The phone rang. Not the house phone. Her cell.
“Damn it,” she growled and wrapped the towel around her as she ran back to the bedroom. What’shisname—Burt? Brian? She was sure it started with a B—had rolled onto his side and his right cheek was in the puke. Charming. Her whole life in a single memorable picture.
Dez dove onto the bed but mistimed her momentum so that her outstretched hand hit the phone instead of grabbing it, and the cell, the clock, her badge case, and her holstered Glock fell off of the night table onto the far side of the bed.
“Shit!”
She hung over the bed and fished for the cell underneath, then punched the button with her thumbnail.
“What?” she snarled.
“And good morning to you, Miss Sunshine. ”
Sergeant JT Hammond. He was her partner on the eight-to-four, her longtime friend, and a frequent addition to the list of people she was sure that right now she could shoot while laughing about it. Though, admittedly, she would feel bad about it afterward. JT was the closest thing to family she had, and the only one she didn’t seem able to scare off.
“Fuck you,” she said, but without venom.
“Rough night, Dez?”
“And the horse you rode in on. ”
JT chuckled softly.
“Why the hell are you calling me so goddamn early?” grumbled Dez.
“Two reasons,” he said brightly. “Work and—”
“We’re not on until eight o’clock. ”
“—and it’s not as early as you think. My watch says that it’s eight-oh-two. ”
“Oh … shitballs. ”
“We didn’t set out clock last night, did we? Little much to dri—”
Dez hung up.
She lay there, hanging over the edge of the bed, her ass in the air, her weight resting on one elbow.
“Oh, man!” said a slurry voice behind her. “Now that’s something to wake up to. ”
Dez didn’t move, didn’t turn around.
“Here’s the morning news, dickhead,” she said very loudly and clearly. “You’re going to grab your shit and be out of here in ten seconds, or I’m going to kick your nuts up between your shoulder blades. ”
“Damn … you wake up on the wrong side of—”
“Ten. Three. Two…”
“I’m out. ”
There was a scuffling sound as Brandon or Blake or whoever the hell he was snatched up his stuff. Then the screen door opened and banged shut. An engine roared and the wheels of a Harley kicked gravel against the aluminum skin of the trailer.
Dez shimmied back onto the bed, turned over, and sat up. The room took a seasick sideways turn and then settled down. She looked around at her bedroom. Stark, cheerless, undecorated, and sparsely furnished. So much of it reminded her of herself. She closed her eyes. Insights like that she didn’t need on her best days. Today it was just mean.
She opened her eyes, took a breath, and stood up.
Love God had left a trail of puke droplets all the way to the front door, and she didn’t have time to clean them off the carpet. Rempel would be delighted—he hated returning a security deposit.