Chapter 1
“Who wants cake?” Wyatt leaned out of the kitchen entryway and brandished a butcher knife.
Shepherd glowered at his partner, who stood beneath an archway of colorful balloons. “If you cut that cake, I’ll cut out your heart.”
“Easy there, Hannibal Lecter. I’m only having some fun.”
I took the knife from his hand and replaced it with a plastic bag of uninflated balloons. “If you want to have fun, finish blowing these up.” I set the knife on the long table behind Viktor’s chair, which we normally used for alcohol. Today it was filled with plates of sugar cookies and a large bowl of fruit punch. Kira was busy preparing a birthday feast for Hunter, who turned six today.
Balloons outlined the doorways, plates with cartoon characters filled the table, and colorful streamers hung from the iron chandelier. I’d been to a few birthday parties in my time—more than these guys had—and was put in charge of buying party supplies. I could have let Shepherd do it all, but I’d needed the outing. It had only been a week since closing our last case, and while the paycheck should have been enough to satisfy me, I still felt unsettled after my burial. That gap in my memory gnawed away at my sanity each night, and when I’d tried calling the White Owl twice to speak to Houdini, he wasn’t there. Even if he wasn’t the one behind it, he might have seen something. The last thing I remember before waking up in a coffin was walking out of his club. After that… nothing.
Gem rolled around me and skidded to a stop. “Are you okay?”
I smiled at her outfit. “You look more festive than the decorations.”
With her hip jutting out, she glanced down at her pink romper. “Do you think the skates match?”
Her roller skates shimmered like prisms and reflected light from every direction, the laces and wheels both pink.
“I almost chose the all-pink ones,” she explained, “but that would be too much pink.”
I gestured to her crystal necklace. “They match your jewelry.”
Her violet eyes widened. “You’re right! Oh, I adore celebrations. It’s my first party. I don’t mean the fancy balls we go to but a real birthday party with presents and balloons. It’s better than television! Nobody better spike the punch. I want a big glass of it,” she said, rolling away with a streamer tangled around one of her wheels.
Gem was the only one who had dressed up for the occasion. The rest of us looked ready for a street fight, especially Shepherd, who had a pack of cigarettes tucked inside the sleeve of his black T-shirt.
I finished taping the last inflated balloon to the back of my chair.
Christian waltzed in and dropped two giant handfuls of candy on Hunter’s empty plate. “The sweets are from me.”
A balloon escaped from Wyatt’s lips and noisily deflated in an erratic pattern above the table before dropping to the floor. “Hold your ponies. Those are from my vending machine. Did you break into it again?”
Christian smiled wryly as he took a seat. “’Tis the thought that counts.”
I sat next to him. “Why didn’t you buy him a gift? It’s not like you don’t have any money.”
Christian folded his arms. “We didn’t have presents when I was growing up, and I turned out just fine.”
Shepherd finished taping up the Happy Birthday sign on the far wall and wiped his brow. “Fucking hell, whose idea was this?”
“Yours,” we all chanted.
“I don’t recall asking for all this bullshit,” he grumbled, eyes darting between the decorations.
Secretly, Shepherd was enjoying the hell out of it. He’d gone out of his way to buy his son presents on the sly. Hunter had picked them out himself without knowing it on a recent shopping trip. This would be his first genuine birthday party, and we aimed to make it memorable. We knew Patrick Bane, the cruel bastard, had never done anything special for the boy.
I couldn’t help but wonder how Shepherd was handling this momentous day. It wasn’t just Hunter’s birthday but also the day of his wife’s death and one he had thought was his son’s death. Those tragic events traumatized him physically and mentally. He’d only recounted the story once, but the scars covering his hands, arms, and chest were a constant reminder. Shepherd must have dwelled on that tragedy every June 2, but today would mark the first time it would mean something entirely different.
“A monkey could do better than that,” Shepherd growled, pushing Wyatt aside. “Let me handle it before you mess everything up.” Shepherd removed three inflated balloons from the archway and repositioned them in a way that didn’t make any difference.
Christian leaned back in his chair and rested his hand on my thigh. We quietly watched the team scurry about to get the finishing touches in order.
Blue rushed into the room, her feather earrings fluttering behind her and a bag in hand. “Sorry I’m late. Do you guys need help with anything?”
Cookie crumbs fell from Wyatt’s mouth as he gobbled up one of the treats. “Ask the warden.”
Still winded, Blue leaned over Hunter’s chair and noticed the presents. “I wanted to get him a bow and arrow, but Shep said no.”
“Damn right I said no,” he parroted from the doorway.
She shook her head. “He’s the right age for it. Anyhow, I got him something better.”
Shepherd finished adjusting the last balloon and returned to the table. “Better not be an axe.”
“Modern toys don’t make sense to me,” she said. “I know a guy who makes hand-carved toys, and I asked him to design little people and a horse. Kids should be spirited away by their imagination, not electronics.”
Wyatt strutted to his chair and sat. “I don’t know what you’ve got against my gift.”
She threw him a sharp look. “A Nincompoop?”
“Nintendo. And it’s vintage.”
Gem rolled out from the kitchen and whispered, “She’s making spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Why are you whispering?” Wyatt asked.
Gem grimaced. “Because I don’t think she’s using beef for the meatballs.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe it’s squirrel.”
Gem wrinkled her nose and shuddered, which made Wyatt laugh.
Shepherd smacked the back of Wyatt’s head, knocking off his slouchy cap. Then he took his seat between Wyatt and Gem. “The meatballs are ground pork and Italian sausage. It’s an old recipe that… well, it’s good.” He stared at the mountain of gifts, which were mostly from him. “Where’s Claude?”
“He’s the lookout,” I said. “I sent him to let us know when they’re on their way down. Someone should call Viktor in here before the party starts.”
“He’s still on a business call,” Christian informed me, and I sensed something in his tone.
I twisted in my chair to look at the gifts lined up against the wall. They were identical in length and size, each wrapped in a different colored paper. Two long ones were leaning in the corner beside a wider package. “What the hell is all that?”
“A bookshelf,” Gem said. “It’s from Claude.”
I snorted. “He wrapped each individual shelf? That should be exciting. Too bad we can’t take pictures of the kid’s face when he tears away the paper and finds a plank of wood.”