Read Online Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) by Mary McFarland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary McFarland
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the FBI academy. But tha t’ s not what keeps sending danger signals to my brain. I t’ s the fact DeeDee inserts Mama Laws into this and every conversation we have. Does she know about me and Darlene? Has the captain told her? Are the two of them colluding to get me tossed out of NPD? What happens when she finds out I’ ve slept with her mother?
“Y’ all need to give me some credit, Aidan Gerard Hawks. I know Megalodo n’ s a shark that went extinct a few years back . ”
“ Sorry ,” I say, not the least. Maybe Smith cultivated its hothouse posies better than I had at first thought, but Mama Darlene and those Smith battleaxes neglected their biology curriculum: Megalodo n’ s been extinct for thirty-thousand years. I do n’ t bother telling her. She knows . The stupid blonde act is as fake as DeeDe e’ s boobs.
“ Any ideas who Megalo Don might be ?” I ask, signaling our waiter.
“ No clue ,” she says, dabbing her pink mouth and making me wonder how she can eat a two-grape breakfast and yet have such an athletic build. My gaze drifts downward to her chest. I yank it back.
“ I mean, I’ ve no clue yet ,” she corrects. “I’ m sure going to find the bastard, though. I mean we , ” she adds, correcting her mistake. “ You and I are going to find him. I, of course, am here to learn from you, Ai d —”
“ Call me Aidan, except around our peers and superiors. Then i t’s‘ Detective Hawks . ’”
“ Sure thing ,” she says. “ Aidan . ”
I’ ve no doubts about wh o’ s going to nail Megalo Don. Picking up the photo w e’ ve been examining, I slide DeeDe e’ s check toward her. If I treat her like an equal, maybe I’ ll discourage any more of her groveling solicitous advances. Maybe I’ ll also head off the urge to down her right here on the table and just give her what sh e’ s wanting. I hate the barbaric heat spreading uninvited through me. I do n’ t want to, yet I ca n’ t stop wondering whether DeeDee would be like her mother in bed?
Nah, my good angel says, do n’ t go there.
My bad angel remains silen t— smug bastard.
Chapter 7
Who am I?
“ Little Man ,” my mom used to call me, before she ended up in a garbage bag gnawed on like last Thanksgivin g’ s turkey. Yo u’ d say having my mom make fun of my size as a kid is the reason I’ m fucked up. Yo u’ d call me sociopath.
I’ m not that easy to shrink, so stop with the Mickey Mouse bullshit psychology.
Thinking of all I want to tell Detective Hawks when I get the chance, I ease from my booth, liking the feel of the seat rubbing my ass. Why do I like the sensation?
I indulge my desire to shrink myself. I do a better job of it than Hawks could, anyway.
I do n’ t want to know who I am: I do n’ t care. But I need some insight into me so I can quit doing whatever I find predictable about my behavior. Being predictable is what could get me caught and getting caugh t’ s not what I’ m about. I’ m not the victim. In Hawk s ’ parlance, I’ m called perpetrator . Killer.
What does the seat feel like?
It feels like . . . skin. Ha! Tha t’ s why I love its feel. Shrink session is fucking over, dimwits. I’ m in control, not you.
I watch Detective Hawks shuffle by the cash register. Women ca n’ t get enough of him. Over the past few weeks, I’ ve watched them fawn over him, practically beg to cuddle up with him. I see why, too. H e’ s physically everything I’ m not. All man, most silly bitches would say. Why are some men born with that kind of physical prowess, while others, while I —
Hold on. H e’ s glancing irritably toward my hiding spot. Oh-ho, h e’ s pissed no on e’ s available at the register to take his money. He hates inefficiency, makes being perfect his chief MO. Finding order in chaos is one reason NP D’ s promoted him, shooting his ass up through their ranks
“Y’ all need to give me some credit, Aidan Gerard Hawks. I know Megalodo n’ s a shark that went extinct a few years back . ”
“ Sorry ,” I say, not the least. Maybe Smith cultivated its hothouse posies better than I had at first thought, but Mama Darlene and those Smith battleaxes neglected their biology curriculum: Megalodo n’ s been extinct for thirty-thousand years. I do n’ t bother telling her. She knows . The stupid blonde act is as fake as DeeDe e’ s boobs.
“ Any ideas who Megalo Don might be ?” I ask, signaling our waiter.
“ No clue ,” she says, dabbing her pink mouth and making me wonder how she can eat a two-grape breakfast and yet have such an athletic build. My gaze drifts downward to her chest. I yank it back.
“ I mean, I’ ve no clue yet ,” she corrects. “I’ m sure going to find the bastard, though. I mean we , ” she adds, correcting her mistake. “ You and I are going to find him. I, of course, am here to learn from you, Ai d —”
“ Call me Aidan, except around our peers and superiors. Then i t’s‘ Detective Hawks . ’”
“ Sure thing ,” she says. “ Aidan . ”
I’ ve no doubts about wh o’ s going to nail Megalo Don. Picking up the photo w e’ ve been examining, I slide DeeDe e’ s check toward her. If I treat her like an equal, maybe I’ ll discourage any more of her groveling solicitous advances. Maybe I’ ll also head off the urge to down her right here on the table and just give her what sh e’ s wanting. I hate the barbaric heat spreading uninvited through me. I do n’ t want to, yet I ca n’ t stop wondering whether DeeDee would be like her mother in bed?
Nah, my good angel says, do n’ t go there.
My bad angel remains silen t— smug bastard.
Chapter 7
Who am I?
“ Little Man ,” my mom used to call me, before she ended up in a garbage bag gnawed on like last Thanksgivin g’ s turkey. Yo u’ d say having my mom make fun of my size as a kid is the reason I’ m fucked up. Yo u’ d call me sociopath.
I’ m not that easy to shrink, so stop with the Mickey Mouse bullshit psychology.
Thinking of all I want to tell Detective Hawks when I get the chance, I ease from my booth, liking the feel of the seat rubbing my ass. Why do I like the sensation?
I indulge my desire to shrink myself. I do a better job of it than Hawks could, anyway.
I do n’ t want to know who I am: I do n’ t care. But I need some insight into me so I can quit doing whatever I find predictable about my behavior. Being predictable is what could get me caught and getting caugh t’ s not what I’ m about. I’ m not the victim. In Hawk s ’ parlance, I’ m called perpetrator . Killer.
What does the seat feel like?
It feels like . . . skin. Ha! Tha t’ s why I love its feel. Shrink session is fucking over, dimwits. I’ m in control, not you.
I watch Detective Hawks shuffle by the cash register. Women ca n’ t get enough of him. Over the past few weeks, I’ ve watched them fawn over him, practically beg to cuddle up with him. I see why, too. H e’ s physically everything I’ m not. All man, most silly bitches would say. Why are some men born with that kind of physical prowess, while others, while I —
Hold on. H e’ s glancing irritably toward my hiding spot. Oh-ho, h e’ s pissed no on e’ s available at the register to take his money. He hates inefficiency, makes being perfect his chief MO. Finding order in chaos is one reason NP D’ s promoted him, shooting his ass up through their ranks
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