Cat Scratch Cleaver

know you’re interested in this case. And I know better than to think you’re not going to try to question as many people as you can, but this case is still in an infantile state. It needs to be coddled, and I’m asking kindly for you to quell any urges you might have to put on your sleuthing hat.”
“Fine.” I make a face. “And I know you better than to think you’re going to hold back on me—seeing that you’re an expert at quelling desire.” I waggle my brows and manage to squeeze a wry smile from him. “Now, details, please.”
His gray eyes penetrate mine a moment too long.
“Okay, fine.” He takes a quick look around. “Last night, before the murder, Camila was telling me that she knew Heather.”
My mouth falls open. “My God, Camila did it!” I say with a touch too much glee. “Could you please lock her up and throw away the key as an early wedding gift to your soon-to-be bride?”
A dark laugh rumbles through his chest. “You do realize I’d much rather talk about our upcoming wedding. Did you find a dress?”
“You’re trying to change the subject. You were about to arrest Camila, remember?”
“No.” He frowns. “I don’t think she did it. She took off for the restroom just as I took off to find you.”
“And then you didn’t see her again, so she’s a suspect.” Okay, so my sleuthing math may be off a bit, but it doesn’t have to be exact when his ex is concerned. “How about it, big boy?” I say in the sultriest voice I can manage. “A little handcuff action can get you a long way.” I wince. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”
His lids hood dangerously low. “I think it came out just right.” He leans over the counter and lands a kiss to my lips. “Hold that thought. Hopefully, I won’t be at the station until four in the morning again.” He toasts me with his cup of coffee. “Don’t hold your breath. Stay out of trouble.” He gives a quick wink before he takes off.
“Stay out of trouble,” I mutter just as Emmie delivers Sherlock a strip of bacon.
Tell Emmie she’s my favorite. He tucks himself back under the stool and gets to the task of gobbling it down.
“I think you’re Sherlock’s favorite person right about now.”
Emmie laughs as she hands me a strip of bacon as well.
“That was some night, huh?”
I can’t help but give her a side-glance. “It was. How are things going with you and Leo?”
Her eyes light up as she bites down on her lip—two obvious signs of trouble.
“Spill it,” I say, rocking my hip to hers.
“I think we’re getting pretty serious. I’m ready to take things to the next level.”
I squint over at her. “What next level?” As much as I like Leo, I don’t know how much I like him with my bestie. I can’t help it. Emmie is more like my sister than Macy has ever been. I suck in a quick breath. “You’re going to do the deed?”
She waves me off. “Not that. The deed has been done. Have you met me?”
“Good point. So what’s left?” I’m about to nosh on a s’mores bar before I hit the brakes and suck in another quick breath. “Cinnamon and Gatsby are getting married?” Emmie adopted an adorable redheaded labradoodle cutie a few months back and Leo just adopted a dapper looking golden retriever. “It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming. We can have the wedding right at the gazebo that overlooks the cliff.” That’s the precise spot where Jasper and I will be doing the matrimonial deed ourselves in a little over a month. Of course, Fish and Sherlock will play a part in the wedding day festivities. “Ohh, I just had a thought. We can go shopping for pet clothes together. Fish and Sherlock need to get gussied up for my wedding, too.”
Sherlock gives a riotous roar as if he suddenly morphed into a lion. That’s a hard no, Bizzy. We’ve already played dress up, remember?
Emmie makes a face. “I think he’s still traumatized from that doggy fashion show.” She tosses him another piece of bacon to quell him. “But no, Cinnamon and Gatsby, unlike their owners, are taking things slow. As for Leo and me, I think I’m going to tell him I love him.”
A crowd rushes the counter and Emmie takes off to tend to them.
She loves him? As in the big L word that typically comes before a major commitment? My heart thuds hard inside my chest as if it were looking for an escape route. My God, Emmie is getting in way too deep.
I take a moment to catch my breath.
If Emmie and Leo exchange I love yous, Leo might just be moved to let her in on his telepathic secret.
I look over at my sweet bestie and groan. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve never shared with Emmie the fact I’m transmundane, further classified as telesensual. I wasn’t always able to pry into other people’s thoughts. But when I was about thirteen, Mackenzie Woods, aka Mayor Mackenzie Woods, pushed me into a whiskey barrel full of water during a Halloween party and darn near drowned me. And after that, I’ve been privy to people’s wandering thoughts. I can pretty much control who I hear unless I’m stressed, then it’s open season and it feels as if I’m listening to the whole world at once. If I focus in on someone, I can try to pry into their mind, but typically most people come in clear and easy—unless, of course, they’re having unsavory thoughts, thus the white noise I get now and again.
No sooner does the thought of how I came to have this supernatural quirk drift through my mind than in walks Mayor Woods in a powder blue power suit, her go-to accouterment, and a snarl on her face, her go-to expression.
“Bizzy Baker,” she hisses my name out like