Trish's breath tickled my ear, and I leaned away from her. We couldn't stand that close in the diner parking lot without drawing suspicion.

"Of course you can," I said with only a little lie. She could trust me not to tell the entire town, but if put on the witness stand, all bets were off.

Trish glanced around like she was the one with ninjas after her. She jerked her head, and her hands shook. I grabbed them to stop the errant movements.

"I don't know what to do, Vonnie," she said, not meeting my eyes.

A car drove past us on Main Street on the other side of the street, and she flinched. Okay, she really had me worried about her. And as I suspected, Trish was not a killer. She didn't have the nerves for it. Broadrick was wrong. She wasn't my suspect.

I squeezed her hands harder. "You can trust me," I said and meant it more that time.

If she confessed to the crime, I'd turn her in. But if Trish had real troubles, I'd help her get out of them. It's what we did for each other in Pelican Bay.

She finally met my gaze. "Hank came to see me this morning. I had a little present for him." Her lips tipped up when she said Hank and then flipped into a frown as she watched a car drive by.

It took me a full ten seconds to figure out who the hell Hank was, but then I lit up, too.

The chief.

Real name-Hank Mardoock.

"Okay, gifts are great. Why were you giving the chief a gift?" My fingers twitched with energy as they held hers.

We were close. So close. This case was about to break wide open.

Trish glanced at me and her eyes projected... something. "I think you know, Vonnie."

"Are you and the chief... you know?" I just couldn't use the s-word with sweet Trish in the diner parking lot. There were rules to follow and feet not to stick in my mouth. Normally, I stepped right over them, but I couldn't with Trish. She served me pie. Really good, delicious pie that I wanted to eat again in the future.

She nodded.

I almost jerked my fist into the air in delight. I knew it! Yes! I freaking knew it!

Trish continued talking, unaware of the celebration going on in my brain. "I gave him a new coffee mug, and he gave me a gun!" she whisper-shouted the gun part and I almost reached over and covered her mouth.

You couldn't say gun that loudly in the same town that Ridge Jefferson lived. Anderson too! They had cameras and Batman ears.

I shushed her with a wave of my hands and then grabbed hers again. They were cold from being outside with neither of us wearing gloves.

We needed to focus. The victory dance had to wait until later.

"Where is the gun?"

Trish's gaze floated to her pea green Kia. I almost slapped my forehead. Way to hide it in an inconspicuous area. They could almost see her car from the international space station.

"He told me to keep it for him, and I didn't know what to do with it," she said, her words getting more frantic with each one.

I patted her arm. "It's fine. Where in the car did you hide it?"

She turned her head and took a shaky breath. "I didn't say it was in the car."

Yeah, she was definitely not a master criminal. Trish hadn't shot anyone between the eyes and then maintained her cool long enough to not immediately confess.

"It was a lucky guess."

She wiped her hands on her pants. "After he left, I was so worried about getting caught. You know Hank thinks the FBI has someone here undercover?"

My eyebrow popped up at that. I loved being right about shit. Bradley was so an undercover agent. It explained that stupid haircut of his.

"Where did you hide the gun, Trish?" We needed to get to the meat of the story before I froze my ass off. I seriously regretted not grabbing my new leather jacket. "I'll keep it for you."

"You will?" She sidestepped to the car like she planned to toss the gun at me.

"Yeah, give it to me and I'll put it somewhere safe." Like in my house before it went into an evidence bag.

Trish hurried over to the hideous thing she called a car and dug under the driver's side front seat. Everyone knew you didn't put a murder weapon under the driver's seat. You kept it under the passenger seat for plausible deniability.

No, officer. It's not my gun. Someone must have left it there.

It was a lot harder to get a judge to believe that if he found it under your seat.

Trish pulled back from the driver's side with a black small handheld gun. "Here."

"Shit, Trish," I yelled and waved my hands again. "The cameras."

Ridge would have every agent in thirty miles here if she didn't get her shit under control. I whipped off the apron and wrapped the gun in the pink fabric before taking it from Trish. No way did I want my prints on a murder weapon.

"Why'd he give it to you?" I asked, tucking the gun under my arm.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I gave him a mug and I guess he wanted to give me something in return. This is not an acceptable return gift."

I almost gaffed, but her distress was so thick it coated the space between us. I didn't think she'd laugh with me.

"Why does he need you to hold this gun?" I asked, trying a different tactic.

Her expression fell, and she bit her lips while taking another shaky breath through them. "He was there that night."

"What night?" I hated having to press her, but I needed to know, so I had my story straight.

"The night of the shooting. He only left for a minute. It wasn't enough time to shoot someone, Vonnie. He didn't do it. Believe me."

I nodded to make her feel better but didn't agree. One bullet didn't take long, especially when you hit the dude between the eyes. And we all knew the chief was an excellent shot. He always showed off his aim at the summer fair and then bragged about it until November.

"Rest easy. I'll take care of this for you," I promised.

Trish nodded, and then her gaze floated to the street again. Frankie Zanetti drove by in his stupid expensive car and stopped at the corner of Main Street. Shiloh sat beside him and the two of them were obviously chatting to one another happily. It was probably a wonderful break from their demon kitten.

That had to change. And fast.

"Shit, Trish. I've got to go. We'll catch up later!" I took off in a run toward the bakery but darted into the back parking lot and my car.

I chucked the gun, still wrapped in the bright pink apron, under the passenger side-where it belonged-and took off toward home. With Frankie home, I had a cat to catch.

Less than ten minutes later, NB watched from the couch as I shoved the last of Spencer's food in his box and set it on top of his little box. I hadn't had time to clean it one last time, but cat poop wouldn't be my problem soon enough.

"Come on, Chucky. It's time to go," I said as I coaxed Spencer off the top of my fridge. He meowed but made no move to leave his spot. "Mother effer."

I climbed on the counter, dinging my knee on the edge, and scooped the cat off of the appliance before jumping down. He hissed at the sudden movement, but I shoved him, head first, into his carrier and zipped it up before he bit off a finger.

Frankie's house was only a few feet away from mine, but he lived on the rich side with the ocean view while I was relegated to across the road with only the ocean sound. Still, it was an enormous improvement to my old place, which had neither.

Frankie's car was missing, probably parked in his garage, but one of his henchmen was unloading suitcases from the back of a black town car beside the back door. Such a mobster cliché.

"Hey, Big Tommy," I called to him as I grabbed Spencer's stuff from my trunk.

Big Tommy in his black suit dropped the bag he'd been holding in order to grab the box of cat stuff as I thrust it at him. "The boss will want to see you."

Not gonna happen. I didn't have time. Things were finally cracking open and history taught me that once the blocks tipped, they'd fall over quickly. "No time. Tell him to mail me a check."

He'd better make it a big check. A new car sized check.

I grabbed Spencer from the passenger seat and carefully handed him to Frankie's man. "Now he's your problem if something happens."

Big Tommy looked terrified. I figured it was from the hell he knew the cat unleashed or fear he'd drop it, make Shiloh cry, and force Frankie to kill him. Either way, it was no longer my problem. I'd lived through the experience. Barely. Spencer become someone else's problem at the handoff.

Big Tommy was still objecting as I backed out of Frankie's driveway, but I did not have time. I stopped by the bakery and parked in the front. Anessa watched me get out of the car and walk toward the front door.

"Didn't you walk when you left?" she asked when I stepped inside.

"No time to explain," I said and waved at Lainey while grabbing my leather jacket. "We have to go."