The 6th Target (Women's Murder Club 6)

“Tea would be great.”

I fell back onto the sofa cushions, and a few minutes later, Cindy returned from the kitchen, pulled up a footstool to sit on, and handed me a mug. “Talk to me,” she said.

No joke, Cindy was a perfect paradox: all pink ruffles and curls on the outside, never leaving home without lipstick and the perfect shoes, but inside that girlie-girl was a bulldog who would get a grip on your leg and hang on until you had no choice but to tell her what she wanted to know.

I suddenly felt idiotic. Just seeing Cindy changed my mood for the better, and I no longer wanted to open myself up and talk about Joe.

“I wanted to see your apartment.”

“Give. Me. A. Break.”

“You’re relentless —”

“Blame it on my choice of career.”

“And proud of it.”

“Ab-solutely.”

“Bitch.” I found myself laughing.

“Go ahead. Get it off your chest,” she said. “Give me your best shot.”

“Calling you a bitch was my best shot.”

“Okay, then. What gives, Linds?”

I covered my face with a throw pillow, shutting out the light, feeling myself tumbling down. I sighed. “I broke up with Joe.”

Cindy grabbed the pillow away from my face.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Be nice, okay, Cindy? Or I’ll throw up on your rug.”

“Okay, okay, so why did you do that? Joe’s smart. He’s gorgeous. He loves you. You love him. What’s wrong with you?”

I pulled my knees up and hugged them tight with my arms. Cindy sat down next to me on the couch. She put an arm around me.

I felt as if I were holding on to a skinny tree while being lashed by a tidal wave. I’d been crying so much lately. I thought I might be losing my mind.

“Take your time, honey. I’m here. The night is young. Sort of.”

So I gave in, blurted out the story about my totally embarrassing trip to DC and how I felt about the whole mood-swinging affair with Joe. “It really, really hurts, Cindy. But I did the right thing.”

“It’s not just because you got your feelings hurt when he wasn’t home and you saw that girl?”

“No. Hell no.”

“Oh, God, Linds, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Lie down here. Close your eyes.”

Cindy pushed me gently onto my side, put a pillow under my head. A moment later, a blanket floated over me. The light went off, and I felt Cindy tuck me in.

“It’s not over, Linds. Trust me. It’s not over.”

“You’re wrong once in a while, you know,” I muttered

.