Page 11 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)
Case first. Always put the case first. Except my brain kept drifting back to the way the cold bit her cheeks, turning them a shade of pink that was so damn cute I wanted to do something stupid—like lick them.
Jesus Christ. I’ve interrogated women who killed their husbands for money, drug dealers, and that one chick who made necklaces out of teeth—didn’t faze me.
But one blonde with sad eyes, nice tits, and a little squish I wanted to sink into?
And suddenly I couldn’t control myself anymore. What was I? Twelve?
She tucked a thick strand of her golden hair behind her ear— Christ. Even such a simple move as that had sent a low pulse where I didn’t need one. One flick of her wrist and I was a goner, my self control went right out the window.
God, Locke. Pull it together or turn in your badge. She could’ve been a fucking psychopath, and I still wanted to know how she kissed.
What kind of sick fuck thought like that?
Her voice cracked, but she didn’t fall apart.
“I’ve only been here for an hour, maybe two…
” She seemed terrified, maybe a little on edge, but she held it in with a stubbornness that told me she was used to patching herself together.
“Fuck. I feel like the entire town has already seen me cry. Great first impression.” She brought her hand shakily to her forehead, eyes wide, and sucked in a deep breath like she was trying to catch it.
I swear it was like I could feel the tightness in her chest—like I couldn’t breathe either.
“I need to sit down,” she said, grasping for the worn steps of the back porch, barely making it to the railing.
Her knees buckled, and down she went.
Jesus!
I caught her before her head hit the steps. A reflex. I didn’t even think. I just moved.
Grabbing my shoulder mic, I connected to dispatch and gave them the details. “It’s Locke, I’ve got a female down—at 121 Primrose Ave. She just dropped right in front of me. Need EMS on site. She’s breathing, but out cold.”
I sat beside her, patting her cheeks. “Come on, cupcake. Stay with me.”
She was pale. Fragile-looking. A far cry from her appearance just a moment ago.
“What happened, Locke?” Shell’s voice cut through as she approached.
“No idea. One minute I’m questioning her, the next her eyes are rolling back, and her head’s on its way to the steps.”
“Most likely flabbergasted by your bullshit.”
I shot an irritated glance her way. “Funny.”
“You could probably let go of her now.”
Carefully, I rested Maggie’s head on the steps and slid my hand out from under her honey-colored mane. “I didn’t want her to crack her skull, okay?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Shell sneered. “I know you’re a perv.”
I stood up, squaring off—my face inches from hers. “You didn’t think I was a perv with my dick buried in your cunt a couple years back… now did you?”
“I did. I just wanted to find out for myself what every other woman in Port Grey was going on about.”
“And?”
“Great dick, exceptional orgasms… other than that, nothing but empty promises.”
My jaw clenched. “Was that supposed to hurt my feelings?”
Shell ran her hands down her legs, smoothing the creases from her dress pants. “No. It’s supposed to wake you up. You’re so caught up in the past, I don’t think you’ve even attempted to let anyone in since?—”
“Don’t.”
She held up her hands. “Fine. You wanna play the tortured soul role for ten more years, knock yourself out.”
The ambulance arrived, parting the sea of nosy neighbors. Shell flagged down the EMTs, who quickly lifted Maggie onto the stretcher. I kept my eyes on her as they strapped her down and wheeled her off.
I turned to Shell. “She’s not involved in this.”
“You sure about that?”
“No, but I don’t think she’s the type.”
With an eyebrow raised, Shell leaned into me, arms crossed, then looked me up and down. “You figured her out in the five minutes between popping a boner and becoming a pillow?”
I scowled, but didn’t argue and followed her past the edge of the forest where I’d almost lost my lunch. This dude was a mess—chest carved open and gutted like a deer. It was empty. Just… gone.
No heart.
No lungs.
Nothing.
Fuck.
I might’ve had skulls and death inked all over my body, but I wasn’t one for blood and gore—not the real stuff, anyway.
Nettles crouched beside the body, pulling rose petals from the mouth with a long set of tweezers. Why the hell would someone stuff roses in their mouth?
“Calling card, sir?” Shell asked.
“Possibly,” Nettles replied. “Bag it.”
She did. I watched her work—efficient, focused.
It pissed me off that she made detective only a month after her transfer here.
Even though the jealousy prickled under my skin every time I thought about it, I remembered that being a detective meant more than bagging clues—it meant finding them—one thing I was okay admitting I was good at.
“Locke,” the Captain called, still bent over the body.
“I want you on Maggie.”
“Sir?”
“She’s not under arrest—yet. But she’s connected. Stick to her like glue. I want you there the moment she opens her eyes.”
I hesitated.
He glanced up. “Problem?”
“No.”
I didn’t know if Maggie Maxwell was hiding anything. But if I wanted to find out, I’d have to keep my head on straight, and my dick in check.