Drop Dead Gorgeous

By any means?

Like coming to see me in the morgue about a case . . . questioning the autopsy report and labs . . . investigating to find an explanation that would lead to enough doubts to deny the claim?

Could that be what Blake has been doing all along?

That first time he came to the morgue about Yvette Horne’s case, it was Holly who pushed him into going for drinks.

Not him. Maybe he saw an opportunity and took it? A chance to use me and get a little something extra out of it too. Holly says guys will lie, cheat, and steal to get laid, so what if Blake did lie?

Manipulate me to get what he wanted with a bonus. He’s probably been laughing the whole time at how superstitious, lonely, and pathetic I am.

Drop-Dead Gorgeous?

Trailer Park Princess?

Black Widow?

The hurt of the names I’ve heard hundreds of times is nothing compared to whatever Blake probably calls me in his head. Pity Fuck Roulette?

With my history, Blake has to be afraid that he’s tempting fate by spending time with me.

It’d serve him right. I hope he pays.

Malicious thoughts flood me, my eyes burning hot.

I don’t even know what I’m doing, but somehow, the coaster I’m still holding clatters to the floor once again, and I bolt for the door, knocking over a chair as I go.

“Zoey?” Judge Hopkins calls from his desk, but I don’t stop. I have to get out of here.

I am such a fool. I knew better, knew not to hope and dream. But this time, it’s not the person I care about who’s been cut down by the cruelty of fate.

This time . . . it’s me.

Or perhaps the irony is that when I finally put myself first, started to care for myself instead of everyone else, and believed that maybe I was worth the risk, I’m the one hurt worst of all.

Out the door of the courtroom, I run down the stairs and then down another flight to my basement hidey hole. The frigid room is still warmer than the ice that’s running through my veins, freezing my heart back into a solid, impenetrable fortress.

“Zoey?” a deep voice says from the door.

I wipe at my eyes furiously, not wanting to be seen as weak, even though I’m falling apart. “Yes?”

“You want me to kill him?” Jeff asks deadpan.

Or maybe he’s serious? I’m not sure.

But wait . . .

“What?”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Blake Hale. As soon as I saw that damn invoice, I knew you’d been playing Nancy Drew with him as your Hardy Boy. If I’d known he was sniffing around, I would’ve run him off.”

He says it as though that would be a kindness, and I suppose it would’ve been because then I wouldn’t have ruined the potential case or gotten my heart broken.

Again.

“You’ve got your quirks, Zoey, but you don’t deserve the shit that’s happened to you, least of all, this. Just blink twice and I’ll take care of things.”

A fresh burst of tears pours out of my soul, but with them comes a tiny laugh that makes snot bubble from my nose. I grab a tissue and try to wipe it all away, every last bit of snot, tears, and pain.

“It’s okay. I knew better. I shouldn’t have thought it would be any different.” He pats my shoulder awkwardly, and as sad as it is, it’s the closest thing I’ve had to parental comfort in so long that I lean into it. “I’m sorry I messed up the case.”

“Pshaw. Don’t worry about that none. If Yvette killed him, she ain’t getting her money, and like I told you, today was about money, not law. I can still investigate. You might be surprised to learn this, Zoey, but I’m not half-bad at figuring stuff out myself, so if there’s a way to do it legally, I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promised Richard Horne, same as I do every person in the county, to serve and protect. I couldn’t protect him, but I can make sure he’s served proper justice.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“Now, you’d best get out of here. I’m betting that Hale fellow is gonna be down here as soon as Mike bangs his gavel and that you’d rather be gone when he gets here. You can go see Martha if you want. She’ll fix you up. Probably have you eating cookies in fifteen minutes. She’s got this new recipe she’s playing with, some oatmeal raisin thing with zucchini in it. Oh, don’t tell her I know about the zucchini because she thinks she’s sneaking me some green vegetables, but the truth is, I’m the one sneaking extra cookies.”

He’s right.

About Martha, but more importantly, that I don’t want to see Blake.

Not now, not ever. I’m afraid I’d be inclined to call down hellfire and fury, beg the universe to do to him what it’s done to me. And I don’t want that on my shoulders.