The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

“What do you mean? I think things are exactly the way they seem. My mother is a no good dirty—”

“Oh, Heather.” Cooper cuts me off, shaking his head, then winces when the pain stops him. “So beautiful, yet so cold. I mean it just goes to show that your mother’s motives for showing up here the other night may not have been entirely duplicitous. Judging by the size of the knife that guy pulled on me, I think she had reason to believe she was in trouble—real trouble—and needed our help, but she didn’t know quite how to ask for it, especially after the way she’s treated you all these years.”

After this speech—which is a bit hard to understand thanks to his busted lip—Cooper reaches for the water glass, and takes a long drink through the straw.

“Why would I help her?” I demand. “Especially now! What has she ever done for me . . . or you? Except nearly get you killed today.”

“I brought that on myself,” he says, when his mouth is less dry, one of the side effects listed on the pill bottle. “As you pointed out, I should have left well enough alone. But . . . well, it’s not in my nature. Let’s face it, though: it’s not in your nature, either, Heather. That’s why we make such a perfect pair. We’re lucky to have found each another. I feel sorry sometimes for people like your mom. Maybe her problem isn’t that she’s a dirty, no good whatever-you-were-going-to-call-her. It’s that she was never lucky enough to find her soul mate, like we were.”

I frown, even though I know there might be something to what he’s saying. Still, this isn’t something a girl likes to admit . . . especially since I can’t help thinking back to Detective Canavan’s unpleasant assertion that I’m a shitkicker. That makes Cooper one, too. So we’re a couple of shitkickers in love?

How romantic.

“What about my poor dad?” I ask. “If my mom’s taken off with Ricardo’s money—and knowing her, you can bet that’s what this is all about—then she’s putting Dad in danger, staying with him.” I snap my fingers. “This completely explains why she didn’t want to stay in a hotel! She knew if she used a credit card, Ricardo could find her. Not that he didn’t manage to find her anyway. Oh, this is a nightmare.” I groan and cover my eyes.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Cooper says. “Ricardo’s going to be in the Tombs until at least tomorrow morning. Then if he can’t make bail—which I doubt he will, since he resisted arrest, and you know how fondly judges look upon that—he’ll be shipped off to Rikers. So wherever your mom’s taken off to, she’s got a good head start on him. And your dad’s fine. He just ordered in Chinese food.”

“Wait.” I drop my hands away from my face in order to stare at him. “How do you know that?”

Sheepishly, Cooper holds up his cell phone. There’s a text on it from someone called Kenny.

“You’re having my dad’s apartment building staked out?” I cry.

“Of course not,” he says, as if this would be completely unreasonable. “I just bribed the doorman to keep me updated on your dad’s activities.”

“Oh,” I say in mock relief. “That’s so much better.”

“See,” Cooper says. “This is why I never wanted you to know the details of what I do for a living, because it’s not pleasant. I spy on people. I’m always going to spy on people, even when I get beat up for doing it, and even when I’m not getting paid to do it. I like spying on people. It’s what I do, Heather. And if you’re going to be married to me, you’re going to have to get used to it.”

I lean back against the pillows and eye him, taking in the stubborn slant of his jaw, and the challenging gleam in his eye. “Gosh. You mean you wouldn’t quit detecting if I asked you to?”

“No. Would you quit writing songs and working in the dorm if I asked you to?”

“No. Not unless you had some sort of fatal disease and you wanted me to come with you to the south of France to enjoy your last few months of life.”

“Oh,” he says, his features relaxing. “Well, that would be a different story. I would completely quit detecting to nurse you through a fatal disease, especially in the south of France.”

I reach out to brush back a dark strand of hair that’s fallen across his forehead. “I had no idea being a private detective was so . . . complicated. From your billing, it certainly looks boring.”

“It usually is,” Cooper says. “But like I said . . . things aren’t always what they seem.”

“Yes, I can see that now.” I kiss the place on his forehead where the strand of hair had lain. “Well, enough about fatal diseases. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better right now?”

One of Cooper’s dark eyebrows lifts. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, my hand creeping beneath the sheet. “Where does it hurt?”

“Well,” he admits. “Kind of everywhere.”

“What about here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow of my own.

He inhales. “I might need a little attention in that area. You did say something earlier about a finger sandwich, if I recall.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not so sure you want one of those. I looked it up a little while ago. That’s when a girl has sex with two guys at once. I could call Hal up here, if you—”

“I very definitely,” Cooper says, “do not want a finger sandwich, ever.”

“Message received,” I say, flipping back the sheet. “Let’s see what I can do to change your mind about my nursing abilities.”

I did change his mind, thoroughly.

28

Students Allegedly Made Homeless by College Administration

College officials are declining to comment

on the fact that nine resident assistants—more than half the staff—have been fired from their positions at Fischer Hall for “behavior not tolerated by this institution” and told to find alternative housing by Sunday.

The “behavior” in which the RAs are alleged to have been engaging is one most New York College students have engaged in at one time or another: partying.

These nine RAs, however, were allegedly partying with the prince of Qalif, and also with underage residents from their floors.