Robert Montgomery
“Ricky?” Charlotte calls out. As she sets down her bag, she gives me an irritable look. “I don’t know what you think he can do for me. We should have gone home first so I could change into something dry. I look like a drowned rat.”
“A very pretty, drowned rat,” I supplement helpfully, already knowing I’m going to pay dearly for the wiseass comment.
She stomps on my foot, and the strength behind the stomp has me gasping.
“Holy—”
“Charlotte?” Ricky walks out of the back room, and his eyes widen in shock at the sight of us, or mostly her. “What happened?! Are you hurt?!”
“She vomited,” I tell him. “A lot. Something that smelled like rotten blood.”
Ricky’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say?”
“Rotten blood?” Charlotte tilts her head at me in surprise. “Is that really wha
