The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Frankie

“Oh my God, Frankie, this better be an emergency,” Amelia groans into the phone. “And I’m talking about a friend emergency, not a cop emergency.”

I stifle a laugh and sigh. “It’s not an emergency, but this is a friend call.” It’s Saturday morning and after a late Friday staring at the white board full of victims’ faces, I need some time to myself. “I can tell you right now or you can meet me at Beans & Things in forty-five minutes.”

Amelia grunts and I can almost see her rolling her eyes. “Forty-five minutes,” she shrieks. “You think I can get ready to be seen out in the world in forty-five minutes?”

“I think you’d better try or else I won’t tell you the big news and ask you something really important.” I shouldn’t tease her first thing in the morning, but she makes it so easy, and also this is my only day to get this task done.

“Fine, but I expect a triple espresso and a chocolate peanut butter croissant waiting for me when I get there. Both of them better be hot.” She laughs before the call ends.

I shower and dress quickly in jeans and a silky blouse before leaving the house. Damien left early to take care of some conference call somewhere across the globe, so this is the perfect time to prepare for a shotgun wedding, minus the shotgun.

Walking inside Beans & Things reminds me of the first time I met Damien and my misconceptions about him. He’s not an arrogant prick who thinks only about himself. He’s cocky as hell, to be sure, but he’s also the most attentive and caring man I’ve ever met. He actually replaced my shirt with one that was at least five times more expensive than the one I’d got on sale at Target. So much in my life has changed since that day and there’s no going back.

Sure, we still haven’t found the Butcher of Beverly Hills, but we’re close, I’m sure of it, but everything else is so different. I’m here at my favorite coffee shop waiting for Amelia because I want to share one of the most special days of my life with her, my closest—okay, only—female friend.

“Coffee,” she growls the moment she drops down on the seat across from me. I watch with amusement as she takes a giant gulp of the hot drink, winces at the pain, and does it again.

“Shouldn’t you be immune to these ridiculous mistakes as a head shrinker?”

She glares at me. “It’s early and I need coffee. Hot, black bean juice. Don’t judge.”

“Not judging. In fact, it’s amusing watching you burn your mouth and go back for more.” I laugh and she glares at me over the rim of her triple espresso.

After several more sips, Amelia lets out a sigh with her gaze fixed on me. “Okay, I’m human, now. So, what’s up? You never call in favors, so what do you need help with? Hiding a body? An alibi? Girlfriend therapy session?”

“What is wrong with you?”

She shrugs, a crooked grin tilting her lips up. “So many things, which I’ll tell you about after you tell me why we’re up so early on a Saturday.” She takes a bite of the croissant, letting out an erotic groan while her eyes cross. “Well?”

“Well,” I sigh and lick my lips. “Remember how Damien and I are engaged?” I hold up my left hand, wiggling my ring finger. “Well, he wants to get married right away, as in next weekend.” I let the words hang in the air between us, mostly because I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about having the wedding so soon. Not that I want a long engagement, I don’t, but my plan isn’t to kill myself by planning a wedding in seven days. Less than seven, actually.

Amelia’s eyes go round with shock, and she sets her coffee cup down hard enough that some sloshes over her fingers. “Wait a minute. You just got engaged like five minutes ago and now you’re getting married next week? What’s the rush?” She gasps before covering her mouth, making a big dramatic show out of it as she leans forward and whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

“What? No, Amelia, I am not pregnant.” At least I don’t think I am. Shit, note to self, check my calendar after today.

“Then what’s the rush?”

Good question. “Why not? When you know, you know. Right?”

“Sure,” she nods slowly, her gaze assessing like she does when she’s in therapist mode. “And this feels right to you?”

“Of course.” My brows dip and I drop back against the chair with a sigh. “But it doesn’t feel right to you?”

She holds up her hands in a defensive gesture. “It doesn’t have to feel right to me, Frankie. I’m not the one getting married.”

“Okay, fine. Yes, it’s fast, but I’m okay with that. Tell me why I shouldn’t be?”

“Seriously?”

I nod. “Yes. Maybe there’s something I’m not considering, so shrink me and let me consider.”

“Okay fine.” She sits up tall with her shoulders squared and her gaze on my face, watching me. Studying me. “It seems rather controlling to rush a wedding when it’s clear you want a big wedding that takes time to plan. And is he really going to plan this wedding on his own?”

I shake my head. “His assistant Jess is doing most of the planning, so it’ll be big- ish I expect but the guest list will be small and intimate. This isn’t a big celebrity event.” But she’s right, it won’t be the wedding I want, not completely.

“See? Controlling. His assistant, the woman who works for him and who is definitely going to do what he wants, is planning your wedding. Tell me why that’s okay.”

“It’s kind of nice to have a man who’s so excited to marry me he’s willing to pay an obscene amount of money to do it as quickly as possible. That’s sweet, incredibly sweet. It’s romantic.” That’s how I see it, anyway. I take a sip of my now cool coffee and wait for her professional assessment while my heart gallops in my chest. “Well?”

“Well,” she repeats softly. “That is certainly a different way of looking at it. Although I think you’ve been hypnotized by the billionaire. But I trust your judgment, Frankie.”

I don’t know why her words fill me with relief, but they do. “You do?”

“Hell yeah. If you were anyone else, I’d be staging an intervention right now, but you’re you and I’m not. Does this mean you dragged me out of bed to go dress shopping?”

I nod slowly and my smile grows bigger by the second. “I did. I need a wedding dress, and you need a maid of honor dress.” Telling is better than asking in these situations, right?

If possible, her eyes get even rounder and bigger. “Me? You want me to be your maid of honor?”

“Of course. Who else? I don’t think Jay will wear a dress as well as you do,” I joke. “Seriously, you’re my closest friend. Who else would I have at my side when I get married?”

She blinks her fiery lashes rapidly to stem the flow of tears. “Frankie, I’d be honored.” She reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze, and I let her because she seems to need the connection more than I do. “Does this mean I get to plan a raunchy bachelorette party?”

“I’m not sure if I have the energy for raunchy, but a night with some greasy food and free flowing drinks sounds good.”

“Boring,” she growls and finishes her coffee, tossing it in the trash near the door. “Come on, let’s get us some dresses!”

She’s more excited than I am and that’s exactly why I need her with me. I can’t wait to marry Damien, but I’m not effusive the way Amelia is in my excitement, and it feels like what I need for this moment in my life. “Yeah, let’s.”

“This is the best place in town for elegant dresses that your groom-to-be can definitely afford.” Amelia’s smile is big as she lays her hands on my shoulders just outside the bridal boutique that looks too expensive for my wallet. Good thing I have Damien’s credit card. “So don’t you dare reject a dress based on price. Got it?”

I nod. “Yeah, okay. I’m not buying it anyway,” I say the moment one of the elegantly dressed women hands me a crystal flute of champagne. “Thank you,” I say, fully intimidated by the big display.

“So, what are we thinking?” The woman in charge is ultra stylish with a chin-length silver bob, an all-black outfit punctuated by red stilettos. She eyes me carefully. “Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll bring you what you want and what I think will look good on you. And let’s go from there.” She points to the glass. “Drink. It’ll make this easier.”

“Thank you.” I’m not sure what I want in a wedding dress, and I tell her as much. “Something elegant and sophisticated, but I don’t want a dress that looks like it’s wearing me.”

This answer seems to please her. “Got it.”

“So, this makes it real,” Amelia whispers a little too loudly. “How do you feel?”

Time for some radical honesty, with me mostly. “Excited. Terrified. Like I’m not sure about anything right now. I want to marry Damien, I love him, but that’s the only thing I know. This wedding. The Butcher. My fears. It’s a lot to process, and I think it’s all getting jumbled in my head.”

“That makes sense. You have a lot going on right now and none of it is your everyday stressor. I mean even you don’t regularly chase serial killers, especially one who may or may not be after your fiancé who happens to be a well-known billionaire. It’s a lot and I’d be more surprised if you weren’t feeling all the feelings .”

I sigh. “Thank you, Ames.”

“Of course.” She bumps my shoulder and refills our flutes. “Is Hottie McMoney-Bags going to let you keep chasing down the killers of this great city?”

My brows pinch together as I think about her question. “It’s not something Damien and I have talked about, but I don’t plan on retiring soon.” I love my job. It’s been the one steady thing in my adult life, and I won’t give it up, not even for Damien.

“And Damien is all right with that?”

I shrug. “He’ll have to be. I love him and while he might be incredibly powerful out in the world, he’s not the boss or the god of our relationship.”

Amelia smirks. “Make sure he knows that.”

“Oh, I will.” I’ll tell him because it’s important. I don’t mind letting him take the lead in some things, but my career is mine.

Several hours and several glasses of champagne later, I have a gorgeous white wedding dress, and Amelia has picked out a muted teal dress that shows off all of her assets.