Page 18 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

He was just a little thing, so it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d expected, but the adrenaline surging through me needed a moment to subside.

“Hey bud, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make any sudden movements around officers making a sweep?”

I ran my fingers through his soft, warm, grey fur before setting him down on the step in front of me.

He wove between my feet, letting out the tiniest of mews, and wrapped his tail around my ankles as he passed through my legs.

“Go on, little man. I have to make sure it’s safe up here.”

Chester started his motor, and rubbed against my leg, clawing at my calves attempting to make biscuits on them.

“Friendly little guy, aren’t ya?” I scooped him up, and he nuzzled into the crook of my arm. “You know… your mama’s not going to be too happy about the surprise you left for her in the study.”

He trilled, and rolled on to his back, cradling himself like a baby in my arms.

I cleared each room, and every closet—gun in one hand, vibrating kitten in the other.

It would’ve been pretty simple for someone to hide from a single officer in a big old house like this with so many rooms and hidden spaces.

And maybe I shouldn’t have let my guard down—just yet—but I figured if the cat wasn’t freaked out, it was probably safe.

Then again, this was my first meeting of the little bugger and I was already doomed to be covered in cat fur by the time I made it back outside, so maybe his instincts on stranger danger hadn’t fully developed yet.

I opened the door that led to the attic and raised my flashlight.

Fuck me.

That place looked creepy as shit—like the kind of room you’d find in a horror movie. You know, the kind where the guy that goes in first doesn’t come back.

“You stay down here.” I told Chester, and set him gently on the floor. “I have to scan the attic for the boogeyman.” He gave a little chirp and galloped down the hallway like he was on a mission. Tiny paws pattering over the old wood, tail held high like he owned the place.

“Yeah, that’s right. Run for cover.” I muttered, checking my magazine.

I closed the attic door behind me, the beam of my flashlight swept across exposed rafters, slanted ceilings, and stained-glass dormer windows that turned the moonlight into a weird kaleidoscope of colors, shifting on the floor as the clouds passed in front of the moon.

Dust floated in thick waves, something about the air up here made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

What I remembered about working with Silas Harney was that there was always a smell that clung to him—bourbon, old paper, and that godawful fruity tobacco he swore was fancy. This attic stank of him.

My boots thudded against the warped floorboards, making me hypersensitive to the fact that anything could jump out at any moment.

I stepped farther in. A chill snuck under my collar.

This wasn’t just dusty storage space. Something about this place felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for me to make a wrong move. Then?—

The mirror in the corner caught my light and threw it back at me. I aimed at it like an idiot.

I took a deep breath.

“Creepy-ass attic,” I muttered. “If something pops out, I’m lighting it up, and Maggie can yell at me later.”

I gave it one last look, clicked off my flashlight and headed back down.

By the time I’d made it back outside, the fog had thickened. Maggie’s face glowed in the dark cabin of the SUV, her eyes locked on the screen with an amused smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Then her jaw dropped with an excited flush washing over her cheeks. She bit her lower lip.

What are you looking at?

I arched a brow and tapped on the window.

She jumped nearly a foot, her phone flying from her hands and into the driver’s seat.

“Good God—you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” I leaned in. “You looked… invested.”

Her cheeks flamed harder. Jackpot.

I knew I shouldn’t have, but I let her squirm a bit—then cleared my throat and straightened up. “By the way,” I said, tapping the window frame with two fingers. “Your little gremlin left you a surprise in the study. Might wanna grab a hazmat suit.”

Her expression shifted from flustered to horrified in under a second.

“Chester—no…” she groaned, smacking her palm to her forehead. “I knew I should have just brought the litter in earlier.”

“Too late now. Damage is done.”

I opened her door and stepped back. “Come on, house is clear.”

“Can we grab a few things from the car?” She said, the white bag from Pier 84 in one hand, phone in the other.

“Sure.”

We barely crossed the threshold before Chester launched himself at her from the half-wall like a four-legged missile.

“I see he greets everyone this way.”

“Not really. Usually he’s nowhere to be found when strangers are near.”

“Well, he didn’t seem to think I was a stranger earlier.” I said.

Chester rolled around in her arms, climbed up her shoulders and circled around the back of her head, ultimately perching on her shoulder like a pirate’s parrot.

“God, Chester—relax.” She laughed, setting the food down on the butcher block like it was second nature.

She pulled out a nugget, broke it into shreds, and crouched to make a neat pile on the floor.

“You’ve been alone all day. Here. Eat.” She said before tossing down a second pile of food and grabbed the paper towel from one of the bags in my arms and disappeared into the study without another word.

When she returned her face was stuck in a disgusted grimace.

“Ick.” She said, the crisis now averted and wrapped in an obscene amount of paper towels. “Be right back.” She brushed past me heading toward the back of the house.

“Hold it.”

“What?”

“Where are you going?”

“There’s a trash can by the garage.”

My eyes dropped to the wad of towels in her hand. “Hand it over.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay…?”

Maggie passed it over like it might bite me. I headed out back and dumped the mess.

When I got back, she was leaning over the butcher block, elbow braced, ass tipped just slightly—looking like sin in a sweater. And there went my last thread of professionalism.

She was reading an article from the Port Grey Gazette on her phone. I knew exactly which one it was, judging solely by the ecstatic way her eyes beamed. Any more, and I might’ve witnessed an orgasm.

“Is this true?” She glanced up at me, a strand of her golden hair falling in front of her face. “The calendar is called Hunk Patrol ?” Her grin grew wicked as she zoomed in—dead center on my crotch. You’d think I handed her a winning lottery ticket.

I leaned in, peering over her shoulder. 2018. Was that year Glocks on Cocks ? Or SIGs on Bigs ? I couldn’t remember, and I sure as hell couldn’t believe she fucking googled me.

“If Linda’s like a mom to you, I completely understand why you ripped out November. Damn.”

“Like I said. Must’ve been the wind.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her voice said bullshit. Her smile said, please keep talking.

What did one even say? I couldn’t deny it—there was too much evidence.

When the next dropped, she wouldn’t be able to miss it.

Every woman in town bought one for themselves, their moms, their daughters—even shipped ‘em across the goddamn country. From Halloween to New Year’s, my dick was practically a local celebrity.

Fuck it.

“So… do you like what you see?” I leaned in close enough to smell her shampoo again. “Just say the word, cupcake. There’s more—no zooming required.”

“There’s more?!” Her eyes sparkled with delight. “Who do I have to speak with to get my hands on the rest?”

I swallowed.

Shit. She actually took the bait.

“Erm—I… uh…” Jesus. I couldn’t even form a sentence.

My brain had tapped out, my dick had the wheel.

She’s probably going to look at them while touching herself—God, I’d love to see that.

She’d sit on the couch, panties to the side, thick thighs spread wide, foot up on the coffee table while she flipped to November—fingers sliding into her gorgeous pussy. Her T-shirt shoved up, tits spilling out—her fingers tugging at her nipples like they were the only thing keeping her sane.

God, my dick and brain were tag teaming me like they were sick of taking turns. I wasn’t making it out of this kitchen alive.

Rapid-fire visuals. My better judgment didn’t even try to fight back—no baseball, no gardening, not even my tax bill could kill this thing.

So it did what any traitorous brain would do—it joined the dark side and started feeding the fantasy.

The way her sundress clung to her curves.

How her thighs flexed when she leaned on the butcher block.

How her tits were just begging to spill out of that bodice—Dude, stop!

Or you’re going to fucking come—right here, right now—in the middle of her kitchen.

I was fucking forty-three. A grown-ass man . And I was about to bust in my cargo pants like a goddamn teenager.

She glanced up from her phone, noticed the way I shifted, and smirked. I tried to make it less obvious, but my hand twitched involuntarily near my waistband.

She tilted her head, all faked innocence. “You sure you don’t want that blowjob after all?”

My jaw flexed. Hard.

“Jesus, woman.”

She leaned against the butcher block again and took a long sip of her drink, letting the straw linger between her lips just a second too long.

“Just being a silly goose,” she said with a wink. “Isn’t that what you called it?”

I just stared at her, showing zero signs of intelligence. The only thing that managed to leave my lips was a simple, “Yeah.”

“So where can I get one of these calendars?” She asked, shaking the cup to see if there was any soda left.

Christ, Locke. What was it about this girl that short-circuited your spine? You’ve had women. You’ve been naked in front of a camera. None of them ever had you fumbling for a response like this.

“I, uh… I’ve got a few copies. Or you can order one at the station.” I scratched the back of my neck. “We do ‘em for charity. Between the calendars and the bachelor auctions, we can sponsor a few families a year.”

The corners of her mouth curved into a wicked little grin. “Sounds fun. I’ll have to study them closely… see what I’m bidding on.”

Was she flirting? Or was this just how she was—chaos in lip gloss and curves?

“You sound way too excited about that.” I said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She twirled a curl of hair around her finger. “I need to know what I’d be signing up for—if I decide to raise my paddle.”

Fuck me sideways.

“I’m surprised your captain’s cool with it,” she added. “Doesn’t seem like proper protocol .”

“Port Grey’s pretty laid back with this sort of thing. As long as we’re off duty and keep it legal, they don’t care. No minors. No scandals. Pretty tame actually.”

She arched her brow. “Selling your body doesn’t scream tame .”

I grinned. “I’m not selling my body—I’m selling pictures of it. Big difference.” I leaned back against the half-wall, arms crossed. “Besides, Nettles is right there with me for Western Night?—”

Goddamn it.

“What’s Western Night?” Her eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “Don’t tell me that’s the night you strip.”

I sighed. “Five officers. Naughty cowboy theme. Tips go to the station fund.”

She dragged her eyes over me with that same smirk.

“God, quit undressing me with your eyes.” I acted offended and pretended to cover myself.

“Fine. I’ll just read this article again.” She giggled and held up her phone.

I rolled my eyes and shoved off the wall.

“Call or text if you need anything.” I fished my card out of my pocket and handed it to her. “Lock this behind me. Back’s already secured.”

“Thanks, Graham.”