His name came out shaky.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her.

“Rush.”

Now it was trembling.

He pulled her hand to his thigh and pressed deep. “It’s gonna be okay, honey.”

He drove as fast as he could without freaking her out with too many lane changes.

They hit the lights almost perfectly and were at her pad in fifteen minutes.

And there were three squads already there, one uniform rolling crime-scene tape.

The squads were blocking the body.

He parked close to the bumper of one of the cop cars, got out, and another uniform yelled, “You can’t park there!”

“She lives here!” he shouted back, jerking his head to Rebel.

The cop’s eyes went that way, and such was the power of the dress, he froze and his face blanked for a second, probably so he could control himself from growing wood.

Maybe Rush didn’t like that dress so much.

He took long strides following Rebel who was racing up to the house.

Essence was on the porch with another cop, garland still in her hair, but fortunately she was wearing some huge, gauzy, white hippie top that fell off her shoulder, bell bottom jeans and shoes with massive platforms.

She still was tiny.

Then Essence was in Rebel’s arms when Rebel made it to her and tucked her close.

And Rush had to watch the cop on the porch transfix on her legs, his body jerking, totally fighting growing wood.

Christ.

Rush barely put a boot to the top step before Rebel was jerking Essence around his way and ordering, “Baby, find out who it is.”

“He can’t go near the body, ma’am,” the cop said.

She jerked Essence back toward the cop.

“Nine months ago, a friend of mine was murdered,” she declared.

“A friend of yours was murdered?” Essence breathed, her head tipped back, big eyes on Rebel.

Scratch another talk about letting people in on their conversation list.

Rebel ignored Essence and kept her attention on the cop. “Call Hank Nightingale and Eddie Chavez. Tell them what’s happened and that Rebel Stapleton lives here.”

Understanding something serious just got more serious, the cop put his cop mask on, nodded, and started to take a step back.

“And let my boyfriend take a look at the body,” she added. “Please.”

Boyfriend.

This was going fast.

He didn’t give a shit.

He looked at the cop.

The cop jerked up his chin. “Not close.”

Rush nodded, cut a glance to Rebel then turned and jogged down the steps.

“I said it’s okay!” the cop shouted.

Rush moved down the walk.

It was on its side, at an awkward angle, maybe three feet from the curb.

The back of the body was to him.

It was a woman.

She had hair the same color as Harrietta Turnbull.

Shit.

“Not close, bud,” a cop met him and warned.

Eyes glued to the body, he nodded again, skirted it wide and came to a halt.

He drew in a deep breath.

He’d never met her in person. Just seen pictures.

But he knew she didn’t live easy.

She also didn’t die easy.

She’d been beat to shit.

But it was Turnbull.

Turnbull dumped at Rebel’s.

Which could mean Chew.

Or Valenzuela.

Goddamn it.

He dug his phone out of his back pocket.

“You know her?” the cop asked.

He hit the buttons to call his dad.

He looked at the cop as he put the ringing phone to his ear.

“Her name was Harrietta Turnbull.”

“Accidentally, I was a cock blocker!” Essence exclaimed.

“Did that hippie granny just say she was a cock blocker?” Joker whispered.

“I’m so sorry, Rush, I didn’t mean to be a cock blocker!” Essence cried.

“Essence, it’s okay,” Rush murmured.

“Cock blocking is never okay,” Shy muttered.

“You two can shut up or I’m gonna knock your skulls together,” Hound growled.

Joker grinned at his boots.

Shy put his hands to his hips and pressed his lips together.

Boz sneezed.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” he asked. “I’m allergic to macramé.”

“He’s allergic to hippies,” High murmured.

“She’s a sweet old lady,” Snapper said.

“She’s a cock blocker, nothin’ sweet about that,” Hop put in.

“Are you men really fuckin’ jokin’ at a time like this?” Tack growled.

“It’s okay, really, Mega Rush,” Essence declared. “It breaks the tension.”

“Mega Rush?” Dog asked.

“I’m Tack, Rush’s father,” Tack introduced himself . . . again.

“Yes.” She looked him up and down. “Mega Rush,” Essence replied.

“I think I love this woman,” Brick stated.

“Can we actually talk about the dead body in the street?” Eddie asked irately. “Anyone mind we get back to that?”

They were all in what Essence called her parlor, which was a room painted the color of the flesh of cooked salmon and stuffed full of shit. Some of it was plants, a lot of it macramé. And now, outside Essence curled protectively in Rebel’s arms on a sofa that was upholstered by someone who was obviously inspired by Russian nesting dolls, the room was stuffed full of men.

Mostly Chaos with Hank and Eddie thrown in.

“Does the make and model of that car or the description of the driver sound familiar to you, Rebel?” Hank asked.

Rebel shook her head.

“Taught you how to spot a tail, you been looking?” Hank kept on.

Rebel nodded her head.

“Nothing?” Hank pushed.

“I’d tell you, Hank,” she said quietly. “Nothing.”

Hank didn’t look pleased.

Eddie took over.

“The last few days, either of you see anyone around the house or the ’hood that you don’t know?” Eddie asked. “Anything suspicious, or weird?”

“Eddie, you think I wouldn’t tell you if I noticed something like that?” Rebel asked back.

“Woman, a long time ago I quit wondering what shit you’d get up to,” Eddie groused, never happy with another dead body, also obviously not happy that Rebel was caught up in more shit.

On the other hand, his Chaos brothers looked at each other and it was clear they found this an admirable trait.

“I wouldn’t put Essence in danger,” Rebel snapped.

“That I believe,” Eddie muttered.

“Anyone see anything?” Tack cut in to ask the detectives.

Hank shook his head. “Canvass brought up a couple of neighbors that looked out at the last squeal of tires, but they didn’t see much more than Essence did. Gray Ford Taurus. Man with dark hair in his thirties or forties driving. Not much more than that to describe the driver. One caught a partial plate, so we might be able to track the car. But Chew has no cars registered to him, just a bike, and Valenzuela would not have his name or any of his dealings associated with a vehicle used for that.”

“Turnbull killed elsewhere, we get a lead, it’ll be something from the results of the autopsy, if we’re lucky,” Eddie added.

Hank turned to Rebel. “Your CI status is now officially revoked.”

“Hank!” Rebel shouted, like she was going to protest.

That made Rush cut his eyes down to her.

“Babe,” he growled.

Rebel looked to him then to Hank and stated, “For your information, I was gonna resign tomorrow.”

“Well, now you’re gonna call in sick tomorrow and no show for the rest of your life,” Hank shot back.

“You’re also going into Lee’s safe room,” Eddie declared and looked to Hank. “I’ll call him.”

Uh.

No.

“She’s staying with me,” Rush announced before Rebel could blow, and he didn’t even look at her, but he felt she was about to do exactly that. He looked to Boz. “And you’re staying here.”