But it was too neat for my liking.
He reacted just a little too perfectly. The night his family died, he returned from a night of drinking with friends to ambulances on his driveway, and he broke down. He sobbed on his knees. He held beautiful vigils for his family, raised money for mental health awareness charities, opened a school wing in his kids’ names.
Six months later, he married Erin’s best friend. Brought together through grief, apparently.
I called bullshit on it all.
I tell Monty this, and she listens with a soft frown, and by the time I’m finished, the blood is cleaned up.
“Why are you so sure he did it?” she asks.
I pour the bloodstained water down the sink and throwthe used cloths into the washing machine before answering.
“You’ve been around bad guys, right?” I ask, folding my arms and leaning against the now clean kitchen island. Monty nods. “You can tell, can’t you? It could be something they say, a look in their eye … a subtle, almost non-perceptible thing that you might not even be able to name. But you just know something isn’t right with them.” She watches me, green eyes bright, head tilted. “My dad was a cop, and he said it was the ghosts of the wronged whispering the truth to us.”
I choose to think of it more as my instincts, but both feel true. I’ve been around enough death to know that isn’t where a person’s journey ends and firmly believe people stick around sometimes.
“But ghosts can’t testify in court,” Monty says gently.
My nod is curt. “No, they can’t.” I take the final kitchen towel from Monty and place it on the side. “Now, are you going to tell me who those men were?”
She sighs and drops her head back. “Fine. I may have gotten into a spot of bother.”
“A spot of bother? Two men tried to kill you tonight.”
“Pah, that’s a Tuesday.” She waves her hand dismissively. “I killed a guy in Vegas, totally by accident I might add, and it turns out he was part of some gang. I can take on three guys, four tops, but there were quite a few, so I thought leaving meant they’d lose interest. Apparently not.”
“So you brought them to my door.”
“I really didn’t intend to,” she says, and for some reason, I believe her. “I didn’t think they’d come to a chief of police’s house. You were like my human shield. A very handsome, probably very well-endowed human shield.”She grins innocently and grips my T-shirt. “But look at us now! Committing crimes together, bonding?—”
“We are not committing crimes together. I just didn’t want my grandkids’ aunt being arrested and put away for murder. But no more, Monty, I mean it,” I say, and she pouts. “I tell you to get the handcuffs, you do as I damn well say. You don’t shoot people; you call the police.”
She sighs. “Yes, Chief. Besides, I doubt they’ll bother with us now. The brain behind their entire operation now has a bullet firmly here,” she taps her forehead, grinning. “You solved my problem for me, Chief.” Another kiss on the cheek, but this one I don’t turn away from. Her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “We’re partners in crime.”
Chapter 5
Monty
Something is screeching in my ear.
I groan, burying my face in a soft, tartan-patterned pillow, and breathe in the smell of lavender detergent. The covers are tangled around me, and the curtains are drawn, but a sliver of morning light warms my exposed toes.
My phone keeps ringing, and I grab for it, answering without checking the screen.
“Who the hell are you?” I grumble.
“Merry Christmas Eve to you, too,” a familiar male voice says.
Grunting, I hide under the covers. “Sorry. Merry Christmas Eve. What time is it?”
“That depends. Are you still in San Francisco?”
“Yeah.”
“Then it’s nine in the morning.”
I whimper. “That’s practically midnight. What do you want?”
