It might be fire-damaged or condemned. It was most certainly dangerous. I debated waiting until tomorrow night when I could return with a man and a plan. Bobby’d proven himself a whiz kid at breaking and entering in the past; I could totally break, and probably enter, though not necessarily without getting caught. But I was becoming a little too reliant on my boy toy. I wasn’t in the market for dependence. No matter what the sales tag said or how cute the packaging, dependence was like a lifetime subscription … you just paid and paid. No, I needed to do this on my own, to prove I could totally own a solo and wasn’t just kept around for background beautification. This Everybody Wants Bobby thing was understandable. Hell, I wanted the boy. But the longer this mission went on, the more I realized that I was done with being bait, done with being dispensable and with playing entourage, the pawn of vampires and Feds. It was starting to make me forget who I was: Gina flippin’ Covello, Queen of the Glammed.
