Page 11 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

Eamon cursed, throwing the dirty rag and snagging his tool belt from where he left it. He should get to work before he followed her home. Before he caved to every dark desire burning his blood.

* * *

Jealousy pulsedoff Garret in such thick waves, it coated Bel’s skin as they parked in the station’s lot. She had a suspicion her partner harbored feelings beyond friendship for her, but nothing had ever pushed him this far before. She hardly blamed him, though. The hunger in Eamon Stone’s gaze had rattled her, sweat soaking her shirt at the memory of the murder in his eyes and the desire coiling his muscles. Garrett had sensed it, and his protective nature reared its head. They both sat, unable to move, unable to leave the car, and Bel anticipated what was coming. She didn’t want him to say it. She hoped he did.

“Do you think he did it?” Garrett interrupted the silence with his question.

“He has the strength and the skill,” Bel answered, refusing to look at her partner. “He is currently the last person we know of to see Lumen alive, and he lacks a provable alibi.”

“What do we do?”

“We have no proof.” Bel finally turned her gaze to meet his, his brown hair framing his face like a portrait. He was the exact opposite of Eamon Stone: pure goodness and joy. “There is no obvious motive, either. Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it, but why? Why buy a house in a relatively unknown town and hire a designer to help renovate only to kill him? It makes no sense.”

“We’ll find something.”

Bel sighed, rubbing her eyes. She hated this off-kilter sensation, hated feeling out of control. The last time she experienced this, someone had tried to rip her open and leave her for dead, and Eamon Stone incited the same emotion from her.

“It’s late,” she said, searching for an excuse to escape the tension in the car. “Cerberus is probably cursing me for forgetting his dinner.”

“Poor pup,” Garrett said, his response on autopilot as something else consumed his thoughts.

“Good night.” Bel reached for the door.

“Wait.” Garrett leaned across her and closed his hand over hers, trapping her against the seat. “I may never get the nerve again, so I’m just going to say it. We’re partners, and I realize you have things in your past that you don’t talk about, that keep you guarded. I respect that. I respect the hell out of you, Bel, but I also like you. You’re a great partner and a good friend.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “But I don’t want to be your friend.”

Bel opened her mouth, but then clamped it shut. He had finally said it, and she wasn’t sure how she should feel. Relieved? Terrified? Excited?

“I realize this is a lot to spring on you,” he continued before she could turn him down. “It’s probably the worst time to ask with this case, but then again, maybe not. Life is short. It is beautiful and fragile.” His gaze drifted to her scars before snapping back to her eyes. “If I don’t tell you how I feel, I’ll regret it. Bel, I like you. I understand it would require work, and it might complicate our jobs, but all I’m asking for is one date.”

“Garrett…”

“Just think about it, okay? Don’t decide now. Go home. Walk your dog. Sleep on it. Take the whole week if you need to. If you say no, that’s fine. It won’t change how I act around you. I won’t be mad, and I’ll remain the best partner you’ve had. I just want one chance. Can you do that for me? Can you at least consider it?”

Bel stared at Garrett, studying the warmth in his eyes, the soft curl of his hair, the strong jaw, and his pleasant voice. Her first reaction was to refuse him. To run home and hide with a book, and she had to fight the urge to touch her scar. He was kind, and she liked him. Was her desire to turn him down simply based on her fear of letting anyone close enough to hurt her? Garrett would never judge her imperfections. He wouldn’t hold her trauma over her.

“Okay… I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Cerberus blewpast Bel as she unlocked the cabin door, squatting the instant his paws hit the grass. Bel snagged his leash off its hook and snapped it to his collar before he could escape. She rarely let him roam off lead, and not because he misbehaved, but because she understood what could happen in the blink of an eye. She wasn’t sure she would survive if something happened to him, if someone took him from her. Her attachment to the dog grew with each passing day, and some might call her codependent, but no one loved her like that beast except for her father… and maybe her sisters.

Cerberus finally finished relieving himself, and a wave of guilt washed over Bel. Before yesterday, Bajka’s crimes were regulated to troublemaking kids, town drunks, and the occasional theft, ensuring she was usually home on time to take care of her dog, but this homicide was something she had never encountered. Not even her assault had been this disgraceful and confusing. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew this wouldn’t resolve quickly. She should get someone to visit the pitbull. If they cleared Violet of suspicion, she should ask her if she would dog sit.

Movement caught her attention, and Vera’s grey hair popped up from behind a bush. Unlike Bel’s basic cabin and plain curb appeal, Vera prided herself on her garden. Half vegetables and half flowers, her elderly neighbor sometimes gifted Bel tomatoes and cucumbers. It was one thing she loved about living in a town like this. Hardly anyone had a garden in the city, and if they did, most of her neighbors didn’t care that she existed. Vera, on the other hand, spoiled her with baked goods and fresh produce at least once a week, and guilt pricked Bel’s conscience that she offered nothing in return.

Cerberus twisted his neck and caught sight of Vera, and a low menace escaped his throat. He lowered his stance, his growl rumbling his ribs, and Bel tightened her hold on his leash, shoving him back into the house before her neighbor noticed the dog’s aggression.

“What is going on with you?” she hissed as she pushed him into the kitchen.

“Isobel?” Vera interrupted before she could close the door, and Bel wedged herself in the doorway so Cerberus couldn’t escape through her legs.

“Hi, Vera.” She waved awkwardly, hoping her dog wouldn’t react to the woman’s voice. She didn’t understand his visceral reaction to the woman. Perhaps Vera’s scent reminded him of something harmful in his past. The shelter had little information about his history, and while he was young, trauma could affect any creature of any age.

“I baked cookies,” Vera called over her bushes. “Come help me get rid of some.”

Bel glanced longingly back at Cerberus, who stood expectantly before his bowl. All she wanted was to curl up next to him and listen to him snore as she read.

“Just a quick cup of tea,” Vera urged. “I go to bed early, anyway.”

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