“What’s your major?” Miranda asked.
“Who’s that?” Charleston asked.
“Someone I met in line, I told you it was long, we’re reduced to making small talk with each other.”
“Gotta take a call,” Charleston said, and hung up. His voice sounded urgent, but I knew better than to try to keep him on the phone when he sounded like that.
I put my phone in the pocket of my exercise pants and said, “Pre-law.”
Miranda smiled up at me; her red lips looked somewhere between sexy and predatory. Even if I’d been free to take her up on the invitation, I wasn’t sure about that smile.
She looked me up and down like she was thinking about buying more than just the coffee. “You know my name,” she said, motioning with the coffee, “but I don’t know yours yet.”
I looked over her head to the table where Shelby was still sitting. Her boyfriend was coming back from the bathroom. “I’m Havoc.”
“Friends of yours?” she asked.
“Not my friends.” I put too much emphasis on the my, but I also raised my hand so she could see the wedding ring.
She moved the coffee cup so I could see the wedding set on her own hand. “Everyone needs friends of their own, Havoc.” Then she giggled and that was a better sound, a real sound that she’d probably been making long before she started wearing scarlet lipstick. I liked the sound and fought to stay in character and not give her my real smile, which didn’t match the act.
“Agreed,” I said, then looked back over the crowd like I was worried that my spouse’s friends would see us together.
“I’ll make it quick, how old are you? The truth.”
“Thirty-two,” I said.
“Liar,” she said.
I wasn’t lying, but I gave her that fake roguish smile and said, “Thirty-two.”
She looked me up and down again and sighed. “With your friends here, I won’t make you show me ID.”
“I swear I’m legal,” I said.
“Sorry, but I’m too old to believe you without proof.”
“You’re not that old,” I said, and meant it. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Shelby and the boyfriend were getting up. “Her friends are coming this way,” I said, voice lower.
“Nice to meet you, Havoc, if that’s really your name.”
“Nice to meet you, Miranda, and yes, it’s really my name.”
“No one is really named Havoc.”
“I am,” I said, and looked past her to Shelby coming closer through the crowd.
“Good luck, Havoc, or whatever your name is,” Miranda said, and went for the door.
I didn’t argue with her this time, just let her go and realized I was almost up to the coffee counter, but Shelby and her boyfriend were headed for the door. I looked at my watch like I had run out of time, just in case Shelby recognized me from earlier. She was so wrapped around the arm of her boyfriend, I don’t think she noticed anything else. Her face had been perfect and almost harsh when I’d seen her earlier, but now she was soft and happy, and the makeup and hair now seemed to match the boyfriend’s natural coloring. I wondered if she’d done it on purpose, or if it had been subconscious. Either way she looked like a woman in love as she went out the door arm in arm with her Ken.
My phone rang as I put my sunglasses on and followed them out. Charleston said, “The crime scene at the dorm wasn’t the first, it was the second. Three of the five women Cookson was stalking are dead.”
I strolled down the sidewalk, trying to look like I was enjoying the conversation and not following anyone. I smiled while I lowered my voice and said, “Is it definitely Cookson?”
“The ME is messengering over the skin to me.”
“Doesn’t this prove he’s on this side of the veil?” I asked. Shelby and her boyfriend slowed to look in the window of a shop just ahead, so I turned to the shop near me.
“Yeah, this proves Cookson is here. I’m going to ask the loa to help me locate his ass.” Shelby and her boyfriend were still looking at the shop window as if it was fascinating, so I turned to my shop window, trying to seem as interested. It was a florist; staring at the flowers and plants made me wonder if sending flowers to Reggie would be too much; yes, it would be too much, but I filed it away for later. If tomorrow went well, and the date night went well, then maybe flowers.
“Did you hear me?” Charleston asked.
“I’m sorry, sir, no.” I felt incredibly careless.
“The uniforms should be driving by any minute. Bridges and Antero, and the MacGregors are en route to you.”
“The subject is window-shopping with the boyfriend just ahead of me. Street is clear.” I saw movement in the window behind the flowers and realized that Miranda was in the shop. Dear God, she was going to think I was following her. I tried to move away, but the look on her face let me know she’d spotted me.
I couldn’t think of what to say as she came out with a wrapped bouquet of cut flowers. She knew exactly what to say. “Do I need a policeman to stop you from following me, or a hotel room so we can cure this sexual tension?”
I said loudly on the phone, “Honey, of course I remembered it was the anniversary of our first date. I wanted it to be a surprise, but that’s why I’m running late.”
“The skin is here, make sure your angels guard your ass until your backup arrives,” Charleston said.
“Of course I remember what your favorite flower is,” I said, but Charleston had already hung up. He had a voodoo ceremony to perform that would hopefully help us locate Cookson.
“Are you off the phone?” Miranda whispered.
I put the phone in my pocket and nodded.
“Wow, almost cheated on your anniversary, you would have been in hot water.”
“She reminded me in time,” I said.
“Do you really remember her favorite flowers?”
“Sunflowers, and if they’re out of season, gerbera daisies in as many colors as I can find them.” I smiled saying it, because they were Reggie’s favorites. I glanced down the street and saw Shelby and her boyfriend still cuddling in front of the window two shops down.
I looked at the mixed bouquet of flowers in Miranda’s arms. “Who are you buying them for?”
“Me,” she said.
I raised eyebrows at that, using the dark glasses to hopefully hide the fact that I was looking at the couple down the street. They’d started to kiss, which was good for me since it kept them stationary.
“Shouldn’t the person who put a ring on your finger be buying them for you?”
“I could say that’s sexist.”
“You could, and if you prefer to buy your own flowers I apologize.”
She smiled, but it left her eyes dull. “No, I don’t prefer to buy my own, but I got tired of hinting years ago, and outright asking got to be humiliating, so now I buy my own.”
“I would say shame on him, but it would sound hypocritical.”
“That you noticed that puts you ahead of most men.”
“Then I’m sorry on behalf of all of us. You deserve better.”
“Doesn’t your wife deserve better?”