Page 34 of The Ghost Assassin

I roll my eyes and glance up at the waitress who’s standing next to us. “Your coffee sucks,” I say. “I’ll still take a cup but do something to make it better. Lots of cream and whipped cream or whatever works.”

“It does suck,” she agrees, “but I know just how to do you right.” She glows with pride over this announcement.

“Then do me right, too,” Adams instructs. “And what do you have that’s sweet?”

“Pie,” she says. “Today’s special is coconut.”

“Does it taste like the coffee?” I ask.

“It’s actually pretty good,” she assures me and since she was honest about the crummy coffee, I’m leaning toward believing her pie recommendation.

“Think before you answer,” I warn Debbie, per her badge. “Your entire credibility as a human being is riding on this. Do you stand by your claim the pie is ‘pretty good’?”

“I do,” she says with a laugh. “Despite my utter fear of people with badges. My knees are shaking.”

“Yes, well don’t turn us into gods,” I say. “Okay, not him. Just me.” She laughs again and I say, “I’ll try the pretty good coconut pie and I promise not to shoot you or arrest you if it’s bad. I’ll just give you dirty looks.”

“I’m in, too,” Adams says, and the waitress hurries away.

“You’re kinder than I was told,” he comments.

“You’re a very confused person.”

“Let me amend that statement,” he says. “You’re kinder and smarter than the average killer.”

The implication being that I’m a killer and he knows it and when my eyes meet his, the look in his, tells me he means to rattle me, or perhaps even hold me hostage.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Adams underestimates me if he thinks I rattle that easily. “I’ve killed three out of four of my last perps I was hunting,” I say, when it’s really four out of four. No one knows I killed Roger. We got rid of the body. “Are you scared?”

He stares at me for three heavy beats and then bursts into laughter. “No, but I hope our enemies are.”

All right then, I think. “What’s going on with the complete blackout with the press?”

“Murphy’s murder is off the record and a sealed file for now. That stands until the White House says otherwise.” He rests an arm on the back of the seat. “I’ll cut to the chase. I know about the Society. I know about Pocher. Murphy and I talked, which is why I know you were helping Murphy in his efforts to bring them down.”

Am I surprised? Yes.

Am I shocked? Nope.

I just worked a crime scene with dismembered body parts. I’m not rattled by words and revelations. “Are all those things you just said supposed to make me agree with you? Or even go so far as to trust you?”

“If they did, I’d be disappointed. Who killed Murphy?”

“I’m looking at motive and opportunity. Where were you last night? You certainly have motive. You got his job.”

He chuckles. “Murphy told me you were a handful.”

“He didn’t tell me about you at all.”

Debbie sets two cups of whipped cream on the table, only I’m pretty sure there’s coffee underneath the mound. “Try that,” she urges.

These diners and their whipped cream really are winning my love. “And that,” Debbie urges a minute later, as she returns from a quick trip to the counter to deliver our slices of pie.

“Thanks,” I say. “Give me a few and I’ll report on your recommendations.”

She nods quickly and rushes away, my attention returning to Adams, who’s already diving into the pie. “It’s good,” he says. “We won’t have to shoot her.” He winks.

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