And now here we are.
Face to face once again—him armed with the knowledge of who I am, and considering the fact he’s a mob buff, he’s armed with the knowledge of what I’ve done, too.
And me?
Well, I’m armed with the potential to reach a spatula in less than three seconds flat.
Shep and I bonded loosely a few weeks back when we discovered both of our fathers are in prison. Mine for a RICO charge and his for murdering his wife—Shep’s stepmother.
“Bowie Binx.” His brows lift a notch. His dark wavy hair is slicked back, he has just the right amount of stubble peppering his cheeks, and those clear baby blue eyes are ringed in navy, giving him that Alaskan husky appeal that has always had the ability to make my heart go pitter-patter.
Shep is caustically handsome, the type of good-looking that gets the attention of all the girls in the vicinity, both the young and old alike. And at the moment, about three tables of women have all craned their necks in his direction. He’s the serious type—tall, dark, and brooding, and all that seriousness only seems to make the masses swoon all that much more.
“Shepherd.” I swallow hard. “Um”—my body spikes with heat and I have the sudden urge to dig my keys out and pray that Wanda has enough gas in her to get me to Canada after all—“you know, I think Tilly can help you. I’m due for a break.”
I move over a step, and he moves along with me.
“No.” It comes out curt as he pins his gaze to mine. “Tilly can’t help me. I need you.”
I’ll admit, a warm quiver just ran through me as he said those last three words. I can’t help it. Shep isn’t just drop-dead gorgeous, he’s drop-dead ornery, too. And for the last twenty-seven years I’ve been alive, I’ve been more than mildly attracted to handsome jerks—believe you me, Shep Wexler more than fits the mold.
“Ooh.” Tilly hops over and wiggles her chest at him. “Do tell, what can Bowie help you with that I can’t?”
“I need to go somewhere.” Shep dips his chin and glowers my way a moment. “It’s my high school reunion. And seeing that everyone I went to high school with knows that Tilly and I are just friends, I thought you could help me. I need a date.”
“A date?” both Tilly and I squawk in unison.
Tilly takes in a sharp breath. “Shepherd Wexler. Are you trying to stop all the single ladies from harassing you?”
Shep gives a slow blink. “Something like that.”
“Aw,” Tilly coos with just enough of a sarcastic edge to let you know the zinger is coming. “Poor little Sheppy doesn’t want to look like a loser. When’s the big event?”
“Tonight.” He nods my way. “What do you say?”
A group of customers heads on in and Tilly picks up a stack of menus before leaning my way.
“Say yes,” she says. “But only if he promises to take you home and have his way with you.” She gives him a little wink before taking off. “You’re welcome.”
I make a face at him.
“High school reunion?” I meant to whisper it to him, but it came out more of a hiss. “Is that code for the Woodley Sheriff’s Department?”
“I’m not turning you in.” His cheek flinches. “I promise. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Bowie Binx. A pink-haired hurricane of a woman who blew into town and turned this café on its ear.”
I roll my eyes. “Technically, I have black hair with Cherry Coke highlights. I happen to have a big personality, and I like food, so yes, this café and I are a good fit. As for the date, I—”
I’m about to turn him down when that vision I had earlier flits through my mind once again.
Both Opal and Tilly know about the fact I can see the future.
I’m what my Nana Rose referred to as transmundane, further classified as sibylline. There are other supernatural powers that fall under the transmundane umbrella, but I’m only familiar with the one. And it just so happens that my Nana—God rest her soul—and sister share my quasi-sinister gift as well. I can’t control what I see or when.
God knows if I could, I would never be standing here contemplating a date with the ornery writer before me. I’m still not sure I should trust him.
“A date, huh?” I scowl over at him.
“Yes, a date.” His brows dip a notch, showing off his own frustration with the situation. “Don’t look so enthused, Sweet Cheeks.” He digs his hand into his pocket before tossing a couple hundred dollar bills onto the counter. “Buy yourself something nice. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He takes off, and I swipe the money off the counter.
“Seven,” I say to myself.
According to my vision, someone is going to try to kill Shepherd, perhaps as soon as tonight.
The do-gooder in me says I should go along and try to stave off the inevitable.
The Santini in me says stay home and let the bodies fall where they may. The man does know a little too much.
But the woman in me says no one in their right mind turns down a date with a hot man like that.
Guess which voice I listen to?
Hot men have always been my downfall.
Let’s hope I don’t end up taking a bullet for this one.
Chapter 2
The Twin Oaks Inn is the swanky spot to be if you happened to have attended Maple Grove High exactly fifteen years ago and you’re in the mood for reuniting with an old buddy or two.
The inn itself is laden with large sparkling chandeliers and has a ballroom tacked onto it, brimming with dapper men in suits and stunning women in cocktail dresses. Everyone looks well-polished and spit-shined, and most importantly, dressed to impress. Maroon and gold balloons are set out everywhere—school colors I’m assuming—and the music is a blast from the past, something I’m guessing
