here, before I asked, “What do you want, Sheriff?”
“I have a few more questions, Miss Carmichael. May I come in?”
“Won’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ve had a pleasant evening and I’d like to curl up with a nightcap to relax before I go to bed,” I said.
“An excellent suggestion,” he said. As he reached around me to grab the door handle the lock snicked open—then Quinn herded me inside. The House and I were going to have to have a talk.
“Actually, I thought I was suggesting we wait until tomorrow.”
“And here I thought I would join you for a nightcap.” Without waiting for my undoubtedly slack-jawed response, Quinn led the way to my apartment, leaving me to hurry down the hall behind him. It wasn’t all bad, since it gave me the opportunity to study ‘The Great Behind,’ as Gregory liked to call it. It was a great ass. But then again, so was the sheriff. A great ass, indeed.
Quinn put his arm out, preventing me from barging into my own apartment. Quietly, he said, “Why don’t you let me go through the door first? Just in case.” Without waiting for my answer, he went through the doorway, his hand on his weapon.
Shit. Did Quinn think someone was in there? Is that why he was here?
He scanned the downstairs rooms and looked a silent question at me. I nodded my permission for him to check upstairs. I might not like cops, but I wasn’t stupid. If Jason’s killer was hanging around, I’d let Quinn introduce himself first.
When he’d confirmed that the place was empty of murderers, he walked to the kitchen and unerringly opened the cabinet where I stored the liquor. Of course, it was directly over a small wine rack, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deduction.
“Make yourself at home, Sheriff,” I said sarcastically. “How about a drink?”
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He brought out two glasses, and I heard the bottles shift as he looked over my selection. I was curious to know why he was here and even more curious to see which booze he selected.
He poured us each a generous glass of Macallan, and my estimation of him went up. It was the most expensive bottle in the cabinet. Then he drank his down in a quick gulp and poured another even more generous glass for himself, before he brought my glass to me.
“Care to sit outside, while we talk?” he asked quietly.
His honey-gold eyes were dull with something. Fatigue, maybe? The smart-ass comment died on my tongue. “Sure,” I said, and opened the French doors to the deck and led the way. Two steps down, I realized we would be overlooking the path where Jason died. Three steps down I tripped over something that shouldn’t have been there.
I looked down and an embarrassingly girly scream ripped from my throat. There was a dead dog stretched out on the third step. A very bloody dead dog.
****
Two hours later, I was huddled on the corner of my couch in front of a fire and sipping another whisky. I’d wrapped a throw around my legs to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the day I’d had.
Quinn had been outside ever since we’d found the dog. I knew there were others out there with him, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go back outside. It was ridiculous to be this upset over a dog. I’d touched the first body I’d found today, and that turned out to be someone I knew. This was some stray or maybe someone’s pet, and here I was feeling as if I would cry. Shit. I brushed at the tear that escaped and closed my eyes to hold back the flood.
I’d learned early enough about being a tough girl, but I felt the self-pity threatening now. After all, not many people are orphaned by the age of three. I wouldn’t know the numbers, but I bet even fewer could lay claim to spending two days trapped in a car with their dead family. The site of the accident was discovered because some hikers heard me screaming. I’d learned later that the paramedics had to cut me out
“I have a few more questions, Miss Carmichael. May I come in?”
“Won’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ve had a pleasant evening and I’d like to curl up with a nightcap to relax before I go to bed,” I said.
“An excellent suggestion,” he said. As he reached around me to grab the door handle the lock snicked open—then Quinn herded me inside. The House and I were going to have to have a talk.
“Actually, I thought I was suggesting we wait until tomorrow.”
“And here I thought I would join you for a nightcap.” Without waiting for my undoubtedly slack-jawed response, Quinn led the way to my apartment, leaving me to hurry down the hall behind him. It wasn’t all bad, since it gave me the opportunity to study ‘The Great Behind,’ as Gregory liked to call it. It was a great ass. But then again, so was the sheriff. A great ass, indeed.
Quinn put his arm out, preventing me from barging into my own apartment. Quietly, he said, “Why don’t you let me go through the door first? Just in case.” Without waiting for my answer, he went through the doorway, his hand on his weapon.
Shit. Did Quinn think someone was in there? Is that why he was here?
He scanned the downstairs rooms and looked a silent question at me. I nodded my permission for him to check upstairs. I might not like cops, but I wasn’t stupid. If Jason’s killer was hanging around, I’d let Quinn introduce himself first.
When he’d confirmed that the place was empty of murderers, he walked to the kitchen and unerringly opened the cabinet where I stored the liquor. Of course, it was directly over a small wine rack, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deduction.
“Make yourself at home, Sheriff,” I said sarcastically. “How about a drink?”
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He brought out two glasses, and I heard the bottles shift as he looked over my selection. I was curious to know why he was here and even more curious to see which booze he selected.
He poured us each a generous glass of Macallan, and my estimation of him went up. It was the most expensive bottle in the cabinet. Then he drank his down in a quick gulp and poured another even more generous glass for himself, before he brought my glass to me.
“Care to sit outside, while we talk?” he asked quietly.
His honey-gold eyes were dull with something. Fatigue, maybe? The smart-ass comment died on my tongue. “Sure,” I said, and opened the French doors to the deck and led the way. Two steps down, I realized we would be overlooking the path where Jason died. Three steps down I tripped over something that shouldn’t have been there.
I looked down and an embarrassingly girly scream ripped from my throat. There was a dead dog stretched out on the third step. A very bloody dead dog.
****
Two hours later, I was huddled on the corner of my couch in front of a fire and sipping another whisky. I’d wrapped a throw around my legs to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the day I’d had.
Quinn had been outside ever since we’d found the dog. I knew there were others out there with him, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to go back outside. It was ridiculous to be this upset over a dog. I’d touched the first body I’d found today, and that turned out to be someone I knew. This was some stray or maybe someone’s pet, and here I was feeling as if I would cry. Shit. I brushed at the tear that escaped and closed my eyes to hold back the flood.
I’d learned early enough about being a tough girl, but I felt the self-pity threatening now. After all, not many people are orphaned by the age of three. I wouldn’t know the numbers, but I bet even fewer could lay claim to spending two days trapped in a car with their dead family. The site of the accident was discovered because some hikers heard me screaming. I’d learned later that the paramedics had to cut me out
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