Page 8 of In Another Lifetime

“No boyfriend. They’re for my neighbors, Nosy.”

His expression changed, all lightheartedness fading away, and he seemed to grow a foot taller. “Which neighbors? You want me to check them out?”

“No.” I injected annoyed exasperation into my adamant tone. I’d never had an older brother, and now I had close to a dozen. And they were all a pain in my ass. “He’s a cop. He took in his teenage brother when they lost their parents a few years ago. Pretty safe.”

The fingers on one of Biter’s hand curled briefly. “Not all cops are good guys, Cookie.”

“Not all cops are your cousin, Biter,” I shot back. Biter’s cousin had done his best to find dirt on the Ghosts of Vengeance until he’d moved across state to avoid disciplinary action. I wasn’t so sure he’d stopped looking, even now.

And that reminded me of another fly in the ointment of my plans. Dayton wasn’t only a cop, he was a detective. Tenacious. A proverbial dog with a bone. I couldn’t imagine he’d easily accept my family, and I was a package deal with them, now. The Ghosts and I were family, just as he was with Brennan.

Six

Dayton

The rhythmic pounding of my feet on my treadmill’s running belt soothed me while sweat trickled down my back and my hair clung to my scalp like a dripping cap. Snatching up my already damp towel, without missing a step, I scrubbed it over my head. On days like this one, this was the best part of my waking hours. My thoughts wandered, and my brain offered solutions and sometimes, pointed out things I’d missed, as if it were playing my day’s behind the scenes B-roll.

Today, though, no matter how I pushed it away, my mind drifted to the mystery, the agony, that kept me up nights.

My coworkers accused me of being a dick. Yeah. Well, I didn’t know many people who wouldn’t be if they hadn’t slept for the past five years. I’d never been an insomniac. Now, good sleep was a luxury I rarely got.

Even with therapy, the nightmares of my wife’s murder were constant. The prescription pills to help me sleep just made it worse—and made me feel as if I had a hangover the next day. Drinking? That also made it worse. So most days, it was this or weights until my muscles screamed, drowning out my demons.

Not today. Today, memories and mystery taunted me. Belittled me. Enraged me.

I was a detective. With commendations. And I couldn’t solve my own wife’s fucking murder. Not that I’d been on the case. Though it was handled through our precinct, I hadn’t been allowed anywhere near it, and the detectives on the investigation routinely sidestepped me. Not that I’d ever been a suspect, since I’d been on the clock when it had happened. Probably, it was their embarrassment over their failure—and yeah, that was my exact thought on their competence. And they knew I judged them for the lack of progress.

Okay, yeah, I was a bit of a dick.

Didn’t give a fuck about that, either.

Knock, knock, knock.

My brow furrowed, and I pulled out my earbud, thinking my treadmill belt was thunking. When the knock came again, I realized it was the front door.

Shit. Probably Anderson checking up on me. For the last year, her mom instincts had been kicking in and I’d been her target whenever she sensed any tiny thing off with me. Not to be sexist at all—Anderson was the best partner I’d ever had—but I wished she’d just let Felix knock her up, so she could redirect her energy.

I scrubbed my towel over my face then haphazardly over my chest as I stomped toward the foyer, my legs rubbery from the hour run. The knock was started again just as I wrenched open the door.

“What, Ander—” My words cut off at the sight of my little brunette neighbor, plate of cookies in her hand and white shorts displaying tanned, mile-long legs that shouldn’t belong to someone as petite as she was. I’d clock her at five-two and maybe a buck twenty-five. With curves I’d love to map.

No! Not me. What the fuck? But I could imagine most men would want to explore her—and why did that piss me the fuck off?

I realized suddenly that I was staring, but she was staring right back, her mouth dropped open while she scanned my shirtless torso.

“Um…” she started then swallowed hard. She lifted the plate she held while she shuffled her balance from one foot to the other then back, in an oddly familiar way. “I made cookies. My grandma’s recipe. I thought you and Brennan might…”

She pushed the plastic-covered treats closer for me to take. Without thinking, I wrapped my fingers around the edge and accepted the offering. My brow furrowed, and my protective instincts kicked in—though I was pretty sure this pixie of a woman couldn’t harm a fly, let alone a grown man.

“How do you know Brennan?”

“He came over and introduced himself. Offered to do the lawn work.”

“Sounds like him. He’s been doing the yard over there since he was twelve.” It had given him something to do. After…

“Well… I guess… He’ll be familiar then,” she said, folding her fingers together. With her arms relaxed, her hands settled in front of the place I’d like to explore with my mouth and—

The fuck…?

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