Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(122)

“Bitch,” she said. “With you and me in the ‘hood, Denver isn’t going to know what hit it!”

I thought it was more the other way around but I didn’t tel Annette that.

I’d also cal ed al my clients and my landlord.

My clients were cool; they didn’t care where I worked, just as long as I worked. My landlord was freaked out. The cops had cal ed him about the break in and he thought my mutilated body was buried six feet deep in some woods somewhere. I calmed him down and convinced him I wasn’t a voice from the grave. He wasn’t too upset I was leaving, considering he’d never had a tenant who’d had their furniture torn apart and went missing for two weeks, presumed (by him) dead. Anyway, I was month-to-month and he was going to let me out of the lease at the end of November.

Simple as that.

In fact, everything seemed simple.

Al that had to be done was find Bil y.

No word from Hank, which I figured meant no good news. Also, there was no bad news so I decided that no bad news was actual y good news and I went with it.

“Babe,” Luke said, pul ing me from my thoughts.

I turned to him. “Yeah?”

His chin went up, pointing over my shoulder, and I realized we were parked in front of Hank’s house. I looked toward the house, my hand going to the door handle, and I stopped dead.

“Good God,” I whispered.

The air in the Explorer changed as Luke went into alert mode.

“What?” he asked.

“Look at the house,” I breathed.

“What?” he repeated.

“Look at the house!” This time, I yel ed.

I got out of the car, slammed my door and stood on the sidewalk staring at the house.

“Roxie,” Luke, suddenly beside me, said, his fingers curling into the waistband of my cords. “Talk to me. What?”

“Pumpkins,” I said.

He looked at the house.

On the front stoop were two carved pumpkins. Also, resting against one side of the door was a bunch of dried corn stalks bound together with more (these not carved) pumpkins and some gourds nestled at the bottom. On the other side was a decoration, attached to the house, made up of three painted wooden slats dangling from wire. The top slat was a witch flying in front of a quarter moon, the middle one said “Happy Hal oween” and the bottom one was a black cat with its back arched.

I looked to Luke. “Hank’s house has been Mom Bombed,” I told him.

Luke looked at me for a second then his eyes went to his boots.

He wasn’t fast enough; I saw the half-grin.

“This is not funny. Hank’s going to freak.” The door opened and Mom stood there. “Hey there, sweetie. Why are you standing on the sidewalk?” her eyes went to Luke. “Luke, is it? Come in, I’l make you some cocoa.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, horrified that my Mom offered hot cocoa to Badass, Super Cool Luke. I turned to Luke.

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want you to shoot me, I want you to shoot her.”

His fingers came out of my waistband and pressed against my lower back, pushing me forward. The half-grin had gone ful -fledged.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks this is funny. This isn’t funny,” I grumbled on the way up the walk.

“It isn’t funny because they’re your parents,” Luke explained. “To everyone else, it’s just f**kin’ funny.” We walked into the house and Shamus rushed me, took in Luke, went into a skid and slammed into me, knocking me backwards into Luke’s (very solid) body. Luke’s hands came to my h*ps and normal y I would have stepped away immediately, considering I was plastered against him, but I was too horrified by what I saw.

There were huge, empty, plastic shopping bags everywhere. Three new blankets and four fluffy pil ows were stacked on the couch. The lamp Bil y and I had broken had been replaced by another one, which now threw a soft glow on the room. In one corner, there was a four foot tal wrought iron candle holder with six, thick, green candles in the top, al lit and giving out the scent of bay. There were more candles in black holders on the coffee table, also lit. There were candles on the dining room table, ensconced in decorative corn husks and miniature gourds. On the corner of the bar, separating the dining area from the kitchen, sat an enormous Hal oween bowl fil ed to almost overflowing with Hal oween candy. I saw a new canister set for flour, sugar and coffee (I had no doubt al of them fil ed) against the back kitchen counter. Last, I could smel something cooking.

“What have you done to Hank’s house?” I asked Mom.

“Just made it cozy. Kind of a thank you gift for letting us stay and for taking care of you,” Mom answered and she looked to Luke. “You want cocoa?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Coffee?” Mom went on.

“No,” he said.

“Tea?” she continued in dogged pursuit of being both a Mom and a good hostess, even though it wasn’t her house.

She was now sounding slightly surprised at the idea that Luke drank something as un-macho as tea (like he’d drink cocoa).

“No,” Luke repeated.

“Oh, I know. A beer?”

He shook his head.

I cut in. “Jeez, Mom. He doesn’t want anything. Leave him alone.”