Page 66 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

A long pause. “You’re at Loriana Harper’s home?”

Small town.Or had he been here before? Had he been one of Loriana’s lovers? That thought didn’t sit well. Loriana didn’t seem the type to like rude people.Maybe he’s only rude with you. “Yes, Loriana Harper’s home.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Please make it fifteen.” He hung up the phone and sprinted to the shower. Yes, being freshly showered would be indicative of what they’d done last night. So would not showering and smelling like sex. So, given the less-than-ideal circumstances, he chose cleanliness.

Four minutes later, in what was likely his shortest shower ever, he emerged from the stall. He toweled himself off as best he could, having foregone washing his hair. He sorted his clothes and put them on as fast as he could.

Still not fast enough, if the pounding on the door was any indication.

Socks or no socks?

More pounding.

Okay, no socks.

He dropped them as he bolted for the front door.

“Open up, Alexander.”

Ah, the authoritative voice of an angry cop. Not something Mitch’d ever hoped to hear. In fact, he spent his life coloring within the lines at all times in order to avoid police. Wasn’t worth the risk.

He opened the side door to find the cop with his fist raised, apparently ready to pound again. “I’m here.”

The cop gave him the once-over. To be expected. But the man didn’t seem too surprised, so obviously he’d seen Mitch’s ID or been briefed.

Or both.

That thought was disconcerting. There should be no one to consult with. He’d never encountered a cop in a professional capacity. There’d been a few Vancouver cops in his neighborhood while he’d grown up. But they wouldn’t remember him—of that he was quite sure. Under the radar.

“You going to let me in?”

The cold air was already seeping into Loriana’s house. The furnace kicked on and, to top it off, Mitch’s feet were freezing. So, reluctantly, he stepped aside.

Colton Pritchard stepped into the room, offering his police ID to Mitch.

As Mitch closed the door, he examined the ID. It appeared genuine. But, again, he had no frame of reference.

The corporal stood as tall as Mitch. Maybe an inch or two shorter than his six-foot-four frame. Whatever the difference might be, the cop more than made up for it with his rigid stance.

Mitch’d spent a lifetime hunching—trying to make himself appear shorter. He didn’t want to stand out in a crowd. Now, though, he pulled himself up to his full height. He wasn’t going to let the other man get the better of him. He handed back the badge.

The man took it and then held out his hand. “ID.”

Wanting to utterpleaseunder his breath, and actually doing it, were two different things. With the minutest of reluctance, Mitch fished his wallet from his back pocket. He yanked out his British Columbia license, grateful he’d gotten it changed almost as soon as he came back to the province. Likely, the California ID would raise suspicions, and he didn’t need that.

“This is a new license.”

Okay, well so much for that thought. “I’m newly returned.”

“To Canada.”

“To Canada.”Where is he going with this?

“You going to offer me a seat? Maybe a drink of that coffee I smell?”

Mitch hadn’t noticed the smell, but he glanced over to see coffee warming in the machine. It’d still be fresh as Loriana’d barely been gone any time at all. “No.” He turned back to the cop. “Because you’re going to state your business, I’ll tell you I’m innocent, and then you’ll be on your way. Shouldn’t take more than two minutes.”

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