Page 69 of Power of the Mind

“Yes. Yes, he was. But we don’t need to tell him that to his face. I gathered you weren’t best pals with Constable Mustache back there, but here’s a life lesson for you, Guns. Are you listening?”

Diem’s caustic glare turned on me.

I grinned, unaffected. “Don’t piss off the people with the keys to the slammer.”

“He wouldn’t dare arrest us.”

“I don’t like taking chances. Listen closely, my sweet, oblivious nonboyfriend.”

“Stop calling me that.”

I cocked a brow, and he suddenly couldn’t look at me anymore. “Thought so. Guns, you might survive prison with all your height and muscles and scariness, but look at me.” I paused. “You’re not looking.”

He looked—from the corner of his eye.

I flung my arms out. “I’m a borderline twink. Do you know what happens to twinks in prison?”

“Believe me, you’re not a twink.”

“Believeme, that’s not the point. I’m cute, and I have a perky ass.” I displayed it, and he looked everywhere but. I laughed. “The point is, always be nice to the people with police badges. Please. For my sake, if for no other reason.”

Diem took a minute to get his growls out of the way. Then he visibly relaxed before mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

“We’re good. No hard feelings. Now, what do you think that was all about?” I thumbed over my shoulder to the cemetery.

“Drug bust.”

“Really?” I squinted through the dark, but other than the odd flicker of a flashlight, I couldn’t see what was happening.

“Parks, cemeteries, and schoolyards at night are hot spots. Happens all the time. If you haven’t hit your monthly quota, they’re perfect places for a cop to nail a few dealers, snag a hooker or two, or slap a few idiots with fines for possession or public intoxication.”

“Quota?”

Diem didn’t quite roll his eyes, but the expression gave the same vibe. “Technically, they don’t call it that. The department prefers the termproductivity.” He added air quotes. “You have to hit certain marks ofproductivityin a day and a month, or you can get slapped with a warning. Places like this boost your productivity score if you’re running low at month’s end.

“Arrests and traffic violations are high hitters. Getting called out to a scene or giving warnings isn’t worth shit. It might eat up half your night but won’t score you a single productivity point if nothing comes of it. This place is golden.” Diem gestured to the cemetery. “Might take an hour or two at most to clean up the trash and get them booked, but then the constables can fuck around the rest of the night and sit on their asses.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“I mean,wow!”

“Fucking bureaucratic bullshit is what it is.”

“That’s not why I’m wowing, D.”

He frowned.

I smirked. “That was a lot of words in a row. You’re getting better at this communication thing. I’m proud of you.” I swung a finger between us. “We’ve got something here. We’re growing as a noncouple. Can’t you feel it?”

Diem, as usual, didn’t know what to do with the comment, so he grumbled indecipherably and wrenched open the passenger side door of the Jeep. “Shut up and get the fuck in.”

I did not point out that he’d opened the door for me again. His chivalry knew no bounds.

***

Diem’s hunch turned out to be right. When we got to Hilty’s office shortly before ten, the doctor’s BMW was parked in the lot, and a single window at the back of the building was illuminated. The storefronts surrounding us had all closed many hours ago.

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