I snapped a photo. This was going on the bulletin board at the station. Maybe on my Christmas cards.
“Yep.”
“Then I believe we have found it.”
“Ain’t police work grand?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Quite.”
“Turn it so I can see the tongue.”
He did so. Yep, right there. C.O.C. K.
“Looks like we need to visit our local crochet club. Put that in an evidence bag. They’re in the trunk.”
Than stepped out of the restroom, and I walked in, and took some pictures. The only other yarn bomb in the place was a frame around the mirror. It was golden with little dragonflies and a couple crabs in the corners and actually did a lot to brighten up the place.
I walked back to the table and stairs, taking more photos.
The neighbor guy watched me, his hands in his pockets. “You wouldn’t happen to know if the crochet club is meeting today?” I asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. My wife crochets, but isn’t in that group.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t want to get caught in another war. Just can’t understand how knitters and crocheters are sworn enemies. Thinks both groups should just chill. Stitch and let stitch.”
“She sounds like a lovely person.”
“I think so.” He gave me a grin. I’d seen that look before. I’d seen it on Ryder’s face, I’d seen it on Delaney’s. I’d seen it on Jean’s and Hogan’s faces too. It was fondness. It was love.
Like a mirage out of my dreams, Bathin came striding up the street, wearing dark jeans and a motorcycle jacket, his hands in black fingerless gloves, his black hair blowing in the wind.
He had on motorcycle boots too, and even from halfway down the block, I could see his eyes were locked on me and only me.
Before I could stop it, the dream from the other morning flooded through me. And I was there, could feel the cool silk of the dream sheets, could feel the heavy warmth of his dream hands touching me, his dream lips skimming my neck, his teeth biting gently before his tongue soothed the sting away.
My breath caught and my heartbeat drummed.
It had been a dream. It would only ever be a dream.
But what a dream.
Bathin kept striding toward me, a knowing smirk on his mouth.
“What do you want?” I asked when he was a house-distance away.
“We have a date.”
“I’m busy. Working.”
“I see that.” He closed the distance, spared a glance at the guy next to me, who took a step back involuntarily. Yeah, Bathin had that way about him. That asshole way.
“Even officers of the law are allowed a lunch break. I know it’s true. I checked it out with the union.”
“We don’t have a union.”
“You should.” He lifted a bag in his hand. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to go to a restaurant, so I planned ahead.”
