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The dead talked to Riley Thorn in her dreams. The living inconveniently telegraphed their secrets to her over grocery conveyor belts and in crowded restaurants.
“I blame you, Nick Santiago,” she yelled to her breasts again and mashed the gas pedal to the floor.
The divorce still stung. And there was that whole being broke thing. She didn’t want to meet someone new and have to explain to him why her roommates were all on Medicare.
“You need to tell whoever it is whatever it is, Riley. It’s a gift. You’re wasting your talents by ignoring them.” “It’s not a gift,”
It was a shitty job with a shitty company. But divorced TV-news-writer pariahs couldn’t be choosers.
“Hey, Jas.” “That tangerine weasel gave her your ring.”
When the judge had ordered Riley to pay damages to her lying, cheating ex-husband, Jasmine had calmly strolled out of the courthouse, got in her SUV, and rammed it into the driver’s side door of Griffin’s Audi convertible.
“No, you’re not. You’re living in a sketchy retirement home. Working a dead-end job. You’re not dating. And I bet you a bottle of that tequila that not only did you not put on mascara this morning; you’re wearing gray or black.” Riley was wearing gray and black.
“Oh really? What are your feelings?”
“I find myself wishing karma worked more swiftly,”
“You’re so weird.” Riley laughed. “You could be too if you just gave yourself the permission.”
“Riley,” the vision stranger breathed as he lined up his very, very nice cock with her center. “Nick,” Vision Riley gasped as he drove into her.
The vision—or more likely the exercise-induced hallucination—retreated.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she said, extending her hand. He paused for a second before taking her hand. “I’m Nick.” Well, hell. Score one for the vision. Her nose gave a twitch. Bedspread. Lava lamp. Sex.
“You’re not really collecting candy money, are you, Nick?”
“Now what would give you that idea, Thorn?”
“There is no Chunkie Munkie Choco Nut Bar.” “What are you? Some kind of—” “Nature Girl candy connoisseur,” she finished for him. “What’s your niece’s name?”
“Esmeralda.”
“No one is named Esmeralda.”
Except for all the fucking paperwork. And walking in on his cousin getting a lap dance in his wheelchair from his wife
He
thought of the pretty neighbor with the pizza sauce on her tank. He’d always been a sucker for big brown eyes. And pizza.
“You got all dreamy-faced for a second.” “I’m not dreamy-faced,”
“You met someone,” Brian sang.
“I hate working with family,”
An attractive hot mess with a smart mouth living with a bunch of senior citizens and lying about family ties? The mysterious Ms. Thorn interested him.
Profile Picture Thorn was wearing one hell of a diamond engagement ring and a diamond-encrusted wedding band. Rings that had most definitely not been on her finger last night. He’d checked. “Nice to meet you, Riley Thorn,”
“Just goes to show you can say anything you want, but that don’t make you a different person than what you are down deep.”
“Complications make the world go round,” Perry mused.
You’re a young, healthy man, Nicholas. Complications are the best part of life. I’m starting to get concerned about you.”
“Sometimes karma takes her sweet time to work things out,”
“She called your bras a ‘pornographic eyesore,’”
“That greasy, close-minded slug trail had better learn to mind her business,”
“Sometimes the words that hurt the most are the ones you need to hear the most,”
“I didn’t just see the future,” Riley told herself between slow deep breaths. “I had a hallucination. It was the cabbage. Food poisoning.”
What if Hot Nick the fake candy guy was involved? What were the odds that a total stranger would just happen to come looking for the man whose death she’d just envisioned…witnessed…imagined…hallucinated…under false pretenses? Was Hot Nick a deadly assassin? And if so, what had Dickie done to piss him off? Also, what did being physically attracted to a murderer say about her?
“You knocked on my door under false pretenses looking for Dickie Frick, not collecting candy money. Then I find you lurking in the parking
lot two days later. You’re obviously up to no good,”
“So you’d get in a car with someone you thought was a murderer? That’s irresponsible. Didn’t your parents te...
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“First of all, no. My parents didn’t teach me about stranger danger. Second, I can junk punch a whole lot harder than any of my neighbors, so I’d rather you have to go through me to get to them. And third, ex...
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She appeared to be immune to his dimples. This was uncharted territory for Nick Santiago.
“I’m a private investigator, Thorn, not a hit man. I don’t generally shoot people,” Nick said with an exasperated laugh.
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I watched my girl carry all this stuff up all those stairs?”
“A fake one?” she shot back.
Nick’s ass going up stairs turned out to be the distraction Riley had been looking for.
She wondered if there was any way to will one vision to actually happen—naked hot Nick—while preventing another—dead Dickie.
“You didn’t do it because I asked you not to. It’s as simple as that. And you like my dimples and my ass, but you haven’t flirted with me at all.”
“Oh please. Maybe I’m just not attracted to you,” she shot back.
“Yeah. I don’t th...
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“Face it, Thorn. You’re a good girl. A nice girl. A rule follower.”
