Five firefighters poured into the bakery from the front door.

A key jiggled at the back door, unlocking it.

Pelican Bay might have been a small town full of gossips, but the emergency response time hit off the charts.

The back door flew open and five former SEALs wearing matching black polo shirts filed in one by one.

I stared, getting a nice peek at all the muscles on display. The city had to be putting something in the water. Smoke continued to fill the room, the smell seeping into my clothing and hair. The rich smoky scent reminded me of Christmas at my grandmother's house. She wasn't a skilled cook, either.

Tabitha stood at the swinging metal doors with pursed lips. "Oops."

Anessa turned from the oven and with a flick of her wrist dropped a burning ball of goo on the metal island. "A cookie fell off the rack. No need to freak out."

She must have gotten forceful when she shoved the last rack in the oven. Bennett, her boyfriend extraordinaire, former SEAL, and one of the top guys at Pelican Bay Security with Ridge Jefferson, stood beside her inspecting the flaming ball of goo.

He tipped an empty metal bowl over it, extinguishing the flames.

"It's fine," Anessa continued. "No one needs to know about this."

Silence, but it didn't last.

"We have to file a report every time we bring the truck," Adam, a volunteer firefighter with the city, said.

Anessa's face fell. "You brought the fire truck?"

The room was warm, especially with the smoke, but her face turned a bright red that didn't match the temperature.

"I'm going to have to update Ridge, too," Bennett said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Tabitha was here."

Anessa threw her hands in the air, dislodging his hold. "I'm blaming Tabitha for the flames in the first place."

"Hey!" Tabitha scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest but didn't argue.

"You are all being ridiculous. It was a cookie," Anessa said when no one laughed and promised her they were joking.

The swinging metal doors to the front of the bakery slammed open and Thatcher ran in, carrying his EMT bag. His gaze swept the room, and he came to a stop next to another former SEAL. "False alarm?"

"Yes!" Anessa yelled. She looked two minutes away from losing her mind.

I clapped my hands together to draw everyone's attention. "Okay, time for everyone to go. We have cookies to make."

Adam stepped forward, putting his life in danger when Anessa decided to kill him. "Actually, I'm going to need you to turn those ovens off. We'll have to perform an investigation."

Anessa leaned against the counter like she had trouble breathing. "You're kidding me?"

"I'll go flip the closed sign," Tabitha said and then faded back into the front section of the bakery.

Thatcher followed behind her after giving Adam a quick salute.

"Someone should warn Katy it's no biggie," I said, removing my apron and heading back for my coat and box. "If she hears about the fire from someone else, she'll be upset."

Anessa looked like she wanted to kill me. "It wasn't a fire. Don't use the word fire. It was a cookie mishap."

"One of us can call Pierce," Sloan, another former SEAL, suggested as he backed a step away from Anessa.

Even Bennett seemed on edge as he watched his girlfriend carefully.

"No," I said, shoving my arms into my coat's sleeves. "I'll go see her. We need to talk."

Pierce or no Pierce. It was time for her to take back her box. I hefted up Samantha with a grunt and let Sloan hold open the back door for me.

Night had fallen on Pelican Bay while we were making cookies. The evening hours came early in January, but the lack of sun sucked any warmth right from the air. The shower helped warm me up, but as the night temperatures hit me, I shivered. I'd be cold for years.

I shoved Katy's box in the front seat, not bothering to buckle her in. Katy's home was only a few blocks away. Her car sat in the driveway beside her place and I pulled in behind it.

She had the door open and waiting for me when I hit the first step of her tiny porch. She checked behind me, glancing up and down the street before she let me in.

"Sorry I had to make sure no one followed," she said, leading me into her living room.

I side stepped a tower of boxes. "Who would follow me?"

Katy moved a pile of blankets from the couch for me to sit, but I sat her box on it instead. "You can never be too safe."

She had me there.

Katy's normally bright and friendly home was growing emptier as she moved into Pierce's place. The pictures she'd hung on the wall of friends and family were all gone. The empty walls made the place appear larger but void of personality.

"I've been waiting for you to bring the box back." She tapped Samantha with a glint in her eyes.

I closed my eyes and focused on taking deep breaths. Deep breaths, Vonnie. Don't murder one of your best friends.

Katy pulled the box to the floor, and I took a seat in the vacated spot on the couch.

"Are you not taking the couch to Pierce's place?" I asked.

It didn't look like she'd attempted to move any of her furniture.

She waved a hand dismissively. "No, his furniture is nicer than mine. The billionaire isn't shopping at Ikea or cheap yard sales."

I laughed. "True."

Katy hurried into her kitchen and returned with a giant pair of scissors. Like almost as long as my arm giant scissors. They were for cutting ribbons and opening ceremonies or murder. With Katy, you never really knew.

She snapped the scissors on top of Samantha and I grew uneasy. Hopefully, she didn't plan to mutilate the box I'd kept safe.

"I'm probably going to sell my stuff, so if you want anything, let me know," she said, giving the scissors another snip-snip.

I wanted to cover Samantha's eyes but figured boxes didn't have eyes.

Katy opened the murder scissors and slid them over the tape on the box, cutting through it in one slice. She dropped them to the floor and tore at the top flaps to break the side pieces of tape, opening her package.

I leaned forward on the couch, wanting to get a view. The noise of cardboard rubbing against cardboard filled the room as Katy peered in the box, drawing out the suspense. I'd been about to ask her if she'd spoken with Pierce about me renting her place when she clapped her hands in excitement about the item in the box.

In the end, my curiosity beat out my need for a new place to live.

Katy's hands fumbled in the large box and then she pulled out long sheets of brown packaging paper. Someone crumbled a stack in the box, but they unraveled as she threw them in the air. Sheet after sheet of paper fell around her, cluttering up the floor.

There was so much stuffing. What had it been protecting? A rose? Some expensive artifact? A Greek bust of extreme importance?

I leaned in further until my butt balanced on the edge of the couch. Katy continued to pull the brown stuffing from the box. She had a mountain of it growing on either side of her. How the hell was the box so heavy if it had so much stuffing?

"What is it?" I asked, slipping off the couch to get a better look.

I spent a week carrying it around. Now I needed to see exactly what all the trouble was for.

Katy's grin turned into a full megawatt smile. She leaned into the box, losing the top half of her body to the cardboard. When she stood again, her hands held a gray cement statue.

"It's a frog," I said, giving it a second glance to make sure I hadn't missed something. I rubbed my eyes and blinked.

Nope.

Still a frog. A big long one-probably a tree frog-sitting cross-legged on a leaf with its elbows on its knees in a meditative stance. Did frogs even have elbows? Or knees? They definitely didn't meditate.

I sat back on the couch so I didn't pass out or lunge at her. I'd spent a week carrying around a freaking frog? A frog? A heavy-as-hell cement frog. Katy said it was fragile. That it couldn't leave my sight.

"Does it sing or something?" I asked when Katy couldn't stop looking at the thing. She'd inspected it from every angle and I saw nothing special, but from her smile, she acted like she had the Mona Lisa in her living room. Maybe it was made from crushed diamond dust.

She shook her head and flipped it over, checking out the flat bottom. "No, it's a statue."

Obviously.