Page 50 of Necessary Evil

He looked down to where she was pointing. “You don’t like my tattoo?” Evil was proud of the intricate spiderweb on his chest. He’d had a dream shortly before his retirement about a large garden spider in the center of the web, spinning his fate, and he’d had the tattoo outlined and colored in a few sessions. It still wasn’t done. He wasn’t sure if he was going to add more color or another design. Still, it was professional-looking and had cost him a fortune. “I can put my shirt back on. Unless it’s not that. Just please stop crying.”

To his alarm, she slid down the wall and tucked her face between her knees. “I have a phobia.” Her voice was muffled.

“You’re afraid of spiders?” Well, that just fucking figures, doesn’t it? He sighed.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing.” Evil picked up his T-shirt and put it back on. “It’s safe to look now.”

“I just want the floor to swallow me up.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

“No, it’s not,” she wailed. “What adult is so afraid of spiders that even pictures of them send her into a panic attack?”

“You just need to get used to it. You don’t have a problem with the one on my hand, right?”

She picked up her head and sniffed. “Only when I forget.”

“So you were taken by surprise. It happens.”

“It does?” she asked with some of her old sass. “This has happened to you before?”

No, but she had never happened to him before. He was prepared to take the good with the bad. Lucy Simmons had been under his skin too long for this to put a full stop on the evening. He kicked off his boots and went to the fridge for a beer. “You want something to drink?”

“Do you have any bourbon?”

“No. How about whiskey?”

She nodded. “That’ll work.”

Evil turned on his heel. “You want it over ice and some Coke?”

Lucy rubbed the tears off her face. “Depends if you have shit whiskey or not.”

“Jack Daniel’s?”

“Coke and ice,” she said.

“What’s not shit whiskey?” Evil wasn’t sure if he was more offended by her dissing his booze or his tattoo. He poured her a double shot and added the soda and ice. Anything to get her to calm down and stop shaking.

“You know the tattoos aren’t real, right?” Evil made sure he handed her the drink with his non-tattooed hand.

“I’m not an idiot, Evan.” The prim tone in her voice made him want to peel off her skirt and bury his head between her legs until she couldn’t remember spiders, whiskey, or anything but the feel of his tongue.

He sat down on the floor next to her and unbuckled his ankle holster. He tucked the pistol into a drawer in the end table.

“Do you have a permit for that?” she asked.

“And a license to carry concealed. Does that make you feel any safer?”

“I’m sorry for freaking out.” She leaned her head against the wall. “Please, don’t tell the guys at the precinct,” she whispered. “I couldn’t take it if they started leaving spiders for me. Even the fake ones.”

“I’ll fucking kill the first asshole who tries. After that, you won’t have to worry about it anymore. But of course I’m not going to tell anyone. I’ll keep your secrets. Why are you so afraid of spiders?”

“Why do you like them so much?” she countered.

Evil noticed she always countered a question with a question when she felt she was under attack, so he rubbed her leg in what he hoped she took as a comforting gesture. The silkiness of her stockings made him want to shred them. “I guess you could say spiders are my spirit animal.”

---