Definitely still a little twitchy after last night.
Neither of us moves.
The knock comes again more insistent this time.
“Well,” I mutter, dragging myself up from the couch. “Either that’s one of the neighbors or we’re about to get murdered.”
“Comforting.”
“Thank you.”
Casey’s hoodie is still bunched up beside me from where I’d been using it as a blanket. I pull it over my head on the way to the door.
“Who is it?” I call through the wood.
“We received a report concerning an incident at a local pizza establishment last evening. I was hoping to speak with you regarding the matter.”
A laugh escapes me despite myself.
Local pizza establishment?
Regarding the matter?
Who talks like that?
I pull the door open and a badge materializes about two inches from my face, flips shut, and vanishes back into a coat pocket before I can make out a single word.
My relief is automatic, but a question nags at me. The dispatcher sounded like she was writing off a prank call. Why send someone out now?
I take stock of him and have to look up to do it. Way up. He’s got the kind of build that makes a hallway feel like a coat closet, wrapped in a long black trench coat that belongs in a film noir and nowhere near my apartment building. Sandy-brown hair. A jaw that looks like it was carved with a straight edge, stubble included.
And mirror sunglasses, reflecting my own face back at me, looking worse for wear.
Something tugs at the back of my mind.
The voice.
The trench coat.
The formal way he talks.
Everything clicks into place.
“Stud Muffin?”
He goes very still.
Not the flinch of someone caught off guard. More like a man who has just watched a card he was hoping to keep hidden get turned face-up on the table.
“Huh, I didn’t know you were a cop. So, I guess it’s technicallyOfficerStud Muffin,” I joke. “Wow. That… explains a lot, actually.”
“It does?”
“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically. “The evasiveness. The weird answers. The mysterious trench coat thing.”
His gaze flicks down to the coat.
I swear he looks personally offended.
