it reached my eyes or not. I hoped anyway. “Detective Hamlin is expecting me.”
He lifted the yellow tape just enough for me to crouch under. On the other side, I took a few steps toward the house, searching for Derek among the bobbing heads. The cop grabbed my arm, his vise-like grip wrapped around my bicep, and squeezed hard, harder than he had to, to make his point.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to draw my knife and gut him like a deer, but my mind stopped my hand and my whole body froze. This was a cop. I couldn’t gut him. Hell, I couldn’t even defend myself. Instead, I shot him a glare that let him know he’d crossed a line. Ignoring me, he turned to the officer next to him. His hand tightened on my arm, yanking me a step to my right and into the flabby mass of his body. I was going to have a pretty bruise tomorrow in the shape of this douchebag’s fingers.
“Hey, Phil, Detective Hamlin’s psychic is here,” he spat out. This guy clearly didn’t like psychics.
I ripped my arm from his grip and took a step away, putting some distance and room for me to move between us. Yep, I was pissed. This bastard’s manhandling set off all my warning bells, making my gut tighten and my fingers itch to unsheathe my knife. I didn’t need to hit a cop. I definitely didn’t need to slit the turkey throat of a cop either. Distance was better, gave me time to think.
My expression shifted to the cold, menacing, dead mien that frightened beings that kill in the dark. Quite a few dead vampires knew that look. The officer registered it for what it was, a threat, resting his hand on the top of his gun with his thumb on the holster clip.
Derek stepped from the front door of the house, unaware of the standoff happening on the front lawn and yelled for me to follow him. He gave me a quick wave of his hand and turned back into the house. I backed away, slow and cautious, from the officer stationed on the line without taking my eyes from his. I stepped up onto the concrete slab, a.k.a. the front porch, meeting Derek’s interested eyes.
“What was that all about?” he asked, glaring at the officer behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the ass still had his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
“Just a little test of wills. They don’t like you bringing a psychic in. Told you.” I shrugged.
“Then it’s a good thing it’s not up to them,” he said.
I followed him into the house, hoping I wouldn’t find what my gut and my nose told me was there.
“You can see whoever it was broke down the door,” Derek said with sarcasm.
Broke it down? They damn near blew it right off the hinges! The door lay caddy corner across the threshold, dangling from the doorjamb by a single screw in a mangled bottom hinge.
We stepped over the door and waded through the living room, dodging cops standing around gawking at the psychic . Perfect! That’s all I needed, people watching me a little too carefully.
The living room was tidy, but not overly clean. A couple of remotes, an empty beer bottle, and a Shape magazine were strewn about the old and badly nicked coffee table.
We passed a bedroom that doubled as a gym with an elliptical and a weight bench taking up most of the space in the confined room. A set of eight pound, ten pound, and fifteen pound weights lined neatly on the weight rack along the wall.
As Derek and I turned the corner, cops and techs lined the walls to the last bedroom at the end, crowding the narrow walkway with bulk and emotion. They didn’t raise their eyes to me and they sure as hell didn’t look in the bedroom. I could taste the fear and anxiety on the stale air, like honey ice cream, thick, rich, and sweet on my tongue
So why was I going to go in there and not flinch when no one else would? When the look on these guys faces said that whatever was in there was bad? Real bad.
I had to go in when no one else would. No matter how bad the dreams got, if looking at something horrible helped stop
He lifted the yellow tape just enough for me to crouch under. On the other side, I took a few steps toward the house, searching for Derek among the bobbing heads. The cop grabbed my arm, his vise-like grip wrapped around my bicep, and squeezed hard, harder than he had to, to make his point.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to draw my knife and gut him like a deer, but my mind stopped my hand and my whole body froze. This was a cop. I couldn’t gut him. Hell, I couldn’t even defend myself. Instead, I shot him a glare that let him know he’d crossed a line. Ignoring me, he turned to the officer next to him. His hand tightened on my arm, yanking me a step to my right and into the flabby mass of his body. I was going to have a pretty bruise tomorrow in the shape of this douchebag’s fingers.
“Hey, Phil, Detective Hamlin’s psychic is here,” he spat out. This guy clearly didn’t like psychics.
I ripped my arm from his grip and took a step away, putting some distance and room for me to move between us. Yep, I was pissed. This bastard’s manhandling set off all my warning bells, making my gut tighten and my fingers itch to unsheathe my knife. I didn’t need to hit a cop. I definitely didn’t need to slit the turkey throat of a cop either. Distance was better, gave me time to think.
My expression shifted to the cold, menacing, dead mien that frightened beings that kill in the dark. Quite a few dead vampires knew that look. The officer registered it for what it was, a threat, resting his hand on the top of his gun with his thumb on the holster clip.
Derek stepped from the front door of the house, unaware of the standoff happening on the front lawn and yelled for me to follow him. He gave me a quick wave of his hand and turned back into the house. I backed away, slow and cautious, from the officer stationed on the line without taking my eyes from his. I stepped up onto the concrete slab, a.k.a. the front porch, meeting Derek’s interested eyes.
“What was that all about?” he asked, glaring at the officer behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the ass still had his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
“Just a little test of wills. They don’t like you bringing a psychic in. Told you.” I shrugged.
“Then it’s a good thing it’s not up to them,” he said.
I followed him into the house, hoping I wouldn’t find what my gut and my nose told me was there.
“You can see whoever it was broke down the door,” Derek said with sarcasm.
Broke it down? They damn near blew it right off the hinges! The door lay caddy corner across the threshold, dangling from the doorjamb by a single screw in a mangled bottom hinge.
We stepped over the door and waded through the living room, dodging cops standing around gawking at the psychic . Perfect! That’s all I needed, people watching me a little too carefully.
The living room was tidy, but not overly clean. A couple of remotes, an empty beer bottle, and a Shape magazine were strewn about the old and badly nicked coffee table.
We passed a bedroom that doubled as a gym with an elliptical and a weight bench taking up most of the space in the confined room. A set of eight pound, ten pound, and fifteen pound weights lined neatly on the weight rack along the wall.
As Derek and I turned the corner, cops and techs lined the walls to the last bedroom at the end, crowding the narrow walkway with bulk and emotion. They didn’t raise their eyes to me and they sure as hell didn’t look in the bedroom. I could taste the fear and anxiety on the stale air, like honey ice cream, thick, rich, and sweet on my tongue
So why was I going to go in there and not flinch when no one else would? When the look on these guys faces said that whatever was in there was bad? Real bad.
I had to go in when no one else would. No matter how bad the dreams got, if looking at something horrible helped stop
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