Page 9 of Ghosted in Arkadia
James also “accidentally” gives me a peek at Alexander’s crime scene photos.
The top half of Alexander’s body lies on the hotel bed. His eyes bulge from their sockets and point at the ceiling. Even in the photo, I could see his face is purple, and his fingertips are stained red with blood. He had fought and clawed to breathe while someone strangled him with the bed sheets.
My stomach heaves, and James’ eyes widen. I’m not usually squeamish, but he had no way of knowing that the monster responsible for this is the other half of my soul. Guilt eats awayat me, but when my mouth opens, no words come out. Standing in front of James, a fellow member of the force and another mateless, I should tell him. But what do I say?
I don’t even know my soulmate’s name.
I decide not to tell James, or Cathy, for that matter. Instead of getting involved in their investigation, I opt to conduct my own. Once I know who my soulmate is, I will have something to say. Until then, I plan to keep my head down.
Walking back into the station after my leave of absence, I feel the eyes of all the other officers. The moment shatters when Cathy catches my gaze.
“Thank fuck your back. Things have been boring.” Cathy heads my way, Rex by her side. “Sorry your ex died, or whatever I’m supposed to say. Shots on me Friday night?” She looks confused, entirely out of her realm regarding social expectations.
“Can I take a shot off you?” James asks from his desk, his eyes roaming over Cathy. The tension between them is thick enough for them to fuck on top of.
The phone on Cathy’s desk rings, and mine does as well, meaning we have a call from dispatch.
“See?” Cathy points at me with an excited smile. “Captain knows you need a little therapy.” She winks before hurrying to pick up the phone. The moment she does, the one at my desk stops ringing.
Rex doesn’t follow Cathy, choosing instead to sit on the floor before me, panting. He has chocolate brown eyes, just like mine. More than once, I have seen a greater natural intelligence in them than some humans have been capable of.
“Guy lost his soulmate. Now, he’s lost his mind. Holding another person’s mate hostage. My specialty,” Cathy says, putting down the phone.
She grabs her gear, and I do the same. Rex gets up to follow Cathy’s erratic steps around her desk while she ensures she has everything.
“We’re running backup,” James says, getting his things, and I know Tommy will pull their cruiser around.
“I’m driving.” I dangle the keys in the air, heading for the door, knowing Cathy will be hot on my heels.
“You never let me drive.”
I laugh. She’s right.
“I’m the one grieving, remember? I get everything I want because you want me tofeelbetter.” I look back to see Cathy grinning. Part of me feels guilty for not telling her about my soulmate. If it wasn’t for the psychopath part, I would.
We make it to the parking lot, and a black Mustang pulls up beside us, engine revving. Tommy lowers the window, his shaggy dark hair falling over his sunglasses. His teeth are perfectly straight, and he beams them in a wide smile.
“Wanna race?”
I smile. Today feels like a day when everything will go my way. “You want to take on my Hellcat? Again? Didn’t you learn anything from the last two times you tried?”
James passes me, going around the front of the cruiser to get in the passenger side.
“I didn’t have a head start then.” Tommy flips on the sirens and his tires squeal as he pulls away.
“Fuck no,” I breathe, taking off in a sprint for my cruiser. “Get in!” I yell to Cathy as I yank the door open.
She runs around, opening the back door for Rex before jumping into the passenger seat. I already have the sirens blaring when her ass hits the leather. We squeal out of the parking lot as she struggles to get her seatbelt on. I can see the Mustang ahead and press the gas pedal to the floor.
The engine roars beneath my feet, sending vibrations through my body.
I feel alive.
I swerve around James and Tommy, not needing to worry about the self-driving electric cars that have cleared the path for our drag race. Cathy pulls up the directions on the car’s screen, and I shift gears, leaving the Mustang in our wake.
We arrive at the scene in the middle of the mated corporate complex. This type of street features buildings that stretch high into the sky. Each wealthy business owner trying to compete in their own phallic competition. It isn’t like they can show off trophy wives or mistresses, like the heathens before us who were cut off from their soulmates.
A man stands in front of one of the tall buildings, using a hysterical woman as a shield while pointing a gun at her head. A man in a tailored suit, his face etched with fear pleads with the gunman, his voice cracking in desperation.
