My Killer Vacation

Half a day has passed since I licked that smooth, sun-kissed belly of hers and my cock is still standing at half-mast for it. God, she tasted like a candy apple. Of course I bit her.

I bet she’d have wrapped around me like hot caramel, too.

Stop thinking about how she whispered your name. Trembled. Definitely don’t think about how you’ve been carrying around her panties since yesterday.

Damn. How did this woman get in my head so fast? Because that’s where she is. Might as well admit it. If I was just in heat, I’d have tossed her up onto the bed yesterday and given her exactly what she asked for. I’d like to be manhandled once in a while. Just sort of thrown down and told who is boss, you know?

Fuck.

Shocking me isn’t an easy thing to do and I did not see that coming.

The nosy little schoolteacher wants it down and dirty.

Walking out of the room after she admitted that to me? Hell. Pure, torturous hell. Because down and dirty is the only way I know. But this intuition of mine? Apparently it doesn’t only operate on crime-related matters. No, my gut told me to get out of that bedroom fast or I’d never want to leave—and that just isn’t happening.

There is a crime to solve here.

Keep your damn head in the game.

If my past has taught me anything it’s that distractions lead to mistakes. I have firsthand knowledge of what can happen, the lives that can be destroyed, when a detective takes his eye off the ball. I may have turned in my badge three years ago, but for all intents and purposes, I am an investigator on this case. I’m handling one job for an old friend. If I can’t wrap one single case up without a blunder, I never should have graduated from the academy.

Focus.

With a final glance across the street, I go out back to the shed. Look for the tool used to create those peepholes, hoping to get some kind of idea how long they’ve been there. But there’s nothing. Nothing but beach chairs and a flattened bike wheel. A box of mouse traps.

I go back into the house and immediately stop short.

Humming.

Someone is humming. A woman. And I have a pretty good idea who it is.

The fact that my stomach tightens like a drum doesn’t bode well for my concentration.

Rounding the corner into the living room, I find Taylor on hands and knees, using the flashlight app on her phone to search beneath the couch. “Looking for something?”

A scream rips out of her. Thankfully, it cuts off somewhere in the middle when she catches sight of my reflection in the window behind the couch. Hand pressed to her heaving chest, she twists around and slumps back against the blue and white striped furniture. “I didn’t see your bike outside.”

“I parked it down the block.”

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t see it and scurry over here to bother me.”

That’s a bald-faced lie. I stopped for coffee down the street and it was a short walk to the house from there, not worth moving the bike over.

“Oh,” she says, her mouth turning down at the corners. “I see.”

I almost tell her the truth. Almost. Just to get her to stop frowning. Who am I becoming?

Definitely not the kind of person who wants to tell her she looks pretty in her blue jumpsuit thing.

“What are you doing over here, half pint?”

She purses her lips in lieu of answering me. “Why are you so determined to make us enemies? Do you truly find me annoying or were you stung badly in the past by another WASPy girl from Connecticut and you’re taking it out on me?”

“I truly find you annoying.”

I’m lying again. I actually think she’s pretty goddamn funny. And persistent.

Gorgeous as fuck. Can’t forget about that.

“Thank you for being honest.” She stands up, dusting off the seat of her shorts. Which are connected to the matching top. What are those called? Rompers? What is the easiest way to get one of those things off? “Did you know a lot of friendships are formed because two people share a common enemy? That’s us. We’re united against whoever murdered Oscar.”

“I work alone. We are united in nothing.”

“Okay, but we both want the same thing. We have a commonality. My students form bonds over their dislike of homework. Eventually they realize how many other things they have in common.” She gives a brisk clap of her hands. “Let’s do some morale building. On three, let’s both say something we dislike.”

I can imagine her in front of a class, commanding attention. Colorful and engaging and creative. She’s probably amazing at what she does. “I don’t want to play—”

“One. Two. Three. Scream sneezers.”

“I said I didn’t want to…” A laugh scales the insides of my throat, almost making its way out of my mouth. “What was that?”