Page 19 of Darkness

Leary knitted his brows over a nose made asymmetrical by a few too many youthful bar brawls. "What information do you have about him? I know damned good and well you’ve done research by now.”

Yes, Farren had. Until the early morning hours, in fact. “Morrisey James, no middle name, forty-two years old. He’s spent ten years with Atlanta PD, most recently as a lieutenant, after eleven more in a small town in South Carolina. He’s currently a detective. A few disciplinary issues, just enough to let others underestimate him. No immediate family. Lives alone. He’s recently lost his partner, Detective William Murphy, to suicide. He’s a loner. Keeps to himself.”

Leary rubbed his chin. “Cases?”

“His most recent involved a mass murder at a child’s birthday party. A massacre, actually.” Farren squeezed his temples with one hand.

“Ax?”

“I’d say knives.” Farren wouldn't say "traveler," though the insinuation lingered. Every traveler kill brought more suspicion down on him, Arianna, and any other travelers in the unit, or those simply trying to make the most of their circumstances. Let Leary draw his own conclusions.

Leary gently pressed the tip of his index finger to his pursed lips, attention tuned past Farren's shoulder. “James has seen too much to leave in the dark, and he’s certainly qualified. The discipline issues will need to be addressed.” He turned the full force of his intense scrutiny on Farren, who’d practiced for years not to squirm yet barely kept still. “What would you think about training a new partner, Austen? Get started on a security clearance.”

For better or worse, Farren had just pulled Morrisey James into a strange new world.

May James forgive him.

Eventually.

Chapter Eight

Going to a bar while under investigation for shooting a suspect—and while headquarters debated his future—might not have been the smartest move, but was far from the worst decision Morrisey’s pickled brain ever spat out. Damned if he didn’t need something besides four walls to look at and his troubled thoughts for company.

How wrong was life when even you chose not to hang out with you?

He’d picked a new place, one where hopefully few knew him. It wouldn’t do for him to suddenly see a coworker or acquaintance morph into a weird beast.

If hints of another face suddenly superimposed itself over someone’s, whatthehellever. However, if Morrisey already saw weird shit when he hadn’t yet finished his first beer, it’d be hard to tell when he truly got drunk.

A stylish woman in a form-fitting silky green dress placed a beringed hand on the neighboring barstool. He’d never seen a neckline plunge quite so low. How did her ample breasts keep from spilling out?

Had to be duct tape.

“Mind if I join you?”

Morrisey glanced upward at chestnut waves streaked with hints of gold and copper, bright green eyes, and flawless makeup. Not the type of woman who typically approached a grizzled old waste of skin. Besides, she couldn’t have been more than early twenties, tops.

How depressing when the only woman to approach Morrisey in ages could’ve been his daughter. Wait. “You don’t know me, do you?” Back in his youth, Morrisey had experimented with a few women, even if no offspring of his could outrun his less-than-attractive genetics.

“Not yet.” The woman presented him with a dazzling, come-hither smile. “But I hope to.”

Ah. Her angle made an appearance. “As lovely as you are, I’m not your target audience.”

The woman’s smile widened at the compliment. “Why thank you, but I’m quite capable of determining your lack of, shall we say, interest.”

Were his fuck-off vibes showing? Morrisey took another swig of beer. He definitely should have ordered a more potent drink. “Then why waste time on me?”

"Oh, it's not a waste, I promise you." She leaned in closer. “You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” For a moment, another shimmering face showed over hers, and a flicker of smoke, like dark wings, shadowed her back. That didn’t take long. “Mr. James. May I call you Morrisey?”

Morrisey lurched backward, nearly toppling off his stool, barely saving his beer from spilling. So, the devil had finally come for him. And no crosses or holy water. “Who the fuck are you?”

The woman’s smile fell into a far-too-serious-for-one-so-young frown, full red lips forming a hard line. “ is… complicated.”

Morrisey looked right and left. Folks carried on around them, completely unaware of the peculiar conversation taking place a couple of steps away. Then again, others’ conversations and the formerly pounding music sounded muted. Okay, first thing tomorrow, Morrisey would check himself in somewhere.

The woman rested her hand on his arm. “You’re a police officer, correct?”

“Detective.” Morrisey dropped what he called his wall, letting in impressions to say what her words left out. Desperation, fear, and, deeper still, hunger. Well, anyone so thin likely missed a few meals.

---