Less than a week ago, I thought the worst thing in my life was making a spit rainbow with Freddie Frinker. Since then I’d been shot at, chased, nearly blown up, woke up with a spy in my bed, been covered with bras and panties in front of said spy, tripped over a body and had my first proposal interrupted by the SWAT team and my mother.
It was time for me to reclassify “worst.”
“Did you have to frisk that old man?” I asked Willis, the only person besides the SWAT team who wasn’t looking daggers at me. “It’s pretty obvious he’s unarmed and has been for some time.”
Willis ignored me, so I looked at the guys. They were spread-eagle against the wall being carefully, and unnecessarily, frisked under the stormy gaze of Detective Dillon. Like they could be hiding a gun in those tight jeans.
“I
