"No!"

"Just checking. Also, you're buying me a second cinnamon roll."

Tony shook his head and wiped his hands off on a napkin from the dispenser. "I just don't know where I went wrong in life."

"Honestly, you should have known. Clearwater bitches are crazy." I held up my phone and snapped a photo of Tony when he had his head down, trying to soak up the orange juice from his shirt. Ember had video of the encounter, but the Facebook group would want a still frame of the aftermath.

Tony muttered to himself for a moment.

"Do you have anything else you need my help with?" I asked, checking my phone for the time. That break-up took longer than expected, and I needed to get home to walk the dogs.

He snorted. "No, you've done quite enough. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, sliding out of the booth. I stopped to pat him on the shoulder but hesitated. He looked sticky. "Enjoy the single life."

A few minutes later, I parked Broadrick's truck in the driveway next to his motorcycle. Loud dog barks came from behind the front door as I approached the house. The babies were definitely ready for their walk.

I opened the door, expecting a barrage of dogs, and held my hand out to stop them from jumping. But it didn't happen. All three peacefully sat at attention in front of the door. Bacon inched forward on his butt, and NB yipped at him in annoyance. Bacon settled back into place.

Bits' tongue lolled out of his mouth as he stared at the hook where I kept their leashes.

"Are you guys ready for a walk?"

Three tails wagged against the floor. This was weird and honestly a little concerning. Where was the jumping? And the barking?

Heavy footsteps came from the hallway as Broadrick said, "Don't believe anything from them. I just took them out and NB peed on the all the good bushes before anyone else could get a drop off."

I held up my hand to stop him. "That's a visual I really don't need today."

Especially after hearing Tony's member referenced as Little Tony-Woney.

"He's very particular about his bushes," Broadrick kept going and I did my best not to visualize dog pee. "How did it go with Anderson?"

"He wasn't there." I stepped around the dogs, and they turned on their butts, following my movements. "But I've got to solve Emma's murder, or Anderson might really lock me up."

We both knew I didn't kill Emma, but I worried he wasn't rushing to interrogate me because they were gathering evidence for an arrest warrant.

"Anderson knows you didn't hurt Emma," he said.

I sat on the couch. "Does he?"

With each second time ticked away. Were we jogging toward my eventual arrest? My stomach knotted. I couldn't solve a murder if I was sitting in jail for said murder. And it's not like I could call Anderson and ask him how long I had. I might be out of time at any second.

If I went to jail for murder my mother really wouldn't talk to me ever again.

NB jumped on the couch and flipped himself into a ball to sleep next to me. Bacon followed suit on the floor, and Bits wandered toward the kitchen. Probably in search of food.

"What are you going to do? What's the next step?" Broadrick asked, standing behind me, rubbing my shoulders.

I shrugged a little without dislodging his hands. "No clue. I'm out of ideas."

I didn't even have a Hail Mary idea to get me out of this one. Was I actually banking my freedom on the Pelican Bay police force?

I really was screwed.

Broadrick moved his hands as I twisted my body on the couch to look at him. "I need help from an expert."

He widened his eyes. "From an expert in what?"

"Murder." Obviously.

Broadrick shook his head. "An expert in murder? Where are you going to find that?"

Yes, this was my best idea yet. The longer I thought about this new plan, the better it sounded. I rubbed my hands together in glee. "By visiting my favorite mob boss."

**

"The boss isn't taking visitors right now," one of Frankie Zanetti's henchmen said after answering the front door. They'd left me out there for so long the edge of my palm was red from pounding against the wood.

"This is an emergency." I crossed my arms and smiled as a better idea hit me. "Tell Shiloh I need to talk to her about bakery girl stuff."

The unfamiliar guard shook his head and repositioned his body to cover the entire doorway opening. "Ms. Richter is away visiting family in Chicago."

"It's okay, Nickolai. Let her in." Frankie's voice carried out from his front living room.

I smirked. "That's right, home skillet. Out of the way."

He barely moved as I pushed into the house.

"You let Shiloh go to Chicago alone? Are you crazy?" What good mob boss let his future wife just frolic in Chicago alone? It didn't fit Frankie's overbearing and possessive style at all.

Frankie laughed and headed toward his office. I followed. "After a slight misunderstanding, I'm not welcome in Chicago, but trust me, she has the best security available."

By slight understanding, he probably meant something with guns. With Frankie it always came to guns. Or bazookas.

I laughed a little while imagining his idea of security. He probably bought out the police force. "What? Like the cops?"

Frankie sat in his chair behind his desk, so I took the one across from it.

Didn't every mob boss like having a cop on the payroll? Hmm. I wondered if he paid off Bradley. And if I asked, would he make him be nicer to me?

Probably not.

"Better," Frankie said, his voice ice cold.

I stopped laughing. "Okayyyy, then."

"What do you need?" Frankie asked, tenting his fingers in front of him.

"Well," I started and hesitated. I had to ask the right way to make sure he answered. "You know I put my uncle in jail?"

He raised his right eyebrow. "I've heard. You are the talk of the underworld."

Really? I smiled. Criminals knew of me? Broadrick would hate that, but it meant I was getting somewhere in this town. "I am?"

It'd been a rough few days. If Frankie wanted to enlighten me with how the criminals cowered when they heard my name, I wouldn't stand in his way.

He nodded and tapped his pen against a short glass of whiskey sitting next to his closed computer. "Yes, they're very disappointed with you."

The smile fell. "Oh. Well, good news. I'm trying to get my uncle out now."

Would that help or hurt my street cred?

"Of jail?" he asked, eyeing the whiskey. His hand hovered near it, but he didn't grab the glass.

It was barely one o'clock. By the time I explained my plan to Broadrick, he tried to talk me out of it, and I said I was going anyway. Then we ate a quick lunch, and I'd lost half the afternoon. But it definitely wasn't late enough for glasses of whiskey.

Maybe he missed Shiloh.

"Yes, I'm working to get him out of jail."

His eyebrow rose higher, and his index finger tapped the edge of the glass. Little water droplets of condensation fell on the black coaster beneath it. "The jail you put him in?"

"I feel like you're judging me," I said with a furrowed brow. Sure, I'd made some mistakes in life, but I wasn't the mobster in the room.

Frankie chuckled. "Not at all."

"Oh, well, good then. I need to find whoever killed Emma Richards to clear his name. I think they forced my uncle and now they're shutting up witnesses."

Everything about Emma's murder shouted mob- or gang-related violence to me. This wasn't one of our regular murders. Her death and the way they messed with her body screamed serious offender. Whoever killed Emma had no heart left in their body. And my uncle didn't associate with people like that.

The longer I sat and thought about the case, I kept coming back to Snowbird. The mysterious figure clearly hated me. But why? And how far would he go to get me off the streets? Why had he been so quiet lately? There hadn't even been a single threatening message in weeks.

"Is that so?" Frankie's hand dropped from the glass, and he leaned forward, putting his chest against the desk. "How can I help you in clearing your uncle's name?"

"Yes." I sat back in my chair, trying to give off the impression of calm. "I need you to tell me everything about being in the mob and how to murder people."

Frankie's entire face morphed into an expression of horror. His left eye twitched four times as he stared at me with an open mouth. He reached over, grabbed the glass of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp. "Did Ridge put you in a fucking wire?"