"Sounds good." I spritz water from a borrowed antique plant mister over Petey's waist wire, and then proceed to lean in to hiss under my breath as I quickly yank off the leather jacket. While it's not a bad thing to smell a lot like the guy you've been canoodling with, showing a bit of self-preservation would probably help me live longer to make my case to his anti-me mom. "You've talked to her longer, Petey. What's the impression she gives you? Do I need to prepare our last rites when she finds out I've deflowered her son?"

"You, maybe as soon as you open your mouth. Me, on the other hand..." Petey sniffs, standing up slowly to test out the rethreaded stitches. "There is no good reason why anyone would kill me."

I look up at him, tempted to put the jacket right over my head so I don't have to. I drape it, regretfully, over the couch instead. I'm coming back for it for sure. "Put your shirt on, you flasher. I'm going blind."

"You don't have to look so disgusted," Petey says, primly, flexing his abs and finding my work acceptable. "It's not for you."

I really don't want to know who it's for. Neither does the Cookie Man, who abruptly opens the door for us and barks out, repeating his earlier statement rather empathetically, "The Alpha will see you both now."

Jett and Smith, who had for some reason gravitated to the windows, say nothing, but Smith does grab a corded phone from the cradle on the wall. 

The kitchen is smaller and older than I thought it'd be; there's a nice, expensive wall oven, but that's about it. It feels like a cottage kitchen, everything rearranged humbly, with little old grandma tiles and doilies on every imaginable surface, and iron cast pots hanging from easy to reach nails. There's a fresh tray of tempting looking cookies on the small circular kitchen table, and one Alpha.

"Welcome," says Susie Smith, as beautiful as I remember her. She does not look like she gave birth to two adult children, or like she understands the fire hazards, as she is wearing an entirely flammable, fur-trimmed apron. Maybe it's the thrill of the combustion. Maybe it's because she's got a black credit card and can afford it. "Have a cookie. Would you like some tea?"

The cookies make Petey toot. Petey keeps a straight face, and studiously ignores my stare as a constant barrage of poot, poot, poot assails the ears. It's like I'm the only one at a club where the DJ is my cousin with his erupting colon dishing out a diss track on a dollar-store microphone.

"These are great cookies," Petey informs the Alpha, who is sits on the other side of the table with her legs crossed at the knee and a cup of tea on a saucer.

"Thank you, Peter," Susie says, not even batting an eyelash at the farts. She takes a sip, and without making an expression, puts the tea down and drops a block of sugar into it. She stirs with the small spoon. "It was my pleasure." She gives Petey a glance over. "And I see you're reattached again."

"Still without a shirt," I add, hoping to have an explanation. "Shirts are nice. Shirts give me a choice." I take a sip of tea and almost cough at how strong it is, as if my tongue's dried out from the bitterness. I almost spill the cup when I practically drop it back onto the table.

"Hmm." Susie's lips draw back as she takes a sip from her tea. She sets cup and saucer down. "I'll be frank," Susie tells me as she adds another block of sugar to her tea. "I don't want my son involved with you."

"Fair," I say, thinking about the murder accusation. I sure hope nobody murders Petey again, and I sure hope it wasn't Cheekbones who murdered him because that would sure suck. "I wouldn't want my son involved with me either."

"More importantly," Susie continues, "my talk with Peter has revealed some telling insights about my child rearing policies. I also may have been...abnormally harsh, when I encountered you in the alleyway."

"I dunno," I say. "'Stop hip gyrating my son' is a pretty entertaining command, all things considered."

Susie smiles sharply and her fingers tighten on the teacup handle. She lifts it to her lips humorously. "I meant the choking. As well as running you out of town. And the type of murder method where I end up scattering you to the four winds."

Oh, right. "No worries, Ma'am." Is this a Ma'am situation? "You're not the first. I've been threatened lots of times before."

"Surprisingly enough, the dead and the living have many things in common when it comes to you," Petey mutters under his breath.

I ignore. "Plus, I'm glad you sound easy to talk to. I was under the impression that you almost committed mass murder over the fact your adult son wanted higher education."

Susie's lip draws back. She doesn't look happy that I know about this, and she almost slams the teacup back into the saucer, hard enough to break it. "Admittedly," she breathes, "I may let my temper get the best of me at times. It was a shock to me. Peter, however, has told me he sympathizes. It never is easy when they want to be free of the nest. I've...come to terms with the temporary nature of your union."

Right, well, angry, protective mother is great, and jaded, rational mother is even greater. "So here's the thing about me and your son. I'm not breaking up with him, unless he wants to."

"Hm," says Susie, sweetly. "That can be arranged."

Okay, this is starting to make me mad. "Listen, Alpha Smith. I may have made him cry on certain occasion and sort of imprinted myself into his well-being with the flexibility of my tongue. But I genuinely like your son, and it goes in the same way that I genuinely want to be really good to him."

"The more you look into Peter's death, the more likely he'll be in danger." Susie leans her chin on her hand, eyes flashing red. "I don't want him involved with you, and I'm very much of the mind to cut you out of his life." She pauses. "But, despite my better judgment..." She leans back, and nods. "Take care of him."

My shoulders slump in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were going to kill me for biting him on the throat--"

"You WHAT?"