Page 17 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

CAT’S OUT OF THE BAG

Maggie

Graham slammed his fist on the steering wheel and got out of the car. I turned, watching him pace behind the Interceptor like a caged animal. He moved like he was trying to outrun something. His fists clenched, unclenched. That kind of rage didn’t come from a mix-up over a cat.

But what the hell was that?

My hand twitched for the door handle, then tightened back into my lap. I didn’t even know this guy. What if I was comforting the killer?Cop or not.

It felt like forever as I sat there watching a man that big come undone on the side of the road.

Finally, his shoulders sagged. He smeared his hand down his face and climbed back in.

Yeah, those were tears in his eyes.

“Should I be fearing for my life right now?” I asked, pressing my back against the car door. “Because that was a lot—for mistaking my cat for a baby.”

“You think that was because of your fucking cat?” He growled, staring ahead.

“I really don’t know what to think.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, chest rising like he was holding back the rest of whatever storm had hit him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve lost it like that.”

“Okay… but what exactly was that?”

He shifted in his seat. Uncomfortable. Unmoored.

“Look,” I breathed. “We’ve had a long-ass day. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

His eyes met mine. Those flecks of gold near his pupils caught the dash light and twisted something in my chest.

“That had nothing to do with you,” he said. “It was just… a lot. Caught me off guard. Won’t happen again.”

“Hey, you didn’t shoot anyone and the car’s still upright. That’s a win in my book.”

He huffed a laugh, barely. “Yeah, well, it’s a little embarrassing when it’s in front of a stranger. On duty.”

He looked like a man who’d just broken his own rules and hated himself for it. Like grief had cracked him open and leaked out somewhere inconvenient.

“Then let’s not be strangers,” I said, offering him a way out of his own shame.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

I shrugged. “Hey, I’m not saying I’m going to suck you off right here, right now, or anything like that, but?—”

“I mean… I did buy you dinner… so I’d be open to it.” His grin went rakish in an instant.

I rolled my eyes. “You would be. I’m just saying—friends. Not strangers. Also not blowjobs-in-the-car friends— yet .”

He tilted his head, half amused, half on alert. “You sure you know what you’re asking for? I’m nothing but bad decisions wrapped in regrettable tattoos, layered with trauma and tied to a stick of dynamite. With great sex. It’s like playing roulette with someone’s red flags.”

“Oh, you can’t be that bad.”

He leaned back. “Apparently, you like pain.”

“A little light BDSM now and then never hurt anyone.”

His face twisted into the definition of ‘ what-the-fuck?’. I just smiled and took a slow sip of my drink. I guess he wasn’t the type.

We drove in silence for a while. Not the awkward kind—but the kind where you’re both trying to come down from the emotional adrenaline and not quite sure how to start over.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the windshield, like he was searching the fog for secrets. The grin from before was gone, but not wiped clean—just hidden under whatever weight pressed down on him.

I watched his fingers tighten on the wheel, like he was trying to ground himself.

“I meant it,” I said softly. “Let’s not be strangers.”

For a second, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes—pain, maybe. Or guilt. But it vanished before I could name it.

“Port Grey sure looks like a Hallmark movie tonight,” I broke the silence. “I guess that’s the charm of small-town murder, huh?”

That pulled a snort from him. Barely, but it was something.

“I mean, I haven’t seen much yet,” I offered, trying again. “But I’ve always loved coastal towns.”

Still nothing.

Was he really that embarrassed?

I shifted slightly in my seat, knees brushing the center console. His elbow rested near the laptop, his fingers tapping the armrest.

He finally said, “I transferred here from Colorado Springs, eight years ago. Not exactly by choice.”

I glanced to him. “Big change. I visited once. My boss and I went to the Garden of the Gods, Pike’s Peak. The red rocks were unreal.”

His expression softened. “I knew someone who used to paint those rocks. Said they looked like bones breaking out of the earth.”

We fell quiet again. Something had shifted, it felt heavier now, more real.

“I live near the bird sanctuary,” he muttered. “It butts up to my place. Makes this coastal town feel less… coastal—more like the mountains.”

My whole body perked up.

“Wait—you live next to a bird sanctuary?”

He glanced sideways. A brow lifted. “That’s what I said.”

“I love birds.”

I leaned forward in my seat, turning toward him with too much excitement, and my arm grazed his just slightly.

“Crows and ravens are cool,” I went on, trying to temper the enthusiasm in my voice, “but owls are my favorite. When I was a kid, I’d leave my window open at night just to hear them.

There was a mother screech owl in the maple out back.

The way she cared for her chicks… I don’t know, somehow, it made me feel less alone. ”

I trailed off, suddenly aware I’d over shared.

He didn’t tease me… or laugh.

“I used to think,” I added quietly, “that if a bird could love its babies like that—just for existing—maybe someone could love me like that, too. No strings. Just me.”

Silence.

His elbow was still resting there on the edge of the console, but now, it didn’t seem like an accident when it brushed mine again.

I glanced to him.

He smirked. “Cecropia moth. They’re the largest moth in North America. Often confused for birds.” He rolled up the left sleeve of his jacket and held out his arm pointing to the large moth tattooed amongst the other chaos on it.

“That’s cool but… you’ve got a huge fucking spider on your hand! Ew!” I squirmed in my seat.

He shrugged. “I like bugs.”

“A spider is not a bug. It eats bugs.”

He smirked and pulled the car up to the house. The scene before us was a stark contrast to the chaos we’d left behind. Yellow tape still encircled a small group of trees in the backyard.

I still couldn’t believe someone was murdered here.

“I don’t want to think about sick-ass spiders anymore. Tell me about the Cecropia moth. How big do they get?” I asked, attempting to forget what laid in the woods, just hours ago.

“Females can have a wingspan of five to seven inches.”

“Damn, that is pretty big,” I said, a coy smirk on my lips.

“I love when women say that to me.”

Graham

I grinned, but it faded fast when I looked over and saw the flush rising up her neck. A soft, genuine laugh escaped her, but there was something else behind it. Something that made me stutter.

Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

I told myself to look away. Be professional. Be decent. But her lip caught between her teeth and I swear to Christ?—

Nope. Not tonight, Locke.

I threw the SUV in park and killed the lights.

She didn’t move right away. Just looked out at the house, quiet. I didn’t ask what she was thinking I already knew. She’d lost her safe place tonight. That did something to a person. Something I remembered too damn well.

Her hand moved to the door handle. “Are you coming in?” She asked, her voice most likely sounding more seductive than she was going for.

“Yes,” I said, shutting the engine off. “Wait here. I need to clear the area and house before you go in. Keep the doors locked.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s no one in there. I’ll just come in with?—”

“No!” I yelled.

She jolted away, startled.

“Stay here.”

“O-kay.” She slowly pulled her hand back and got her phone from her pocket. “I’ll just scroll while I wait,” she said, waving the phone in the air.

I nodded to her and stepped out of the car, unholstering my pistol. The tac light clicked on with a quiet snap—but the beam cut barely ten feet before the creeping fog claimed her yard and swallowed it.

I made a lap around the house checking in all the places most obvious that someone could hide—inside and behind the garden shed, under the porch, inside the garage.

Jesus Christ—the last surveillance team I was on had five officers.

Now it was just me. I knew we were strapped for extra hands, but this was ridiculous.

There were too many blind spots for me to cover them all.

I’d be a sitting duck in the driveway, and how the fuck was I supposed to know if anyone snuck up from behind.

I hated it when I was guaranteed to fail because of lack of resources.

Pushing the front door open, my eyes were instantly drawn to the broken panel of glass scattered on the floor.

Then it hit me.

Ugh! What the fuck is that?

My nostrils twisted at the sulfuric punch of something that died twice and rotted in the belly of a tuna can.

Besides the stench of cat shit singeing my nose hairs and the kitchen looking like someone looted it during the apocalypse, the house wasn’t a total dump.

Sure it needed a handyman—hell, maybe a priest—but it had something under all the grime.

Character, I guess. The carved gargoyles staring down from the mantle in what looked like a study—or maybe a room meant for drinking too much bourbon and avoiding phone calls—were weirdly impressive.

Coffered ceilings too, dusty and spider-ridden, but still solid.

It reminded me of the old houses back in Colorado…

the kind that made you think a family lived here before life blew it all to hell.

Yeah. It was nice. In that haunted kind of way.

I made my way up the stairs to the second floor.

Halfway up, a small barrel of fuzz zoomed around the corner and leapt towards me at a speed I didn’t know four legged shit bombs could reach.

I sucked in a breath and braced for impact—and claws.