Tempting the Light: Legends and Myths Police Squad (L.A.M.P.S. Book 1) by Bonnie Gill Page A
Authors: Bonnie Gill
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wouldn’t budge on this.
“Sure,” she agreed. Was it too much to hope he’d give up the hunt before she turned into the devil again? With her luck, yes.
He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good. Make sure you remind Pepper.” With that, he ran back to the truck.
Abby’s heart dove, aorta first, into her stomach. She thought about how he’d saved her from the falling speaker. His concern about her puffy nose. How much she desired him.
Damn him for making her want him. Screw him for calling his shotgun toting hunting brute in on this case.
She whipped around and stormed up the steps.
First and top priority. She decided to stay focused, and find that evil tampon genie. If she didn’t find him soon, she just might end up mounted over Sheriff River’s fireplace as a stuffed trophy.
Chapter 12
River prowled through dense underbrush of the darkened silence of the forest. Night-vision goggles aided his sight. He hunted for perilous creatures of the wild that harmed humans and stole their life before their due end. He hunted injurious monsters who dwelled behind civilization, so women and children could be safe, and he loved it. He hunted to ease painful memories and the piercing guilt of losing his only brother.
Six hours ticked off, and not a damn speck of evidence showed for his efforts. Ottar pursued several yards parallel to him, swiftly and without a sound. Ottar’s movements were barely visible through the thick woods, his face painted camouflage to blend with the trees and foliage. River smiled despite himself. The big Australian oaf was gifted with a seventh sense or something. Ottar’s talent and proficiency in hunting Cryptids had never failed them. Ottar’s only flaw River could find was he took to many risks that were often viewed as suicidal.
River stopped mid-step and spied three small messy footprints in the soft dirt. He pulled off his goggles, turned on his flashlight, and banged it against his palm. The damn thing kept flickering. The thick woods were hard enough to see in daylight, let alone in the dark. He followed the prints but they disappeared. Did Gnomes fly? The books hadn’t mentioned flying abilities. He pulled out his casting kit and dumped some bottled water into a dish. He mixed the powder in and poured plaster into the prints.
Ottar loomed behind him, quiet as a koala or whatever non-noise making animal they had down-under. “Hey, Ottar, want to call it a night?” River’s intuition always told him when his friend snuck up on him. He dug up the dirt around the footprints to pop the casts out of the ground and placed them in his backpack.
Ottar rubbed his eye. “Bloody oath, mate. I’m rooted, ey.”
Dawn broke the horizon dousing the woodlands with an eerie blue hue. River sucked in a breath of warm still air. “Both these Cryptids are nocturnal. They won’t be out during the daylight.”
“Sure. It’ll take us a while to walk back. Is your witness reliable?” Ottar adjusted the strap on his shotgun and let it swing across his back.
“Yes. He gave a detailed and accurate description of both the Jersey Devil and the Gnome.”
“If it is a Gnome, the little bogan didn’t just show up in the states on his own. Someone brought him over. Any suspects?”
River pulled on his collar. “Yeah, a few. Charlotte, Pepper, and Abby.”
Ottar smiled a snarky grin and placed his heat sensing equipment in his pack. “I didn’t realize sticking your tongue down her throat was a new way to interrogate.”
“I wasn’t . . .”
“Don’t tell porkies, mate. I know exactly what was going on before I walked in your house tonight. Her lips were swollen, her face flush, she had that just pashed look.” Ottar flicked his hair and turned his head back and forth in slow motion like the shampoo commercials, then batted his eyes and laughed.
“All right. I was trying to get close to her. I have a feeling Abby and Pepper are hiding something.” He shook his
“Sure,” she agreed. Was it too much to hope he’d give up the hunt before she turned into the devil again? With her luck, yes.
He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good. Make sure you remind Pepper.” With that, he ran back to the truck.
Abby’s heart dove, aorta first, into her stomach. She thought about how he’d saved her from the falling speaker. His concern about her puffy nose. How much she desired him.
Damn him for making her want him. Screw him for calling his shotgun toting hunting brute in on this case.
She whipped around and stormed up the steps.
First and top priority. She decided to stay focused, and find that evil tampon genie. If she didn’t find him soon, she just might end up mounted over Sheriff River’s fireplace as a stuffed trophy.
Chapter 12
River prowled through dense underbrush of the darkened silence of the forest. Night-vision goggles aided his sight. He hunted for perilous creatures of the wild that harmed humans and stole their life before their due end. He hunted injurious monsters who dwelled behind civilization, so women and children could be safe, and he loved it. He hunted to ease painful memories and the piercing guilt of losing his only brother.
Six hours ticked off, and not a damn speck of evidence showed for his efforts. Ottar pursued several yards parallel to him, swiftly and without a sound. Ottar’s movements were barely visible through the thick woods, his face painted camouflage to blend with the trees and foliage. River smiled despite himself. The big Australian oaf was gifted with a seventh sense or something. Ottar’s talent and proficiency in hunting Cryptids had never failed them. Ottar’s only flaw River could find was he took to many risks that were often viewed as suicidal.
River stopped mid-step and spied three small messy footprints in the soft dirt. He pulled off his goggles, turned on his flashlight, and banged it against his palm. The damn thing kept flickering. The thick woods were hard enough to see in daylight, let alone in the dark. He followed the prints but they disappeared. Did Gnomes fly? The books hadn’t mentioned flying abilities. He pulled out his casting kit and dumped some bottled water into a dish. He mixed the powder in and poured plaster into the prints.
Ottar loomed behind him, quiet as a koala or whatever non-noise making animal they had down-under. “Hey, Ottar, want to call it a night?” River’s intuition always told him when his friend snuck up on him. He dug up the dirt around the footprints to pop the casts out of the ground and placed them in his backpack.
Ottar rubbed his eye. “Bloody oath, mate. I’m rooted, ey.”
Dawn broke the horizon dousing the woodlands with an eerie blue hue. River sucked in a breath of warm still air. “Both these Cryptids are nocturnal. They won’t be out during the daylight.”
“Sure. It’ll take us a while to walk back. Is your witness reliable?” Ottar adjusted the strap on his shotgun and let it swing across his back.
“Yes. He gave a detailed and accurate description of both the Jersey Devil and the Gnome.”
“If it is a Gnome, the little bogan didn’t just show up in the states on his own. Someone brought him over. Any suspects?”
River pulled on his collar. “Yeah, a few. Charlotte, Pepper, and Abby.”
Ottar smiled a snarky grin and placed his heat sensing equipment in his pack. “I didn’t realize sticking your tongue down her throat was a new way to interrogate.”
“I wasn’t . . .”
“Don’t tell porkies, mate. I know exactly what was going on before I walked in your house tonight. Her lips were swollen, her face flush, she had that just pashed look.” Ottar flicked his hair and turned his head back and forth in slow motion like the shampoo commercials, then batted his eyes and laughed.
“All right. I was trying to get close to her. I have a feeling Abby and Pepper are hiding something.” He shook his
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