Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,73

bodies?”

“Frame Dennis. And the only one who’s going to need to shop for a coffin is—nobody, actually. You’ve got nobody. It’s why you always hung out with the Monahans. No one will give a shit when you turn up dead.”

“I’d explain how you’re wrong, but you’d never get it. Also—whoa.”

“Whoa” because Tom’s hand had shot out, clamped around Pete’s ankle like a fleshy handcuff, and yanked. Pete vanished from her line of sight like he’d dropped through a trapdoor and hit the carpet so hard she saw dust puff up.

Her relief was so great, her knees almost gave way. “Figured you were awake.”

“Barely,” Tom muttered, then groaned as Pete kicked him in the forehead with the foot Tom didn’t have a death grip on.

“Don’t.” Ava had pulled her knife—she’d been waiting for her moment, and it was hard to picture a better one—and flipped the blade open.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he snarled, trying to claw for the gun, which had fallen about two inches out of his reach.

“Finally, we agree. Also, you see I’m armed and will stab you, right? So maybe give up now before everything gets much worse for you?”

Pete finally managed to shake loose, then rolled to his feet, snatched up the Taser, and came for her. Tom’s muscles must still be jelly, because to say he was disoriented would be an understatement. She was amazed he’d kept his grip as long as he had and—oh, shit, here was Pete, four feet away and closing.

She could see that he’d ejected a cartridge from the Taser, leaving the electrodes in Tom but still able to zap her with the electric discharge. The arc was the brightest thing in the gloom of the funeral home.

“If you don’t step off, I will stab you.” She’d had to rush that last bit because she was out of time, sidestepped Pete’s lunge, and brought up the blade of her puny little three-incher right under the shelf of his jaw: schump!

And then, horrified, she let go. Because Pete was making a series of low squealing noises as he flailed for the knife sticking under his chin, as blood poured down, as he missed, grabbed again, missed. It took Ava a couple of seconds to realize that she’d managed to stick the blade in hard enough and far enough to puncture Pete’s tongue, and oh shit she was gonna barf.

Nope. Just the dry heaves as she watched Pete sink to his knees, still pawing for the blade.

“Ava, my God, are you all right?” Tom had managed to climb to his feet and was swaying slightly.

“Comparatively speaking, yeah.” To Pete: “What, my best friend was slaughtered and you didn’t think I’d learn self-defense or carry a weapon? How could you be so diabolical and so dumb at the same time?”

Tom staggered, then steadied himself. “Well, that was illuminating.”

“Are you okay? You were down for so long…”

“Because you put yourself at risk to buy time, so I waited for whatever opening you were going to give me. Christ, Ava, you are a lunatic. A formidable one, but nevertheless.”

She slung an arm around his waist. “What was it like?”

“Like a full-body muscle cramp magnified by a factor of five.” He looked down at Pete, who’d fallen silent save for the occasional wet gargle. A growing red stain was spreading beneath his head. “What about him?”

“Fuck him.”

And that was that.

Forty-Six

Two days later, they were having dinner in Ava’s minisuite at the Radisson Blu. They’d both been interviewed multiple times by the authorities, and Tom admitted he found it interesting to be on the other side of the desk, so to speak, as opposed to his usual role.

“That wears off,” Ava said dryly.

The Monahans had been amazed to finally discover who killed their Danielle, none more so than Dennis, who was alive and well and had checked himself into Twin Town, a mens’ live-in treatment center for alcohol abuse. He’d left a message for his mother, who preferred denial to acknowledgment and thus had said nothing. He then abandoned his phone, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use it in rehab, and went to see what parts of himself could be salvaged and what needed to be remade.

“Idiot! You had everyone worried sick! Except possibly your mom!”

“I was worried sick.” She’d been able to see him during visitors’ hours, though she wasn’t a family member. Apparently when you had to tell an old friend that you killed his sister’s killer, exceptions are made. “I had to get the