Free Decaffeinated Corpse by Cleo Coyle

is.”

    I nodded and began to wonder about Breanne. Could she have set Ric up? Sent someone to rob him or worse? What would be her motive if she had?

    I gave Matt a halfhearted smile as I considered voicing these suspicions. But I knew he’d blow his top before I finished talking. And he’d most likely be right. Notwithstanding my total dislike for the woman, Breanne Summour just didn’t strike me as a criminal mastermind.

    “See you tomorrow,” I told my ex.

    The front door closed, and I stepped to the window, watched the sidewalk below until a dark-haired male head appeared. Breanne wasted no time. She threw her burning cigarette into the gutter. Laughing loudly enough for me to hear three floors away, she snaked her long, slender arms around my ex-husband’s neck and began passionately kissing him.

    Matt’s body remained tense as she ground against him, but he didn’t push her away. His mouth moved over hers, and I knew what I was missing. Matt was an amazing kisser. A piece of me shifted with regret—but only a very little piece.

    When he finally broke it off, he pointed to the Town Car. The two of them disappeared inside, and I watched the vehicle pull away. I continued watching until the misty gray shadows closed like a curtain on the car’s red tail-lights.

    Letting go of the sheers, I frowned, trying to guess Bree’s endgame with my ex-husband. As long as he needed her influence, she could pull his strings.

    But , an annoying little voice nagged in my head, what would happen if Ric’s breakthrough made Matt a fortune? Would he cut those strings completely? Was Breanne capable of quietly sabotaging Ric, just to make sure her prized boy toy didn’t flee the sandbox?

    The hearth’s fire was dying out, and the room had grown colder. I felt almost empty inside, hollowed out and exhausted. Rubbing my arms, I couldn’t help thinking of Mike Quinn. . . . Was he sleeping now? Missing his wife? His kids? His old home in Brooklyn? Could he possibly be lying in bed, thinking of me?

    I cupped my hand against my cheek and chin, where he’d touched me earlier, and wondered if it had crossed his mind to touch more of me anytime soon.

    I could certainly push things . . . but he was a trusted friend, and I didn’t want to lose that. I couldn’t risk misreading him, or—as Matt had advised me about my own daughter—if I pushed too hard, I could end up pushing him away. Then again, maybe Matt was speaking from his own experience with Breanne.

    A sudden yawn put an end to my tortuous conjectures. I picked up my bowl, put it to my mouth, and guzzled the last dregs of Matt’s tangy ragout. Then I took the bowl to the kitchen, wiped my mouth on a paper towel, and headed up to bed.

    At the top of the staircase, I remembered Ric. Quietly I opened the door to Matt’s room. I stepped a little way into the darkness. The light from the hallway splashed onto the bed pillows, illuminating Federico Gostwick’s ebony hair and handsome profile. I could see he was sleeping comfortably. His breathing sounded even, not labored, and I was glad. Then I closed the door and headed down the hall to my own bedroom.

    “Attempted murder . . .”

    Mike’s words came back to me as I stripped off my clothes and pulled the extra-large Steelers T-shirt over my head. I thought again of how much Matt and Ric looked like brothers, and my mind began to worry that fact . . .

    If the person after Ric means to harm him and makes a mistake, could Matt end up in the crosshairs?

    The vision of Ric in the cold, wet alley came back to me then. I saw the man’s slumped over body, but this time with Matt’s face. The image sent a sick chill through me.

    Matt was my business partner and my child’s father. He and I were no longer husband and wife, but after all we’d been through together, I wasn’t prepared for any harm to come to him. Unfortunately, I’d blown his trust this evening when I’d admitted talking to Quinn.

    But I