Page 13 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

“Not unless you want your innocence ruined.” He said through the corner of his mouth and abruptly closed the car door in my face.

The warm heat tickled my cheekbones. Was he flirting with me?

Graham saluted Georgetta, then returned to the driver’s seat.

“Moon’s?” I asked, buckling my seat belt.

He stayed quiet, but his eyes pierced mine in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb.

“It’s a bar.” He said, his voice low.

“I see. Like… a… gay bar?” I said, baiting him.

“What? No.” His thick eyebrows pressed together. “It’s just a bar that me and a few other officers frequent.”

“O-kay? So, why is she saving part of her paycheck for you?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” He scowled, and slipped a pair of sunglasses on.

“It just seems odd. Like she’s paying for services… or bribing you.”

He gripped the wheel, the leather creaking under his tattooed fingers. “She’s not. She’s donating to the precinct.” He said, his voice clipped. “Any other questions?”

“Yes. Why would she donate at a bar? Why not just take it to the precinct herself, or mail a check, or Venmo? Anything.”

“Oh God, here we go.” Graham shook his head, most likely rolling his eyes, but I couldn’t be sure because—sunglasses. “Since you are determined to know… we dance.”

“Dance?”

Oh, my interest was piqued!

“Yes.”

“What are we talking—line dancing, electric slide, maybe a little striptease?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You strip? In public? For money?”

“Mm-hm.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t contain my laughter. “You’re not even blushing. You have zero shame.”

“Should I?”

“No-no, don’t get me wrong—you’d do very… very well. I’ll shut up.”

We rolled to a stop at the intersection, and he turned to face me. He pulled his sunglasses down his nose, looking at me like he wanted to devour every part of me.

“I do. Do very well, that is. The nights I’m dancing… we raise three times as much.” He eyed me up and down, “You should come watch sometime.” He smirked, then faced forward, and continued driving.

Oh, my God. I think I just got wet. He strips for charity and I’m the one who needs a prayer?

Jesus!

The rest of the ride was pretty quiet. I was still trying to process what just happened without becoming so obvious that I was turned on, that I just stared out the window and watched as we glided through the quiet streets of the fishing town.

The buildings were old, mixed with new, their brick facades bearing the scars of countless storms and salt laden winters.

They looked like survivors, beat to hell, still standing. I could relate.

Finally, we pulled up to a sturdy red brick building with a faded sign reading: Port Grey Police Department and the letters P.G.P.D in bold navy letters above.

The station sat directly on the waterfront. Seagulls filled the air. The smell of the saltwater and diesel fuel lingered over the dock, where several police boats bobbed in the tide.

Graham steered the SUV into the parking lot, opting for a spot near the door.

“Do you get a lot of water crime?” I asked, attempting to start a normal conversation after that doozy earlier.

He nodded. “Those three boats have seen more action than my patrol car has lately. We are part of the Essex County Marine Patrol, and our neighboring cities have a pretty high crime rate, which tends to spill over into our borders.” He paused.

“Lynn is a few miles south and its waterfront is notorious for stolen vessels and drug trafficking. Those crimes can easily drift into our jurisdiction.”

“That’s comforting.” I said. “Other than the murder in my backyard, how is Port Grey… safety-wise?”

“Crime has increased the past few years,” He got out and opened my door. “…but I guess it comes with the territory of having open access to the ocean. Criminals think they can have a clean get-away.”

He moved himself to the side and swung the door open further. I climbed out, my eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. I took a step forward, but he stopped me, placing the tips of his fingers on my stomach to keep me in place.

I looked down at his hand—his middle finger sported a tiny bat tattoo—then up to his eyes.

He was going to make this very difficult. If only I hadn’t sworn off the spell. I could’ve used it to my advantage. Graham would believe me about my innocence and spend the rest of his life convincing the Captain of it.

“I have to ask—any weapons on you?” His tone flattened, like he didn’t want to treat me like a suspect, but didn’t have a choice.

“Seriously?” I crossed my arms. “Do you really think the hospital would let me walk in or out with a weapon, Officer?” I shook my head, rolling my eyes at him.

“I’m going to have to check. I hate protocol, but this one makes sense, especially when someone is involved with a murder investigation.”

“Ugh—! How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not involved.”

He grabbed the mic on his shoulder. “Can I get someone out front to supervise a weapons check?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You want someone to watch you feel me up?” My mouth curled into a smug grin. “Kinky, Officer Locke.”

Jesus, Maggie. Dial it back before you jump him in the parking lot.

The tiniest tug at the corners of his mouth told me I’d cracked the grumpy facade he thought he needed.

“You really should be serious right now.” He said, furrowing his brow.

Be serious?

How could I be serious?

I was about to be felt up by a man twice my size—and he didn’t even buy me a drink first. I had no idea where those hands were going—only where I wanted them to.

How the fuck was I supposed to be serious?

“Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.” I said, looking over my shoulder as a female officer approached. “Like—has anyone ever told you how you kind of sound like that guy from Scream when you’re trying not to crack up?”

He nodded, and a rakish grin smeared across his face, “Nice.” He adjusted his voice and added, “ Do you like scary movies ?”

“Depends. Is the killer shirtless, looks like he benches three hundred, and smells like body wash and bad decisions? I have a type.”

The officer had her black hair pulled back so tight into her bun I swore she was going for the instant facelift look. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of blue gloves.

“I’ll frisk. You supervise,” she said, wiggling her fingers into the gloves like she meant business.

“Whoa… can I at least get a name first?” I asked, raising my hands.

“Officer Prickett, badge number 2118. Stand over here, place your hands on the hood, open your legs. Any weapons, or sharp objects I should know about?” She rattled off—professional, all clipped tone and no bullshit—as she stared through me like I was transparent.

How embarrassing. Not only did my nosy neighbors see me pass out in Officer McFineAsFuck’s arms, but now the whole damn town might get to see me get frisked. Perfect. Just what I wanted—to be labeled Port Grey’s resident unstable floozy with a flair for dramatics and maybe murder.

“Ma’am?” Prickett shifted in closer, eyes locked.

“Oh. No. No weapons.” I placed my hands on the hood and spread ‘em.

“I’m going to begin. Stay still, and I will let you know when I’m finished.”

“You sound like my first boyfriend.” I muttered under my breath.

A low snort cracked in the air behind me—Graham. He quickly disguised it with a cough, but I knew better. The bastard was enjoying this.

Officer Prickett’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She started her sweep—down my arms, under my bra (lingering a second too long for it to be strictly professional), down my back, across my hips and ass, then slowly down one leg, over my center, and down the other. She was thorough.

I glanced at Graham, who leaned against a short cement pillar, arms folded, legs crossed, smug as hell. He was watching the whole thing with the kind of amused expression that made me want to throw something at him. Like a chair. Or maybe my bra.

So I might have stuck my ass out a little more. Maybe I gave him a show. He started this.

Officer Prickett—now crouched down by my ankles—was not amused. She looked up with murder in her eyes. “Since you can’t seem to follow directions… open your mouth, I want to make sure there’s nothing hiding in there.”

Before I could tell her where she could shove her latex gloves, she grabbed my chin like I was a misbehaving child.

“Open.”

“Come on, Jay. That’s enough,” Graham said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but his hand wrapped around hers, pulling it off me without a hint of hesitation. “She’s not smuggling anything.”

“Thanks,” I mouthed to him, wiping my chin and trying to salvage what was left of my dignity.