Read Online A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador - Free Book Online Page B

humming, a faint melody, a woman’s voice lilting through his brain. The sound wasn’t like anything Keenan had heard before; it was exhilarating and yet sadly haunting at the same time. It went straight to his heart then to his eyes. He couldn’t stop the tears despite his macho instincts. The effect was profound and life changing. He had never been so at peace, so certain, so alive. The urge to float inside the music forever dominated every other aspiration.
    The shadow shifted around him, squeezing tightly, like a hug, then it released.
    All of a sudden, the night poured back in on him, and he landed with a thump right on his naked ass. The pain from earlier and this new one ripped out through every pore. He groaned. Cold rushed in on him, stealing the heat and the moment.
    Strangely, when he looked down, his cock was rock hard. When he looked up, the succubus was gone, replaced by the looming figure of a man. Everything collapsed immediately.
    Keenan blinked in the brilliance of a flashlight shining on his face and shaded his eyes with his forearm. That’s when he saw the gun. It was dark gray and looked like it meant business.
    “You again.” The words were gruff and gut wrenching. “Hands out to the side. Get up.”
    Keenan complied and his heart sank when he realized who it was. A meaty hand spun him around to face the wall.
    “Spread your legs. Hands on the top of your head. Lace your fingers.”
    Keenan’s hair was wet with fear, but he tangled his fingers together and pulled them tightly against his scalp. He heard the snap of rubber gloves, and the whispered jingle of metal against metal. When cold surrounded his right wrist, he knew he was sunk.
    “Listen, Sergeant Thompson, I know this looks bad, but…”
    “Save it.”
    The hands throwing his wrists together were experts. Click went the other handcuff.
    Without a shade of embarrassment, Thompson turned him around, reached down, grabbed Keenan’s jeans and shorts, and pulled them over his hips, zipping the fly and buttoning the button. He dragged his shirt closed and buttoned it as well. The blue-gloved hands were cold and humiliation flooded every inch of his skin followed by sheets of goose bumps.
    When he was done, Thompson roughly turned him toward the brick wall again and thoroughly searched him. As he did, he reached into each of Keenan’s pockets, removing everything: wallet, cell phone, change, and keys. Keenan could hear the distinct zip of another evidence bag. He wondered vaguely if he’d ever see his stuff again.
    Pulling a frustrated sigh into his lungs, Thompson patted him down one more time.
    “Mr. Swanson, I need to read you your rights…”
    “Oh, God, no… It’s not what it looks like.” Hot pins of fear were making Keenan dizzy. He couldn’t believe Thompson was arresting him.
    “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you…”
    “Honestly. There’s a good explanation for…”
    “Right,” Thompson barked then whirled him around to face him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” A laminated card had appeared in his hand. “You have the right to talk to an attorney and have him or her present while you are questioned. If you cannot afford to hire an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you at no expense.” Thompson tucked the card into his pocket and leered down at Keenan. “Do you understand these rights?”
    “Really…I wasn’t doing anything…”
    “Do you understand these rights?” Thompson repeated with restrained anger.
    The smell of freshly eaten sausage blew from the officer’s mouth, and Keenan saw a splash of seaside on a summer weekend in his head. Over Thompson’s shoulder, Constance, Reggie, and a score of other ghosts floated just out of the light. Constance was shaking her head.
    “Yes…I guess…but I wasn’t doing anything. I was just taking a piss, got light