balled into fists at my side.
“I want to thank you for extending this opportunity to me. As Captain Gilley knows, I’m never one to back away from a challenge.”
“Good.” Cole clapped his hands. “I’d like you to report to—“
I held up my hand. “You didn’t let me finish,” I said, and the startled look suffusing his handsome features made my heart beat just a tiny bit faster. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful the two of you have such confidence in my abilities, but unfortunately, you have confidence in the wrong skill set.”
Gilley must have sensed my direction, because he rose from behind the desk and walked around in front of it. “See here, Morgan, we didn’t mean to—“
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to dredge up old wounds, but as Captain Gilley well knows, I have no desire to utilize the particular talents you seem to feel you need to solve this case. So, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll stick to exorcising ghosts and evicting daemons. It’s not as glamorous a job as yours, Agent St. John, and Lord knows it’s belittled enough, but…all in all, it’s a much healthier atmosphere for me. My answer is thanks, but no thanks.”
I turned and walked out, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind me.
Chapter 5
“Have I told you today you’re an idiot?”
“Yes, at least ten zillion times. Now hit me again.”
I sat in the Blue Devil, my favorite hangout bar near the docks. Amid the haze of cigarette smoke and the faint odor of wolfsbane, I leaned over the wood counter, pushed my empty bottle of Bud toward Dorrie, one of my favorite were bartenders who, thankfully, worked the afternoon shift today. She looked at me, shrugged, dug out a fresh bottle, uncapped it, and slid it down the counter to me. I caught it one-handed, lifted it to my lips, and drank deeply.
“Thought the Force didn’t allow drinkin’ on duty,” she passed a cursory rag across the scarred top, more for show than for any real clean-up.
“I took the afternoon off,” I growled, and slammed the bottle down hard, almost missing the edge of the bar. “Oops.”
Dorrie reached across, plucked the half-empty bottle from my hand. “I’m cuttin’ you off,” she growled. “You’ve definitely had enough, and it isn’t even two in the afternoon.”
“Party pooper,” I grumbled, and splayed across the counter, my head buried in my outstretched arms. “Can’t I even get a Cosmo? A teeney-tiny one?”
“Cut off means cut off from all liquor. I will, however, get you some strong black coffee,” she volunteered.
“Fine.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Could you just put a shot of Zuluki in it? Just one, for old times’ sake?”
She cut me a look, poured black coffee into a large, cracked mug from a pot behind the bar, and shoved it in front of me. “Drink,” she commanded.
I lifted the mug to my lips, took a tentative sip, slammed it back on the counter. “Aagh! That swill is awful! What’s it made of? Daemon nails and puppy dog tails?”
“It’s made of strong Brazilian coffee beans. It’s just not diluted with sugar and milk and, god forbid, liquor. Now drink!” Her golden eyes blazed.
I lifted the cup back to my lips and took another small sip. “Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “No need to get so testy. For Hades’ sakes—and what’s with the yellow eyes? It’s not phase time, is it?”
“Relax,” Dorrie chuckled. “The full moon’s not till next week. You riled me, is all,” she sighed. “Your big chance to get back on Homicide, and...”
“It’s not Homicide,” I interrupted. “It’s a Special Forces Assignment. Completely different.”
“Yeah, well, you know damn well it could lead to reinstatement. And you blow it because of your goddamn conscience.”
“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch. And who said I wanted to work Homicide again? ” I took another sip of the coffee. “This is really awful, Dorrie. I mean really.”
“Oh,
“I want to thank you for extending this opportunity to me. As Captain Gilley knows, I’m never one to back away from a challenge.”
“Good.” Cole clapped his hands. “I’d like you to report to—“
I held up my hand. “You didn’t let me finish,” I said, and the startled look suffusing his handsome features made my heart beat just a tiny bit faster. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful the two of you have such confidence in my abilities, but unfortunately, you have confidence in the wrong skill set.”
Gilley must have sensed my direction, because he rose from behind the desk and walked around in front of it. “See here, Morgan, we didn’t mean to—“
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to dredge up old wounds, but as Captain Gilley well knows, I have no desire to utilize the particular talents you seem to feel you need to solve this case. So, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll stick to exorcising ghosts and evicting daemons. It’s not as glamorous a job as yours, Agent St. John, and Lord knows it’s belittled enough, but…all in all, it’s a much healthier atmosphere for me. My answer is thanks, but no thanks.”
I turned and walked out, resisting the temptation to slam the door behind me.
Chapter 5
“Have I told you today you’re an idiot?”
“Yes, at least ten zillion times. Now hit me again.”
I sat in the Blue Devil, my favorite hangout bar near the docks. Amid the haze of cigarette smoke and the faint odor of wolfsbane, I leaned over the wood counter, pushed my empty bottle of Bud toward Dorrie, one of my favorite were bartenders who, thankfully, worked the afternoon shift today. She looked at me, shrugged, dug out a fresh bottle, uncapped it, and slid it down the counter to me. I caught it one-handed, lifted it to my lips, and drank deeply.
“Thought the Force didn’t allow drinkin’ on duty,” she passed a cursory rag across the scarred top, more for show than for any real clean-up.
“I took the afternoon off,” I growled, and slammed the bottle down hard, almost missing the edge of the bar. “Oops.”
Dorrie reached across, plucked the half-empty bottle from my hand. “I’m cuttin’ you off,” she growled. “You’ve definitely had enough, and it isn’t even two in the afternoon.”
“Party pooper,” I grumbled, and splayed across the counter, my head buried in my outstretched arms. “Can’t I even get a Cosmo? A teeney-tiny one?”
“Cut off means cut off from all liquor. I will, however, get you some strong black coffee,” she volunteered.
“Fine.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Could you just put a shot of Zuluki in it? Just one, for old times’ sake?”
She cut me a look, poured black coffee into a large, cracked mug from a pot behind the bar, and shoved it in front of me. “Drink,” she commanded.
I lifted the mug to my lips, took a tentative sip, slammed it back on the counter. “Aagh! That swill is awful! What’s it made of? Daemon nails and puppy dog tails?”
“It’s made of strong Brazilian coffee beans. It’s just not diluted with sugar and milk and, god forbid, liquor. Now drink!” Her golden eyes blazed.
I lifted the cup back to my lips and took another small sip. “Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “No need to get so testy. For Hades’ sakes—and what’s with the yellow eyes? It’s not phase time, is it?”
“Relax,” Dorrie chuckled. “The full moon’s not till next week. You riled me, is all,” she sighed. “Your big chance to get back on Homicide, and...”
“It’s not Homicide,” I interrupted. “It’s a Special Forces Assignment. Completely different.”
“Yeah, well, you know damn well it could lead to reinstatement. And you blow it because of your goddamn conscience.”
“Yeah, well, life’s a bitch. And who said I wanted to work Homicide again? ” I took another sip of the coffee. “This is really awful, Dorrie. I mean really.”
“Oh,
Similar Books
