I stumbled to my feet. Reyes helped me, his movements as unsteady as my own. Then I glared at every man at the table, taking my time with each, making sure the threat was clear.

Ignoring the wetness between my legs, I leaned into Samuel to make sure he got the message and said just below my breath, “If you e-mail or try in any way to contact Amber Kowalski or Quentin Rutherford, I’ll stop your heart from ever beating again.” I leaned in closer. Put my mouth to his ear. “Then I’ll rip it out and shove it down your throat.”

I straightened and almost lost my balance. Reyes caught me, but his gaze was on Samuel’s crotch. From the looks of it, he’d wet his pants. I knew how he felt.

Cookie rushed over, and the two of them took me into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Tristan and the crew had noticed that last exchange. Their saucerlike eyes would suggest that they had. As had every woman in the place. The awe on their faces, the longing, and the hush that had come over the entire restaurant would suggest I might’ve taken it a bit far.

Reyes had leaned me against a prep table while Cookie grabbed me a glass of water, and nobody said anything. I was in shock. Cookie didn’t know what to think. And Reyes … who knew about Reyes? What he must think of me? I literally possessed the kiss of death. What would have happened if he hadn’t stopped me? Could I really have killed Samuel? Would I have?

“So,” I heard a voice say from beside me. “That was pretty intense.”

I turned to see Angel, my thirteen-year-old investigator. Or at least he’d died when he was thirteen.

“I thought you were on assignment.” I glanced at Reyes to make sure he was okay with Angel shirking his duties. His attention had been dragged to a shortage of corn tortillas by Valerie.

“I am, and it’s great and all, but damn. That was hot. I almost came, and I’m dead.”

I glowered at him. Now was not the time. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his palms in surrender. “Just updating the boss.”

“Why?” I asked, softening my voice. “Who are you watching?”

He leaned close enough for me to see the peach fuzz on his face. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and since you’re a god and all, well, you see my dilemma, belleza.”

Damn. So close.

15

I miss being able to slam the phone down in anger.

Violently pressing END CALL just isn’t the same.

—MEME

That afternoon, I interviewed several of Emery Adams’s friends and coworkers. They all had glowing reports. She was a hard worker. She was professional and smart and kind. She looked out for the little guy. She didn’t take shit from doctors.

From everything I could tell, Emery was the most liked woman in the history of mankind. Then who would want to kill her? Somebody either hated her or her passing was a random act of violence. She was the squeakiest clean I’d ever encountered. Besides, perhaps, Cookie Kowalski.

But nobody was liked by all. It was a statistical impossibility. She was a hospital administrator, for goodness’ sake. They had to make some pretty tough decisions. Someone had a beef with her, but was it enough of one to kill her?

The more people I talked to, the more it appeared to be random. Could Emery really have been viciously attacked for no reason?

I gave up on interviewing her colleagues and went in search of the supposed scene of the crime. While Emery lived at the foot of the Sandias, her car had been found miles from there off Highway 313 between Albuquerque and Bernalillo, in a deserted field.

The land was privately owned, but the owners had been on a cruise when Emery was killed. Were still on a cruise, hitting beaches up and down the coast of South America. Tons of Facebook updates confirmed it.

So, what looked even worse for Lyle Fiske, the man I was fighting tooth and nail to prove innocent, was that he’d found her car in the rural area, even though he’d explained that she’d had a tracking app installed on her phone.

Cookie called while I was stuck on I-25. Traffic crept forward, and I realized I could be there awhile. Thank God for Cheez-Its, though only He knew how long they’d been in the back of Misery.

“Hey, Cook,” I said through half a mouth of crackers.

“Hey back. Are you feeling better?”

“You mean since I almost kissed a guy to death? Peachy.”

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“I really need to learn to control my shit, but how can I control it if I’m not really even sure what my shit is capable of? It was one thing to be a god from my very own dimension, but it’s like those rules don’t apply here. Here, I’m the grim reaper. Why would anybody in their right mind give someone like me this kind of power?”