Page 31 of How May I Please You

“Alright, we’re out of here,” Summers cuts in, standing up and moving in front of me so that I can’t even be seen. “Mr. and Mrs. Swanson, thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch. I know it may be difficult after this, but try to have a nice day.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Chad blares as he stands.

Summers motions for me to get up and I oblige, following him as he quickly walks out of the study, turns the corner, and snatches open the door. The family follows us out, hurling questions in our direction and becoming even more offended when they don't get an answer. Stanley and Chad team up and spit insults in our direction as we get back in the car, and we can hear them still pelting the outside of the vehicle as we drive away.

“What the hell was that about?” Summers asks once we’ve cleared the verbal field of fire.

“What?” I say, swerving onto the highway.

“You were too hot in there, Monroe,” he says. “You were coming for that kid like you wanted him to be guilty. You can’t have personal bias like that.”

“It wasn’t personal bias. I was just doing my job. You were being the good cop, so I played the bad one.”

“Good cop, bad cop? Are you freaking serious? This isn’t a TV show, Monroe. Is that how you used to do it with Detective Winter?”

I pause, taking my eyes off the road just long enough to look at him with the fury of a thousand gods in my eyes. “Jesus, why are you always bringing up Winter?”

He scoffs as if I’ve said something childish. “I’m not always bringing him up, but I am trying to understand you better. We’re partners and I want to know who I’m working with. I need to be aware of the tactics you’ll use when we’re questioning someone together. That’s all I’m saying.”

I put my eyes on the road as I press the gas, but I have a strong desire to keep looking at him, assessing his intentions.

I don't like people, Sir. I don't trust them. People always have underlying motives and figuring out what they are is a challenge that annoys the shit out of me. The only person worthy of trust is you.

I used to only be annoyed by Summers. His constant smiling and asking questions about Sam have gotten on my nerves more times than I can count. I’ve been able to push it to the side and get my job done without it truly affecting me, but tonight I’m more than just annoyed. For the first time since he transferred from another division and became my partner, I feel something else for him.

Suspicion.

chapter

nineteen

I get home from work before Journey does, which is typical. What isn’t normal is the heavy feeling in my stomach. There is a weight inside of me, pulling me down into a place I don't think I’ve ever been when it comes to my Little Devil. The weight feels a lot like a giant seed of doubt that has sprouted and is growing up my throat, only inches away from spewing out my mouth and showing itself to Journey, and she is the one who placed it there.

I don't remember hearing the phone ring the night Captain Saunders called and told Journey to investigate a robbery. I was asleep, but I don't sleep heavily. Murdering people and burying bodies in your backyard tends to bring heightened anxiety and insomnia to your doorstep. In the past, I have woken up every time Journey has received a late call for her job. Her ringtone is one of the most annoying sounds I’ve ever heard in my life, but somehow my restless brain ignored it this time. All I know is that she told me she was leaving to investigate a robbery and that it wouldn't take long to get the victim’s statement. Right then—the second she walked out the door—the seed of doubt was planted.

The morning after her robbery investigation, Journey gets a call that I do hear. I’m standing right next to her when Captain Saunders tells her about the fire set to Andrea’s Diner, and I hear him assign her to it, even telling her to make it a priority. What do I not hear? Saunders telling her to drop the robbery investigation. He doesn't mention it at all. He never tells her to let it go and that it will be assigned to someone else. Nothing.

I love my Little Devil more than anything in this galaxy, but that doesn't make any sense. What the fuck are you up to, Beautiful?

I saw the way she hurried her way through breakfast: nearly spilling orange juice on herself as she tossed her head back to gulp it down, jamming the fork into her mouth to shove all of her food in before the previous forkful could fall out. She was all over the place—totally out of character and I don't know why.

I put someone beneath the dirt before I ever met Journey. I didn't do it on purpose. It was the beast in me that reached out and took what it wanted. It wasn't until I met Journey that I learned I am not the person running from the beast. I am him. Journey allowed me to be myself, and it resulted in putting a couple more people under the ground to protect us. To this day, I have no regrets about what happened to Winter or Cain. I would gladly do it again for my Little Devil, which is why I don't understand why there seems to be a veil of secrecy shrouding her actions now. She knows I would brutalize anyone for her. There isn't anything she couldn't tell me.

So why didn't I hear the phone ring?

Why didn't Saunders mention the robbery investigation?

Why did she sprint out of the house after choking herself on breakfast?

The garage door goes up just as I’m settling onto the couch with a cold beer. My scent is a combination of lavender and mint after a hot shower that relaxed every part of me except my overthinking brain. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV just as the door opens and Journey walks inside.

My heart hammers just from the sight of her. It’s as if our time apart was eons instead of mere hours, and the Dom in me wants to hug her, kiss her, and force her to her knees all at once. But I know she’s tired from work. I can see it on her face—the way her smile is weary from faking it all day. Her shoulders slump as she walks, and the light in her eyes is dim like a star so distant it is barely visible to the naked eye. My Little One is exhausted, so I choose not to bombard her with questions right now, because what she needs from me at this moment is love and affection after a hard day’s work.

“Welcome home, Baby Girl,” I greet her as she enters and puts away her keys.

Journey comes into the living room, places her gun and badge on the coffee table, and drops to her knees. She crawls over to me and places her head in my lap, closing her eyes as if she doesn't want to see anymore of the day. I sigh as I run my fingers through the hair of my perfect submissive—my one and only.

“Rough day?” I ask, ignoring the TV and seeing only her.

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