Killer in High Heels

aware of this, right?”

I bit my lip. “Sorry.” And as I stared at his six pack abs, I was. Very, very sorry. Sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “If you want to wait, we’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

He raised one eyebrow at me. “You are sure you want to wait?”

No. “Yes.”

Ramirez blew out another sigh. “Okay. In that case, I’m taking a shower.” He stood up and crossed the room in one long stride. “A very cold shower,” he added, sending me a look that was all heat before closing the bathroom door behind him.

I flopped my head back on the pillows again.

I was so gonna get Fate for this.

I spent the night tossing and turning and trying really hard not to let my stubbly legs come in contact with Ramirez’s. Was there any worse torture in the world for a woman who’s gone this long without sex to be sleeping next a man like that? If there was, we should be using it on the terrorists because by the time the sun finally peeked through the paper-thin curtains, I was ready to tear my hair out.

Ramirez got up first and I could hear him getting dressed though I steadfastly refused to open my eyes. One look at that body and I knew I’d be a goner. Hairy legs or no hairy legs, I’d jump him. By the time I felt it was safe to look, I heard the door to the room shut and popped my head out of the sheets to find him gone. There was a little note on the nightstand written on the back of a KFC napkin: Went for coffee, be right back. R

Okay, so maybe he didn’t sign it with a heart or an XOXO, but the man was going for coffee. Gotta love that.

I took the opportunity to drag my tired self into the shower and in lieu of my usual mousse and blow-dry routine, twisted my wet hair up into a French braid. I scavenged in the closet and found a T-shirt and pair of sweats and plopped back down on the bed. I’d just flipped on The View when Ramirez came back in with two Starbucks cups in one hand and a bakery box in the other.

“Bless you,” I said, taking one of the steamy cups. I sipped it. A tall mocha latte with whipped cream. Oh, I liked this guy.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He lifted the lid on the bakery box. Krispy Kremes. I really liked this guy.

“So,” he said as we sat on the bed eating the doughnuts picnic style, “do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Hmmm…always the good news,” I said around a bite of crispy, sugary dough and oozing cherry filling. This so beat Dana’s box o’ bran breakfasts.

“Okay.” Ramirez swallowed a bite. “I talked to Detective Romanowsky. They did an autopsy on Bob last night and it turns out he did not die yesterday. The ME found signs of freezer burn.”

“He was frozen?” I asked, amazed that even talk of a dead body wasn’t making these doughnuts any less delicious.

Ramirez nodded. “Which makes it a little harder to pinpoint actual time of death, but taking into account the condition of the body and the last time anyone saw him, Romanowsky thinks we’re looking at sometime on the twelfth.”

I did some mental calculations. Today was the twenty-first, so counting backwards that would make the twelfth…last Wednesday. I perked up as I realized the significance. “That was before I was even in Vegas!”

He nodded again as he licked a bit of jelly off his fingers. “Exactly. So he says you’re cleared to go home as long as you make yourself available for further questioning.”

Which should have made me happy. I was in the clear, right? Only the idea of going home didn’t fill me with a whole lot of good feelings. Now that I knew not only had both of my dad’s friends been murdered, but also that the Mob was trying to frame Larry, I knew he needed help more than ever. I wasn’t sure what I could actually do, but I knew leaving town wasn’t it.

“Does the good detective have any idea who bumped off Bobbi?” I asked, hoping all signs pointed to Monaldo.

Ramirez shook his head. “Nothing concrete. At least not that he would share with me.”

I took another bite, letting the gooey cherry goodness ooze onto my tongue. Last Wednesday. Why did that date ring a bell with me? I racked my little brain as I took a steamy sip of mocha latte. Then it hit me. The eBay auction I’d swiped from Monaldo’s office. BobEDoll had listed his pair of Pradas the same day our Bobbi had bit the dust. I wasn’t totally sure what one thing had to do with the other, but it was quite a coincidence.

“I have something to show you, but I don’t want you to get mad,” I said, setting my doughnut down and wiping my fingers.

Ramirez paused, coffee halfway to his lips. “Great. What now?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well if you’re going to be like that, maybe I won’t show it to you.”

He put down his cup and relieved a little more neck tension. “Okay. Fine. I promise not to get mad.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

“Double pinky swear not to get mad?”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Fine, I double pinky swear.” He held up his little finger. “Now what is it?”

“I kind of took something from Monaldo’s office.”

“Jesus, Maddie!” he yelled, his pinky clenching into a fist. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey, you promised you wouldn’t be mad.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not mad.”

“That mad vein in your neck is bulging.”

He gritted his teeth together. “What did you take?”

I crossed the room to my purse and pulled out the listing, handing it to Ramirez. “I found this in Monaldo’s trash can.”

He stared at it. Then looked back up at me as if not comprehending. “An eBay listing?”

“Not just any listing,” I pointed out. “One for Prada. And the seller is going by the name BobEDoll. Get it? Bobbi, Bob-e-doll. And,” I said, pointing to the listing date, “same day Bobbi died. Kind of a coincidence, right?”

He looked at the paper a minute longer, then folded it and put it in his pocket. “Coincidence? Yes.”

“Significant?” I asked hopefully.

He did a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe. Proof,” he added before I could question, “definitely not.”

I pouted.

Ramirez smiled and leaned in, planting a little kiss on my protruding bottom lip. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you do that.”

“I’m wearing your sweats and my hair is in a wet braid.”

He cocked one eyebrow up. “Which means?”

“This is not sexy either.”

“You know,” Ramirez said, pulling away. “A person can only take so much.”

Tell me about it.

“So what’s the bad news?” I asked, reaching for a second doughnut. Hey, if I wasn’t going to have sex I was damn well going to load up on fat and sugar.

“The bad news is Monaldo wants Bruno back at the club this morning. He’s got a meeting with a vendor and he wants his muscle there while he negotiates. Which means I want you to stay here until I get back.”

“But-” I started.

“No, no buts. For once, please just humor me and do what I say? Don’t make me come bail you out of jail again.”

“You’re not going to let me live that one down, are you?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

After he downed the last of his coffee, Ramirez left, promising he’d be back in a couple of hours and making me