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve pole dancing.”
We stepped into the café and scanned the area. Norma was indeed on duty, but we couldn’t see who was cooking. And there were two customers sitting in a very inconvenient spot. But I’d deal with that later.
I gestured toward the bar with a nod, and Cookie and I strolled forward. My silver screen star was standing at it, leaning on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankle. His tan fedora and trench coat came straight out of the forties, the Humphrey Bogart look undeniable. And the entire picture left me a little breathless. Cookie and I loved us some Humphrey.
I sat on the stool right beside him as Norma strolled up. “Hey, sweethearts, did you find who you were looking for?”
Cookie sat beside me, but on the wrong side. I grabbed her jacket underneath the counter and steered her around me. “No,” I said sadly. “We’re still looking.”
Norma tsked and poured us two cups without even asking. I was actually a little worried about drinking coffee with my head throbbing like it was, but still, saying no to coffee would be like saying no to world peace. Everyone involved would benefit from a resounding yes. The moment someone came out with a way to mainline it, I was so in.
Cookie sat down, then cast me a nervous look underneath her lashes.
“Do you remember your lines?” I asked her.
Her brows slid together, but she played along and nodded.
I smiled. “Good, we have to get them down before tomorrow night’s dress rehearsal.”
“Oh, right,” she said with a shaky giggle. “The dress rehearsal.”
“You two in a play or something?” Norma asked, passing us menus.
“Yeah, at the Stage House. Nothing special.”
“Wonderful,” she said, going back to wiping down the counters. “I did some acting in high school. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” I said before looking back at Cookie.
Bogart was between us. He cast me a sideways glance.
“Hi,” I said, hoping to come across innocuous.
He turned toward me, a grim line thinning his mouth. “Of all the cafés in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”
My heart skipped a beat. He was so much like Bogart. It killed me that Cookie couldn’t see him.
“You here to collect my soul?” he asked.
I was a little surprised he knew my job description. “If you don’t mind,” I answered. I fished out the picture I had of Mimi Jacobs and held it up. “Have you seen this woman?”
He turned back to stare through Brad’s pass-out window. “Don’t look around much.”
I smiled. “You looked at me.”
“You’re kinda hard to miss.”
Fair enough. “Why don’t you want to cross?”
He shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”
“Of course. I take the grim out of being a grim reaper. I can’t force you to cross.”