Amanda Carlson - Full Blooded

He grunted his response, adding a few choice words.

Cripes, this man pissed me off. I should let him break down the door. He would get reprimanded and if nothing else, maybe someone without an evil grudge against me would be assigned to my case. But deep down I knew there was really no way to get rid of him; like a homing pigeon, he would always come back.

So I did the only thing left I could do. I braced my silky geisha-clad shoulder against the door, grabbed on to the knob with both hands, and gave it one swift, hard yank.

The door popped instantly free of the opening. I stumbled back a few steps ungracefully as it wobbled against me. I’d used too much strength, but I recovered nicely, and calmly placed it a few feet to the right of the opening.

I turned back to Ray with a sunny smile on my face, like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Hi, Ray. So glad you could drop by.”

Ray was momentarily stunned. He tried to recover himself, but it took a second. “What in God’s name is going on here now?”

“You know, Ray, people keep asking me that and I don’t really have a good answer. But I promise when I have one you’ll be the first to know.” I turned and headed to my kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Ray chased after me, lecturing my retreating back.

“Did you happen to know a police car was dispatched to this location last night at approximately eleven-fifteen p.m.?” he barked. “And they left without even coming in. The officers who responded actually said they ‘forgot’ to file a report. Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you, Hannon? A little too out of the ordinary for this quiet building to get hit again so soon?”

“Ray, right now nothing seems strange to me.” I dumped some fragrant Colombian coffee into the filter and poured enough water to fill the pot. Ray situated himself outside my breakfast nook to better harass me.

“By the looks of your mangled door,” he went on, “it seems you’re the source of the complaint. I can find out who called it in with a quick search of your neighbors’ phone records. You can’t cover all your tracks, Hannon. No matter how hard you try. Or have you forgotten what you learned when you were still on the straight and narrow?”

I braced my hands on the kitchen counter to give me strength, and then turned my tired eyes on Ray, giving him a full dose of my stare. He wiggled immediately and dropped his eyes. It was damn satisfying. “I never left the straight and narrow, Ray. You only choose to believe I did to pacify your own overactive imagination. I left the force because it wasn’t the right fit for me, and because I didn’t like dealing with overzealous cops who thought they knew everything. Cops who dogged me, made my life hell with their craziness, cops who can’t seem to leave well enough alone. I’m not the bad guy here, Ray. You’re the one with the vendetta. I’d say it’s more than time for you to drop this whole damn thing so we can both get on with our lives.”

“My imagination?” he barked. “You’re the one who’s living in la-la land, Hannon. For one, your apartment’s been royally trashed by someone who hates you—hates you enough to bring in their fucking pet. Your door’s been blown off its hinges since the last time I was here. You had enough horse tranq in your possession to put out an army of Clydesdales, and your made-up camping buddy has yet to show his face.” He must’ve called in several favors to get the lab results that quickly, if he wasn’t just guessing. “Then there was that guy you beat up at the movie theater—a mere nine hours ago—who was DOA.” Dammit, Drake’s death would definitely complicate things. “And you’re worried that I’m the one with the overactive imagination? Now that’s hilarious, Hannon.”

A throat cleared behind me. “I’m sorry, but were you just referring to me?” James asked, his voice gravelly and rough with sleep and menace. “You know that part about the ‘made-up camping buddy’? I assume you meant me.”

I turned to see James framed perfectly in my kitchen door-way like a page out of one of those hard-bodies calendars.

He was naked from the waist up.

Droplets of water from his shower still lingered on his chest. His hair had been slicked back with his fingers, because, I guess, brushes were for sissies. He’d managed to find his pants, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t really feel like explaining Ray’s heart attack to any of the attending officers when they came to remove him from my apartment.

James leaned his half-naked, wet body against the doorjamb and casually crossed his arms, making his biceps jump. He had a small smile on his lips. He was enjoying this.

But I wasn’t fooled for a second.

Tiny hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood at attention when our eyes met. He was every inch a lethal predator, and in about half a second Ray would know it too. James wasn’t going to mess around. This was all business.

Ray had inadvertently stepped backward into my living room when he had seen James. I bet he hadn’t even realized it yet. It was a common reaction. Humans instinctively wanted to get away. Ray’s mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out.

“I can assure you I’m not make-believe.” James continued the conversation as if nothing were amiss. “You know how it is, when you just want to escape with your lover for a few nights. All your careful planning goes straight out the window. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?” He gave me a wicked grin.

“That’s right … honey. See, Ray, we just got caught up in the moment.”

James’s gaze locked on mine as I spoke and a line of goose bumps erupted along my arms. James growled, “And it was quite a moment, wasn’t it?”

Ray physically shook himself. His hands shot toward his chest, I’m sure itching for the gun I knew was tucked inside the ill-fitting sport coat he had on today. I caught a whiff of surprise emanating from him, as well as a heavy dose of frustration.

James didn’t wait for Ray to respond; instead he paced slowly into my kitchen, stopping immediately behind me. He reached above my body, his arms brushing my shoulders. He pulled down a coffee mug and placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning around and busying himself pouring a cup of coffee.

When he finished, he settled his hips against the counter and took a lazy sip. He wasn’t playing fair. “I apologize we haven’t had a chance to chat sooner, Detective. It is Detective, isn’t it? We’ve been a bit busy trying to clean up after the nasty break-in.” He took a long swallow. “By the way, do you have any leads? Anything you care to share with us? It would give Molly some much-needed peace of mind to hear how the case is shaping up.”

Ray fought for control, but I could see he wasn’t going to give up easily. He squared his shoulders and took half a step forward. I had to give him props for trying. He cleared his throat. “Well, maybe you do exist. So what? That doesn’t mean anything. The last time I checked it doesn’t explain away everything else that’s happened around here.” He nodded toward my bare living room, littered with gouges and trashed walls. Point taken.

“No, it doesn’t,” James agreed. “But if I’m not mistaken, isn’t that your job, Detective? To find out exactly what has happened here and why? Correct me if I’m on the wrong track, but as I understand it, the victim is usually not the one harassed by the investigating officer. It’s your job to track down the perpetrators and find the clues. Do you honestly think Molly would trash her own apartment like this?” James’s tone became steely. “I also don’t believe there’ve been any formal charges filed, and from my understanding there has been no theft here, no serious crime, only some unfortunate vandalism.”