He doesn’t seem to recognize me, so maybe we’ve just seen each other in passing. It’s a big city, but not so big that you’ll never see the same person twice.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he grins wider, “I’m looking for somebody and I’m hoping you might know where he is.”
“Umm,” my stomach drops. I already know exactly who he’s going to ask about before he even opens his mouth again. “Okay?”
“Do you know a Cormac Fomori?”
God damn it.
God damn him.
I have been asaint, letting myself only have a single vice for years, between my job and keeping everything so tightly wound. Watching those fights was the only piece of untamed freedom I allowed myself. Now, because of Cormac, I’m being followed by a cop and might get found out.
If I’m caught doing something illegal, I’ll lose my job. I’ll be disbarred. I’ll be fucking ruined.
Fighting back the spiraling thoughts, I answer as neutrally as possible, “Doesn’t everyone know him? He’s been all over the news for months now.”
The officer’s eyes narrow slightly, “I have reason to believe you know himpersonally.”
“We’ve met,” I shrug, “Before his arrest. And subsequent exoneration.”
That’s not the legal term for what happened, but harping on the semantics of acquittal versus exoneration isn’t really something I’d like to get into with a stranger in my hallway.
He chuckles, but the sound sends chills up my spine. There’s no humor in it, only a rumbling of danger and disdain, “I don’t know that I’d call itexoneration.More like, our justice system failed to put a fucking psychopath in prison. Or the ground.”
While I may not have the warmest feelings when it comes to Cormac, something dark and primal crawls under my skin at the blatant threat to his life. And this cop feels safe enough to openly admit he wants him dead. Besides the moral ramifications, the legal ones are astronomical. His saying that to me alone guarantees that if Cormac were ever caught for something again, this guy's recklessness would have him back on the street before even getting to trial.
“I have no idea where he is.” At least that part is the truth. Could be at Mingle, but I have no way of knowing.
“No?” he raises a brow, “I just checked that cute little bar he owns, but no luck. You’re sure you haven’t seen him?”
Fear trickles into my bloodstream, andnotthe fun kind thatmakes my heart flutter and my cheeks heat. This fear runs into my stomach, making my skin grow cold, all the blood rushing to my chest, preparing to run or fight. Not only does he know about Mingle, but he’s been there.
“I’m sure,” I fiddle with my keys, debating where it’s better to squeeze past him to lock myself into my apartment or just abandoning it altogether and heading back somewhere public. “Sorry, Officer.”
“Brigit,” my name drips with condescension from his mouth, “Can I call you Brigit?”
“No.”
He hmms, the sound full of rotten disapproval. “Miss Danaan, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Cormac is a dangerous man.”
“Like I said,” I drop my keys into my bag, deciding if he won’t leave it alone, I’ll just walk away. “I’ve seen the news.”
Before I get two steps away, his clammy hand wraps around my bicep, stopping me from retreating.
“I’m just here as a courtesy,” he says, not fucking courteously at all. “With a warning.”
I stare wordlessly at his dirty hand and chipped fingernails as they dig into my upper arm, sending him a look over my shoulder so cold it could freeze hell over.
“Someone as dangerous as Mr. Fomori… well, usually that danger follows them home. Along with their loved ones.” He glances back at my door to make it clear he knows exactly which one is mine. Though I didn’t need that message, I knew it the second he was in my hallway. “I’d hate for you to get caught up in the mess he’s carrying with him.”
“Let. Go. Of me.” I bite out every syllable, not backing down or letting the discomfort of his too-tight grip show on my face.
Before I can dump the last of my coffee over his head for threatening me and putting his fucking hands on me, he finally drops his arm, holding up both hands.
Backing up towards the corner, he finally puts somespace between us. “I gotta give it to Cormac,” he comments, pausing halfway around the corner to give me a slow once-over, his eyes slithering against my skin. “He’s got a type.”
