I turned on my heel and slid my fingers into the sleeve of my bag to retrieve my notebook. My elbow bumped into someone. “I’m sorry!”
The girl next to me gave me a wide, gummy smile, but I was drawn to the tattoo of a feather that wrapped around her wrist. It was elegant and pretty. “No problem.” Her eyes were a charcoal gray, which popped in the frame of her dirty blonde hair. “As long as you don’t obstruct my view of the cop,” she nodded at Blake, “we’re all good.”
I tried to hide my amusement as I went back to what I was doing.
I began to scribble down Blake’s body language and how he reacted to certain things the chief said. He’d make an amazing character, just based on his looks alone. He was taller than most men, probably around six feet four or five inches tall. Lean and defined would be two words to describe his body. His black hair was a little scruffy, but he styled it like it took no time at all. Messy-sexy, Jaci and I would call it. Where Blake really held his sex appeal was his intense eyes. They were brown, but most of the time they looked dark as the night. His black eyebrows didn’t help the intensity, and when he looked at me, I felt almost pinned by an unknown force.
My hands couldn’t keep up with my mind, and I found myself flipping the page to continue.
“Scary-sexy.” I twitched half my mouth with an intrigued smile.
“What is?” Blake towered over me, and I snapped my book shut.
“Nothing.”
“Something must have caught your interest. You were writing like mad.” He glanced at my notebook, and I dropped my hands to my sides to draw him in another direction.
“I’m just taking notes on the crime scene.”
“That’s scary-sexy?” he added but let it go.
“Right, you know how victims do it for me.” I moved past his shoulder to examine the victim the best I could. “Huh.” I stepped back, careful not to speak too loudly, and avoided eye contact with the girl behind him, who practically fell at his feet.
“What?” He folded his arms.
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me,” he pushed. “I heard Benny talking the other night, and you have a good eye for this stuff.”
“He’s just chatty.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
I sighed and let my mouth go. “I wonder why the scrape on the leg. Did he drag her from somewhere? Or does he just like to inflict pain?” I paused to think.
“Well,” he started, “you never know. We could be dealing with a serial killer.”
“What?” I interrupted. “You can predict that this early on?”
“No, I’m just kidding.” He pointed to his flat stomach hidden under his vest. “Call me crazy, but I feel these kinds of things.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“That doesn’t freak you out?” He laughed lightly.
“It does the opposite.”
His eyebrow pulled up before he went on. “Most killers like to take credit for their crimes. Serial killers will often choose to remove fingernails, clips of hair, so maybe the scrape is his signature. The scrape on her leg is odd, that’s all.”
I felt a chill race up to the top of my spine. Even the way he spoke had my muscles locked in place, waiting for him to make his move to…what? Kill me or have crazy sex with me? Damn, I’ll take option two with a dash of option one, please.
Lord, I was sick inside.
His head tilted slightly, and his eyebrows pinched together. “What is racing through your mind right now?”
I turned away, not wanting him to read my thoughts. It was bad enough my horny face had just showed itself.
“I’m going to let you finish.” I stepped back and watched him leave.
Three hours later, Blake found me leaning against his Tahoe again, stuck in my diligent note-taking. The rookie cop from earlier was circling on the outskirts of the police tape. I was sure he was scared as shit he’d be written up.
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” Blake opened the door for me.
“All of the Syracuse Police Department are here, so something tells me it’s the safest place to be.”
He handed me the seatbelt but didn’t let go when I reached for it.
“There is a killer out there.” His warm breath blew past my cheek. “Many times, they return to the scene of the murder. You are sitting on the ground with your head stuck in a notebook. You could be easily be plucked from the crowd.”
“I can fight,” I whispered, slightly taken back by how much I enjoyed him in my personal space.
He tightened his hand, and I heard the material of the seatbelt flex under the pressure.
“Spencer,” the way he said my name dripped with restraint and dark, sexy promises, “this victim was not only a dancer, but also a kickboxing instructor.” He slid his hand around me and clicked the buckle in. “Clearly, there’s a murderer on the loose. Use your head.” With that, he shut the door.
He stayed quiet as he drove back toward the station, and his eyes constantly scanned the mirrors. I found myself freeing my notebook and stewing up some more inappropriate thoughts. They actually weren’t. All of this could and would be used in my book. I loved to write strong lead characters, but I was a sucker for an alpha who needed to keep up with the female.
I rested my head against the door and let my mind wander, taking as many notes as possible. My gaze traveled to his jaw that lit up every three seconds when a car drove by. The light that dusted his face was incredibly hot. It matched his look perfectly.
“Do you have a car at the station?” he asked quietly.
“No, but I can call a cab.”
He shook his head. “Are you going home?”
“Really, don’t trouble your—”
“Spencer.”
“I have a cabin on the south end of Whiskey Lake.”
I gave him directions, and twenty minutes later, he made the turn down my driveway.
“Wow.” He ducked down to get a better view as he parked the Tahoe.
“My parents built it. It was their dream cabin, and now it’s mine.” I opened the door and reached for my bag.
“No one is home?” He glanced around my property.
“No.”
“And you live here?” He seemed confused.
“Just moved in a little bit ago.”
“Okay, um, here.” He handed me a card with his number on it. “Call if you need anything. Are you okay to be here on your own? Where is Sarge?”
“Mostly likely at his home.” I laughed. “For a detective, you’re not that good.”
His head snapped back in confusion, then his eyes widen with the realization he was wrong.
“Night, Blake. Thanks for the drive.” I quickly entered his number into my phone and sent him a text, so he had mine.
Spencer: Maybe I should handle the cases from now on.
Blake: I was lied to by one of your family members. I’ll remember this and shall retaliate appropriately.
I laughed and tucked my phone away.
With that, I headed into the cabin where my beloved computer awaited me.
I got to work, and three a.m. came around all too fast. My joints were stiff from writing half of book two. The author seemed to never be far from his computer, because the moment I would send him a message, he wrote back like he was always there.