“What news?” I asked as Zach reached for me and leaned into my arms. I squeezed him tight, pretty sure nothing was as newsworthy as Nick’s discovery this afternoon.
Vero handed me a folded copy of the local gazette. “Bottom of the front page,” she said.
I set Zach on the floor and he toddled off. My balloon thumped against the ceiling as I let it loose to open the newspaper.
There I was.
My author photo—me with my blond wig-scarf, my eyes ob scured behind dark sunglasses—had been printed in black-and-white under a headline: Local Author Scores Six Figures for Her Upcoming Crime Novel.
My heart soared for half a second before it crashed in a burning pile of ash.
I was in the newspaper. My book was in the newspaper. What the hell had Sylvia done?
I skimmed the article, my pulse climbing.
An interview with Fiona Donahue’s agent, Sylvia Barr, of Barr and Associates in Manhattan, revealed a sneak peek into Donahue’s book, due out next fall.
When asked why she felt this book had made such a splash with her publisher, Mrs. Barr said, “Fiona is a real talent. This book will put her on the bestseller charts. It’s fresh. It’s hot. I smell a huge hit with this one!”
I let out a breath. Maybe that was all she’d told them. Maybe she hadn’t told anyone what the book was actually ab—
I sank down into a chair, certain I was having a coronary as I read on.
When a professional hit woman is hired by a desperate wife to dispose of her problem husband—a wealthy accountant with ties to the mob—someone beats the assassin to the punch … and now the wife’s gone missing, too. Determined to investigate her mark’s mysterious murder before she can be framed for it, a sexy contract killer teams up with an unsuspecting hotshot cop to figure out what went wrong.
“You did it, Mommy! Vero says you’re famous. Like a TV star.” Delia squeezed my legs, looking up at me with the same doe-eyed, adoring expression she usually reserved for her father. “Can we have cake now?”
“Yes, this calls for cake!” Vero marched the kids to the kitchen as I read the rest of the article with my heart in my throat. A month ago, this news would have been every dream I’d ever had for myself. But if Nick secured a warrant to dig up that field, this press release could be the nail in my coffin.
Vero set a frosting-slathered chunk of cake on Zach’s high chair tray, and another in front of Delia. “Can I talk to you?” I whispered.
“After cake,” Vero said, carving herself a slice and dropping a dollop of ice cream on top.
I grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her with me, the ice cream scoop clutched stubbornly in her hand dripping a path into the living room.
“Ow!” She scowled at me as she adjusted her paper party hat. I resisted the urge to knock it off her head.
“Nick and I just left Steven’s farm,” I whispered.
Vero paled. “What were you doing there?”
“He found sod on Feliks’s car and traced it back to the field. He’s pulling a warrant to dig it up.”
Vero looked down at the newspaper like she might be sick. It was one thing to have your fictional murder mystery featured in the local news. It was entirely another when someone actually found the body. “Why the hell didn’t you stop him?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know!” Drips of vanilla trailed down her hand and scattered across the carpet. “Distract him! Use your feminine wiles, like you did before!”
“For all the good that did me!”
We glanced back into the kitchen, both of us probably thinking the same thing.
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” We could take Irina’s money, pack up the kids, and flee the country. But where would we go? And how long would it take Andrei and Feliks to find us once Irina told them we’d stolen it?
“How long will it take him to get a warrant?” Vero asked.
“No idea.” I couldn’t very well call Julian and ask him. “Nick said it wouldn’t be easy to track down a judge on a weekend. Maybe a day or two.”
“Okay,” Vero said through a deep breathing technique that reminded me painfully of Lamaze. “Okay, that’s good. So all we have to do is move the body before he finds it.”
A shrill laugh exploded in the kitchen. Vero and I turned to see Zach smearing cake frosting into his hair. Delia watched him with a look of mild disgust, her pout stained with blue food coloring. There had been enough sugar in that cake to keep them awake for the next forty-eight hours. This was not going to be easy.