Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(27)

“It’s hard to find a category for you,” Erin bitched, dropping into her chair. “How do you define a friend like Tam? Well, if blood-thirsty terrorists were threatening my family with a dirty bomb, she’d be there to rescue us in a blaze of glory with diamond-studded hand grenades. But would she give me a ride to the airport? Fucking forget it!”

The smile sneaked out before Tam could stomp it. “Why should I? What a freaking bore. That’s what men are for. What’s the point of putting up with their crap if they don’t provide abject servitude?”

Erin harrumphed. “Speaking of men and abject servitude and all that good stuff, what am I supposed to tell the pretty boy? That you only do big business with ugly, smelly, badly dressed men?”

Tam picked up the card Erin had given her, and scowled at it. “Don’t tell him anything. Don’t even take his calls. I’ll check him out. Since chances are good that all he wants is to stick a knife into my eye.”

Erin made a frustrated sound. “Why can’t anything ever be just normal or nice for you? A business opportunity, a cute guy to flirt with? A date for the wedding? Why is it always blood and guts, life or death?”

The inane goofiness of the question and Erin’s sad, plaintive voice touched her buried tender spot. Tam’s voice came out so gentle she barely recognized it herself. “There’s no normal or nice for me, Erin,” she said. “There never has been, never can be. But don’t sweat it. I just do the best I can. I’ll be OK. Really.”

Erin looked doleful. “But I want better than that for you.”

Tam stopped the automatic sarcastic reply that rose to her lips with tremendous effort, and stayed silent. “Well, I appreciate that sentiment,” she said, stiffly. “In my own way. For what it’s worth.”

Erin looked down, blinking hard. Several agonizing seconds passed, each more fraught with tension than the last.

Tam snapped under the strain. “Don’t you dare start sniffling on me! One tender moment is enough, all right? I can only take so much!”

Erin sniffed her tears back aggressively. “Oh, f*ck you.”

Tam let out a sigh of mock relief. “Thank God. That’s more like it,” she said. “Back on solid ground.”

Erin stalked past her, muttering under her breath, and collected her kid. Kev complained about being separated from his new captive audience, and then, oh joy, then Rachel got cranky too, at having her brand new live toy taken away, and so commenced the mad maelstrom of shrieking and flopping and writhing, then the changing of diapers, the distribution of cookie bribes, the reloading of bags, bottles, binkies, bibs, wipes, snacks—Christ alone could remember what all. Tam was on the verge of shrieking with frustration by the time Rachel was calmed down in front of the boob tube, zoning out on Elmo, and the donkey laden Erin and her baby were finally heading down the stairs.

God help her. She’d helped execute blood-drenched coup d’états in third world countries that were less freaking complicated.

She started down after Erin. “I’ll go down and disarm the—”

“I can do it,” Erin cut in. “I learned the goddamn codes. All eight of them. Good-bye.” And off she flounced without looking back, offspring howling and wiggling, diaper bags swinging angrily. Pissed as hell.

“Leave them off,” she shouted down after Erin’s stiff, retreating back. “It’s about time for Rosalia to leave anyhow.”

Erin muttered something rude, and slammed the door to the security room. Tam shrugged inwardly. What the hell. Narrow-eyed, she stared down at the card that lay on the table. Picked it up, fingered it.

She actually felt curious, in spite of her apprehension. Tempted to check it out. Maybe…maybe she wouldn’t dismiss this out of hand without investigating further. Very, very carefully, of course. She’d been so wound up in dealing with Rachel’s problems, it had been a long while since she’d organized any sales. The coffers could always use a fresh influx of ready cash. She liked cash.

She stared at the cookies that were left on the plate in the middle of the table. She could smell the butter from the other side of the room.

Some perverse impulse prompted her to grab one. She examined it from every side, sniffing all its glittering, sugary, cholesterol-laden, artery-plugging, insulin-resistance-causing, cellulite-provoking glory.

Deadly in its own way. Like one of her jewelry creations.

Rosalia appeared in the kitchen entryway. Tam’s cookie-holding hand dropped down under the table as if she’d been caught stealing.

Too late. She could tell, by the discreetly delighted smile the older woman tried so hard to hide. “Nine o’clock tomorrow?” Rosalia asked.

Tam mumbled an affirmative. “Go right on out,” she said. “The security’s disarmed. Erin left it open.”

Rosalia nodded toward the cookies. “Enjoy,” she said. “Next time I do the caramel leche cookies. You try, you like for sure, hmm?”

Tam winced inwardly. She’d created a monster. “Tomorrow then.”

Rosalia clumped down the stairs, humming cheerfully. Tam stared at the cookie in her hand. It seemed to stare back, smug and impassive.

Oh, what the f*ck. She was destined to die anyhow. She took a bite, chewed. Sugar fireworks went off in her brain. Wow.

She chewed it very slowly and realized with surprise that she was genuinely curious to see just how handsome and charismatic a guy had to be to dazzle a woman as gooey-in-love with her husband as Erin was. He had to have some mojo. He probably thought he was God incarnate, which was a big freaking bore. Or else he was a merciless hired killer engaged to take her out. Which was much more interesting, but a big, fat, dating disadvantage. And mortal danger tended to be a sexual turnoff. She took another bite of deadly bliss, staring down at the card. Janos. Hungarian, maybe. If the name was real, which was doubtful.