08 Trigger Snappy Read online

  "I'd be really grateful, Dad," I cajoled, playing along.

  "I'm so busy these days, but if you insist. If you really need the help, sure! I'll put in a few hours."

  "Thank you."

  "No problem," he said, waving away my thanks. "Happy to help."

  "Graves, Graves, and Graves," said Mom. "Should I print some business cards?"

  "No!" Dad and I replied in unison.

  Chapter Eight

  "How was your day, sweetheart?" Solomon asked. We were walking hand-in-hand out of the movie theater, the crowd around us talking excitedly about the action movie we just sat through. It was hugely fun with enormous explosions, car chases, and a hot romance; the perfect distraction to take my mind off my day.

  "My mom tried to set me up with her gay plumber."

  "Clearly, no flaws in her plan," said Solomon without missing a beat.

  I laughed. "Guess who's hosting family dinner in a couple of days?"

  "Garrett," Solomon replied, his voice full of hope.

  "Nope."

  "Serena."

  "No. Try again."

  "You?"

  "You got it. I have to host a dinner for twelve adults, including you and me, and six children."

  "Can you fit that many people into the house?"

  "Sure, but not around the table. What was I thinking when I offered?"

  Solomon tossed our popcorn carton in the trash and gave me a raised eyebrow look. "What exactly were you thinking?"

  "That my parents’ kitchen was flooded, and Mom and Dad are both helping me out, and I should take the load off them for once."

  "By hosting and feeding eighteen people?"

  "It seemed a good idea at the time."

  "What are you feeding us all?"

  I winced. I hadn't thought that through yet. "Takeout pizza?"

  "Do you want to live through this?"

  "I do, but I don't know what I can make for eighteen people that will be enough, fit in my oven, and not bankrupt me."

  "So don't make a dinner. Make something casual."

  "Such as?" The cool air made me shiver as the breeze snaked its way down my neck and inside my sweater. I wasn't a terrible cook, but I was no chef; and never cooked for that many people. I could make small dinners, but this would be a challenge, and one I couldn't back out of. My entire family would have heard about my offer by now, thanks to my mom's phone tree. The phone tree was a euphemism. It meant, her calling everyone on it as fast as possible. I could hear their incredulous responses now. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Looking forward to dinner, texted my sister, Serena. I'm bringing Antonio and Victoria. Victoria doesn't like mushrooms. "No mushrooms," I told him. "My sister says so."

  "A hot and cold buffet. Finger foods. Serve yourself and grab a seat anywhere. Sit all the kids on pillows around your coffee table. Let the adults find their own perches. Make it relaxed and easy."

  "Ooh!" I cooed. "I can do that. I can go to the grocery store and pick up their deli platters."

  "That's cheating. If you're making dinner, you have to make it."

  "Everything?"

  "Everything," Solomon confirmed, taking me by the arm and propelling us across the crosswalk to the parking lot. We climbed into his car and I fastened the seatbelt as my mind whirred with all the possibilities. I could do a hot and cold buffet with minimal cheating, I decided. "You know, if you lived at my house, there would be more space. My table expands."

  "But I don't live at your house. I live at my bungalow."

  "You like sleepovers at my house." Solomon glanced over and smiled as the engine fired.

  "I do. You're a very good host."

  "You have your own drawers and rail space."

  "Which I appreciate."

  "You could have a whole closet."

  "I don't need that much space just for my pajamas."

  "The invisible ones? You could bring all your clothes."

  "Then what will I wear at home?"

  Solomon switched off the engine and turned to me. "Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

  I blinked. Apparently I'd missed something important. "Are you being deliberately serious?"

  "About the obtuse bit? Yes."

  "No, the living at your house bit?"

  "Deadly."

  "But I have a house."

  "You could have a really big house. Lots more space to invite your family and friends over. A closet for all your clothes, and the best bit?"

  "The best bit?" I asked, still slightly fixated on the lure of the closet. It was a lot bigger than mine. I could walk into it and probably roll around on the floor a couple of times too. Not only could it store everything, I would probably have to go shopping just to fill it.

  "You get me every night."

  Heat rushed through me. Talk about selling the proposition! He could have just as well led with that and finished with the closet for the icing on the cake.

  "We're at the point in our relationship where we talk about this stuff," said Solomon when I didn't reply. "Let's talk about it seriously."

  "I want to live with you, but I want to think about it too," I told him. "I only bought my house recently; and barely just finished making it a home. What would I do with it?"

  "Sell it and bank the money. Rent it and bank the money. Keep it and use it as your office. Whatever you want."

  "Do you think a yellow bungalow lends more legitimacy to a PI than the back room of a bar?"

  Solomon laughed. "It's sunnier. Your clients will feel more hopeful and less like they're trapped in a film noir."

  "Why would we live at your house?" I asked. "We could live at mine."

  "Mine's bigger."

  "Do you tell all the girls that?"

  "Only ones that look like you. We can talk about whose house, but you know mine makes more sense. Also, the security is better, and no one's ever tried to kill you there."

  "The security at my house is perfect now; and you know that because you installed it," I pointed out. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong about the last part. In my early days of home ownership, I did have a very unwelcome houseguest that I had to fight off. It was utterly terrifying and took some time and patience before I could push the whole ordeal into the furthest recesses of my mind.

  "Fine, you got me. I like you sleeping over, but we've been together long enough that we should think about making it a more permanent thing. We can talk about it again. Just think about it, okay?"

  "Okay," I agreed, my head full of the idea of living with Solomon. He was right. We’d been together long enough. As a benchmark, we'd been together longer than Lily and Jord; and they managed to get married and pregnant in less time. Neither of us saw any rush —and Lily and Jord had known each other many years, I reminded myself— but lately, the future was coming up more often in conversations between us as well as the ones I had with friends and family. I could only wonder if it were the same for Solomon.

  After many long thinking sessions about what I wanted out of my life, and whether that included marriage and babies, as well as if Solomon were the man to provide those things, I was pretty sure I wanted what surmounted to everything. However, his question surprised me and created a sense of immediacy to those thoughts. He was right: our relationship had to move forward; otherwise, would it stagnate? Despite my current happiness now, a big question mark hovered over us. Were we were drifting along? Or moving towards a next step? Solomon suggested taking the next step. Now I just needed to decide whether or not to do so.

  ~

  Solomon's big question was still on my mind an hour after I slipped out of his bed to meet Garrett in front of the shooting range the next morning.

  "Did you bring your gun?" Garrett asked, climbing out of his car and greeting me with a quick hug. Years older than me, he was an adult before I even got out of elementary school, but he always made time for me. I regretted not spending more time with him, but owing to the pressures of work, and Ga
rrett being married, and a father of three, our time together had become tightly compressed.

  "No." It never even occurred to me; which only showed how scatter-brained I'd become since the previous night. My head was filled with lurid ideas of waking with Solomon and arriving home to see him every day.

  "We're at the gun range. To shoot stuff," he said slowly, shaking his head. "We can hire a gun. Have you been practicing?"

  "Ummm... No."

  "What if you need to shoot someone?" Garrett rolled his head back, seeming to say something to the clouds. I figured it was rude, so I didn't ask him what.

  "I’ll just hope they're close enough that I can hit them."

  "You'll need to hope for more than that if your aim is off. You're a PI, Lexi. You need to keep up with your training."

  "I’m a PI, not an assassin."

  "Potential career option."

  "Garrett! You're a homicide cop."

  "At least, you'd keep me in business."

  "I don't think we should tell your superiors about this conversation."

  "Guess not," he agreed. "Let's go in and get you outfitted."

  "Can I try something bigger?" I asked, my mind flitting to last night's action movie.

  "How about a grenade launcher?"

  My eyes widened. The heroine did grab a grenade launcher and fired it at the drug lords, causing a massive explosion from which she escaped with barely an eyelash singed or a high heel scuffed. "They have one?" I asked breathlessly as I glanced down. I knew I should have worn heels instead of my cute Converse sneakers. How badass would that be?

  "No, silly."

  "Damn it."

  The range was half empty. I figured all the sensible, gun-toting civilians of Montgomery were at work while the criminal faction used their own less-than-legitimate shooting ranges. It barely took any time before we were stationed at a booth, our weapons in hand, and a paper figure sped to the end of the range.

  "Let's see what you've got," said Garrett.

  I slipped on my protective goggles, added ear protection, and checked my gun. Ready. I aimed, pointed, fired. And missed. I gaped in annoyance at the unmarked paper figure that had obviously jumped two yards to the left at the last second. Firing again, I held my breath as the bullet grazed the outer ring. I emptied my clip, most of the bullets hitting the outer ring, and just a few getting closer to the target. I set my gun on the wooden shelf dividing us from the range and pulled my earmuffs off in annoyance.

  "Sheesh, you really let the team down, Graves," said Garrett.

  "How could I have gotten so bad?"

  "You used to be pretty good. What gives?"

  "I can't be that much out of practice!"

  Garrett hit the button and the paper figure descended on us. He pulled it off, examining the holes. "Apparently, you are. Let's go again."

  I gave the paper figure a sullen look. "You go," I told him.

  "Want me to show you how it's done?"

  "Yes, but a little less gleefully," I said as he grabbed a fresh target and loaded it onto the pulley. He hit the button to send it back to the end of the range.

  "When did you last use a weapon anyway?"

  Garrett wrinkled his eyes. "Um..."

  "Any corpses pull a gun on you lately?"

  "No." He picked up the revolver he selected for our booking and aimed. Firing round after round, each of them hit the inner circle of the heart. He put his last round between the target's eyes.

  "Show-off."

  "Yeah, and I don't even have people trying to shoot me."

  "You're a little fixated on the idea someone is out to get me."

  Garrett shrugged. "Seems practical."

  "Have you been talking to Mom?"

  "Yesterday, but not about your life span. Are you really hosting dinner for all of us?"

  "Yep. I offered."

  He pulled a face. "For real?"

  "Yes! Ugh, you're making it sound like I can't cook or something. We're going to have a delicious meal. It will be the first dinner party I've hosted at my house."

  "Want me to bring dessert?"

  I hesitated, wondering what the catch might be. Despite Garrett's misgivings about my cooking skills, I'd have to scramble through years of memories to try and remember an occurrence when he baked something. His wife, Traci, however made a fabulous pie. Handing over dessert responsibilities would definitely help me. "Yes, please."

  "Get every bullet in the heart ring, and I'll make it myself," Garrett taunted.

  I like an incentive, especially one that paid off in the form of edible goods. As the target came flying back, Garrett ripped his perfect score off and loaded up a new sheet. Meanwhile, I gave myself the kind of internal pep talk that could have seen me running for president. The target reached the end as I adjusted my goggles and earmuffs before picking up my gun, and steeling myself more securely this time. I closed one eye, squinted, and aimed. Pop! Pop! Pop!

  "Not a single one in the ring," said Garrett.

  I laid down my gun and jabbed a finger at the target. "That's because I put them all in the head!"

  "Deliberately?"

  "Yes!" No.

  "But the bet was for the ring. Bet you can't do it again, and this time, aim and hit the heart. Your turn to finish, then my turn."

  "What are the stakes?"

  "Stakes?"

  "You just asked me to perform an amazing feat again, but in a different location..."

  "Because you changed it!"

  "Because I wanted to! You need to raise the stakes."

  "And you need to stake something."

  "Damn it!" I snapped. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut while pie was almost on the table. "What do you want?"

  Garrett smiled slowly. "A whole weekend of babysitting. I want to take Traci away for the weekend. Somewhere romantic. Somewhere that kids don't exist."

  I took a deep breath. I could handle that. I knew all the kids’ tricks. At least, I thought I did. Plus, I could probably get Solomon to help me since he was all about taking the next step. Lily and Jord would pitch in too. I could definitely ask my parents to come by and visit their grandchildren. After all, it takes a village to raise a kid and I was fully prepared to call upon my familial village if I lost the bet.

  "Okay. And if I win, you have to bake two pies, a cake, and cookies."

  "How many cookies?"

  I tried to calculate two lots of eighteen, and failed. Math was never my strong point. My forte was passing notes to Lily about the cute guy who sat behind us in math.

  "Forty."

  "Terrific! And the cake?"

  "Whatever you like, but I want it pretty. You'll have to frost it."

  "You're going to love taking care of my kids for a weekend. Shoot."

  Garrett recalled my target and handed it to me. He loaded up a new one, triumphantly hitting the button to send it back. He emptied his bullets into the heart target. "I'm going to do rose petals, champagne, massage oil, bubble bath... women like that stuff, right?" he said as the target came whizzing back to us.

  "Don't ask me, ask your wife!"

  "Do you like that stuff?" We looked at each other in horror. "Forget I asked," said Garrett. "I don't want to know."

  "For the record, I think Traci will like all that stuff. I also think she'd like to go away on your anniversary," I said confidently. I knew that because she told me, and I figured it didn't hurt to pass it along. That way, my sister-in-law gets what she wanted and my brother gets to give it to her, which makes him happy. Making them happy seemed more important than getting pie and cake, despite how much I wanted them.

  "Ready?" Garrett asked, stepping out of the way as he sent the final target to the end of the range.

  "Ready." I aimed for the final time, steadying my hand, focusing on the heart. I squeezed off my first shot, hitting the target perfectly. Second, Third. Fourth. My confidence increased as one shot followed another, peppering the heart region. I knew Garrett was counting as I reached my
last round. I aimed and fired. My bullet hit the line, just inside the second ring, ruining my score.

  Garrett punched the air. "One weekend of babysitting!"

  Missing the shot was worth it.

  ~

  I headed directly to my office after Garrett and I said our goodbyes at the range. As I let myself into the adjacent room, I could hear Lily speaking in her office. Closing the door, shutting out the sounds of a delivery arriving at the rear entrance, I was cocooned in silence. With Mom and Dad taking the surveillance shift, I had the time to run through the report Maddox said in a text that he emailed me. Solomon also left a message saying I should meet with him to share case notes.

  Maddox's email was wedged between special offers from The Gap and another email from Lily, reminding me to block off the time next week to attend pregnancy yoga with her. I wondered if I would prefer it to the spin classes we used to take regularly. I figured yoga would be a lot less sweaty.

  Maddox's email was loaded up in minutes. He sent it from his personal account, and there was absolutely nothing rubber-stamped with the FBI seal. I figured he was making a point about his lack of official involvement. What truly mattered, though, was the content. As I scanned it, I knew my initial feeling about Juliet was correct. With her client sheet besides me, I could match most of the details she'd given me, from addresses to education to career moves.

  Except for a parking ticket eight years prior, she'd never been involved in any kind of criminal activity; and there was no reason to assume she intended to pursue a life of crime. In fact, she seemed to be the kind of person who lived her life by dotting all of her i's and crossing her t's. Maddox made some notes about a couple of past boyfriends —and how he found that information, I had no idea— but he remarked that her college love moved to Seattle after graduation and had never visited Montgomery. The boyfriend of a few months in between that man and Rob was currently on a round-the-world trip. Neither ex-boyfriend had the potential to be a stalker, which added to my developing theory that Juliet's stalker might be a woman. A man may have been able to disguise himself and follow her around, or access her email, but could he pull it off so well as to pass for Juliet on her passport? And allow her to purchase tickets at the airport? I didn't think so.