My hand slips as I’m pulling on my seat belt. Her tone was teasing, suggestive. Like shewantsmy mind to go there.
Grace on her back. Naked. Cuffed to my bed.
With a harsh breath out, I fasten my seat belt. Slowly, I drive out of the alleyway and onto the busy street. We crawl through downtown South Bay, stopping frequently to let groups of people cross, sluggishly rolling behind the unusually thick traffic heading towards the waterfront. We don’t speak, but every time my focus drifts to my rearview, she’s staring, and twice I’ve almost rear-ended the car in front of me because I can’t help but stare back.
Rather than turn left into the PD parking lot, I continue down the road, through town, towards the South Bay back roads.
“Taking me on some kind of field trip, Decker?” she asks, her deadpan expression morphing into one of unease.
I fix my attention on the road again. “Something like that.”
“I’d prefer you take me to my cell.”
“What youpreferisn’t really my concern, is it?”
She rolls her eyes, the move barely visible in the dark. When I get to my usual spot near the town line, I pull to the side of the road and kill my engine. We’re thrown into darkness, the road ahead lit up only by my headlights.
Resting my head against the seat, I close my eyes and exhale, willing the aggravation to drain from my body. Feast Fest is the fucking worst. Every year, for an entire week, South Bay is met with an onslaught of loud, mouthy, drunk tourists. They fight, leave their trash everywhere, clog up the main arteries going into town, and make it impossible for me to get lunch or even agoddamn cup of coffee without waiting in line for a half hour. It’s fucking torture.
“What are we doing here?” Grace asks, her voice grating on my nerves.
“You and I are going to have a chat,” I say, eyes still closed. “But first, it’s quiet time.”
“A chat about what?”
“I gave you a task, and I want an update.”
“First of all. It’s been a day. So how about you chill the fuck out and dial back the stalker-level text messages you’ve been sending me? And second, as I told you. I don’t know anything. And Axe isn’t exactly my biggest?—”
The annoyance I’m trying to tamp down on threatens to flare back to life. “I’m notstalkingyou. And I said quiet time.”
This time of year—with all the noise and chaos and… people—seeking refuge in the dark corners of my town is all I can do to not blow my fucking brains out. This kind of hustle and bustle should be reserved for big city life. I’m not built for that kind of grind. I need calm. My late-night sandwich while I sit in my car on a dark road, Miller sitting silently beside me, music on. These days, the only time I feel peace is when I’m on shift. There’s no Donovan ordering me around, no bodies to bury.
Grace lets out a deep, irritated breath as she squirms.
“Why can’t you sit still?” I snap.
“Because I don’t want to be back here. Let me out.”
“No.”
“Come on, Linc,” she pleads. “It’s all hot and stuffy. At least let me stand outside while you have your little meltdown.”
“I’m not having a meltdown. I’m just trying to relax.”
“You’re breathing all deep and heavy. It feels… meltdown-y.”
“Deep breaths calm the body,” I say. “It’s how I stop myself from punching everyone in the face.”
“Sounds like you need anger management.”
I rough a hand over my face. “Where you think I picked this up?”
She snorts. “I can’t see you going to therapy.”
“Not willingly,” I say as I unbuckle my seat belt. “Chief mandated it.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “Seriously? What did you do?”
