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reality show on that will make us feel better about ourselves.”
     
    She laughed but pinned me with a serious gaze. “Promise me, Frankie.”
     
    “I promise,” I agreed.
     
    That seemed to make her feel better, her steps lighter as we walked toward the TV. I wondered what she would say if she knew the promise I made wasn’t the one she’d exactly asked for.
     
    I had no intention of staying away from Charming. I fully intended to find out what the hell he was up to. I just promised not to die while doing it.
     
     
     
    *    *    *
     
     
     
    It was after ten by the time Piper left for her apartment. She stayed later than she usually did, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she needed the company or if she was afraid that the minute she left I’d be up to no good.
     
    She was right, of course.
     
    The minute she left, I ran into my bedroom and ransacked the pile of black clothing lying on the floor. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a long-sleeved black T-shirt and quickly pulled them on. The clothes felt like a second skin against me. I checked myself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, leaning against my bedroom wall, and smiled with satisfaction.
     
    I wasn’t a girl that suffered from low self-esteem.
     
    I liked the way I looked and I worked hard to maintain the curves that shaped my body. I wasn’t fat, though by today’s standards (which basically said you should look like a stick with a head), some people probably thought I was, but I didn’t really care what those people thought. In my opinion, a woman should have a shape; she should be a body of swells and valleys. She should have something for a man to grab on to in bed—a solid form to hold on to in the night—not some twig that he couldn’t even find between the sheets.
     
    I stood at average height, 5’5”, and had a classic hourglass shape (just like Marilyn Monroe) with full hips that gave way to a waist that dipped in on each side and rose up to meet an ample chest and a strong set of shoulders. My thighs rubbed together when I walked and someone once compared my booty to an onion (he said it made a brother want to cry).
     
    I wore my golden-blond hair short (just past my chin), and I liked to style it in messy curls or waves that framed blue eyes and a creamy complexion.
     
    To finish off the body-hugging outfit, I pulled on a pair of high-heeled black boots and the black cap I’d found earlier. Cat Woman could eat her heart out. On my way out the door, I grabbed a black coat and my bag that contained the address I got illegally out of the DMV computer system. What? What’s the point in working at a job you hate if you can’t benefit from it sometimes?
     
    It took about forty-five minutes to get to his house. Of course he lived in some ritzy part of town. What was surprising and to my advantage was that his house sat apart from everyone else’s. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he would value privacy—I mean, he was a killer.
     
    The house was dark and instead of parking close to the yard, I turned around and went back the way I came, parking near a cluster of houses just down the road. Making sure there wasn’t anyone else lurking around (besides me), I walked the rest of the way to his property.
     
    I wasn’t about to knock on the door so I went around the side of the house, peaking into darkened windows and snooping through the bushes. The house was large, made of some kind of stone, and had a lot of wide windows. When I came around to the back, I noticed there was a light on in what appeared to be a family room with an adjoining kitchen.
     
    I tiptoed up onto the back deck, creeping closer to a nearby window. I pressed myself up against the side of the house and then stealthily peaked around and into the house. There was a really tall dining table with four leather chairs sitting in the center, acting as a divider between the spaces. On it was an open laptop and papers scattered all