“Am I a victim or a suspect?” I asked.
They both turned to me with mild surprise.
I was about to break a very strict rule Calvin had been enforcing in our house since May.
No work talk.
His, not mine.
It was part of the wean-Sebastian-off-sleuthing thing, which I didn’t find terribly necessary after being shot. EvenIhad my limits. But I abided by the no crime-solving discussion decree because I didn’t enjoy being the source of Calvin’s stress. He dealt with enough bullshit at work. There was no reason for him to talk about murderers roaming the streets after he’d loosened his tie and removed his service weapon for the day.
And I’d been doing pretty well for half a year. I had the occasional slip of Twenty Questions when I’d seen something interesting in the media, but I’d become especially mindful of being a harassing busybody since Calvin proposed to me.
No takebacks and all that.
But in the middle of December, I worked seven days a week due to the holiday rush. I was also planning a wedding—something I knew literally nothing about. Murder and mayhem were the furthest things from my mind. The fact that this particular crime scene matched another of Calvin’s cases, insomefashion, was extremely disconcerting. And I felt justified in my need to inquire.
I was shaken by a sensation I hadn’t experienced in a long while—the one that would tie my guts up in knots when I realized I’d overlooked an important clue. It was an anxiety of sorts. Unique to me. Had Calvin behaved different at home over the last few days? No. I didn’t believe so. He’d worked late, but this wasn’t unusual when he had new cases. Had there been anything in the newspaper that hinted toward the details of said new cases? Again, no.
“Seb.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Stop,” Calvin said firmly.
“But I—”
He took a step closer. “I can see the cogs turning, baby.”
I put my hands up, likeI’m innocent, copper! Innocent, I tell ya!
The front door opened again. Calvin turned, and I peered around his hulking form. Neil Millett, my ex-boyfriend and detective for the city’s Crime Scene Unit, was being directed to the counter by Officer Rossi.
Hmm.
This, in and of itself, was not strange. After all, with less than fifty CSU detectives to serve the five boroughs, there was going to be crossover. Neil had ended up a key team member on several of Calvin’s cases over the past year. So seeing him walk toward us, bundled in a coat I’m sure wasthestyle this season, with his shapeless Crime Scene Unit jacket thrown over it as an afterthought, didn’t concern me very much.
In fact, it didn’t concern me at all. Neil and I had parted ways on… er… less than amicable terms, but had curiously enough circled back to something positive. We’d finally settled into the relationship we were always meant to have—a bickering friendship. And Calvin was cool with it. He was not a man easily prone to jealousy or insecurity.
Really, the only disconcerting detail was the look of expectancy on Neil’s face as he drew near.
Had he been anticipating a crime scene today?
Predicting it’d involve me? Or the Emporium?
No. If Neil thought that, so would Calvin, and I wouldn’t be here this morning. I’d have been somewhere else—somewhere safe—and the entire situation would have been explained to me. I would not be standing a mere four feet from a decapitated head and my own now-thickening vomit.
It brought me back to the look Calvin and Quinn shared.
Recognition.
Neil seemed to only just notice me as he stopped at the stairs. “Nancy,” he said by way of greeting.
“Bess,” I countered.
“What are you doing here?”
I crossed my arms and took a look around the Emporium as if I had no idea where I was. “Is this…myshop?”
