Page 10 of Tell Me Your Desires
“Meow.”
“Yes, I know it isn’t Friday. That wasn’t the point….” Anya stopped mid-sentence. Here she was, having full-on conversations with a cat. A very intelligent, very sophisticated cat, but still a cat. A cat who now had his back leg sticking straight up in the air as he licked his butt. “I’m going to die alone, and you’re going to eat my remains, aren’t you?”
“Meow.”
Jaime kickedher apartment door shut, heading straight for the fridge. Max had insisted she come home to eat before they went to the club this evening, and even if Jaime had tried her hand at being stubborn, she knew Max was right. God only knew what time she would make it home tonight. Jaime didn’t particularly want to be here; she could be far more useful at the precinct. Still, she was walking on very thin ice this afternoon. Food and a moment to breathe could only be good for her.
She stabbed a fork into a frozen dinner, puffing out her cheeks as she flung it into the microwave and waited impatiently for it to beep. Today, her head was so far up her ass that she couldn’t comprehend how she hadn’t ripped that rookie’s throat out.Cocky little prick. Jaime braced her hands against the counter, staring down into the sink. Empty cups were a regular occurrence these days. Half-scraped plates, too. She wasn’t a messy person—never had been—but Jaime found it hard to motivate herself in anything other than her job. Mostly because she had nobody here to impress… or reprimand her.
The microwave’s beep had her straightening her shoulders and rolling her neck from side to side as she took her Alfredo and mixed it with the only clean fork she could find.You need to sort your shit out, Baros!With a tea towel under the plastic dish, Jaime made a beeline for the couch, throwing herself down in dramatic fashion. Someone was killing women… and she didn’t know who. Or why. These brutal homicides were becoming too frequent, whether or not they were in her jurisdiction.
Jaime rested back on the couch, staring at the picture above her fireplace. It was nothing special, just a random piece of art Taylor had picked up one day from a thrift store, but it fit wellwithin the place. And even if it didn’t, Jaime didn’t have the heart to remove it.
She continued to stare until her eyes were burning. Max had been a little dubious about Maisie’s boyfriend when they’d left his place a couple of hours ago, but Jaime didn’t believe for one second he could kill his girlfriend.Jimmy, she thought, snorting. Jimmy hadn’t been what she’d expected on arrival. Not at all. He was a gamer. Strange in manner, some may say. Honestly, Jaime wasn’t sure the victim’s boyfriend knew what day it was. He’d barely flinched when Max had mentioned the club Maisie worked at, claiming he didn’t even know she’d worked there.“She just goes to work and then comes back whenever she gets off,”was his response. He hadn’t known about Maisie’s death at that point, but when someone asks questions about the woman you love, most people generally react. Jimmy? No. He’d shrugged and tsked when he had to pause the mind-numbing game he was playing.Fucking odd little man.
As of this moment, Jaime and Max had no leads. They couldn’t find the thread that connected any of the victims. They were all entirely different.Somethinghad to have put them on this psycho’s list. It couldn’t be random, could it? Fuck. If it were, narrowing down who the next victim might be was nearly impossible. Jaime knew she was missing something. Maybe something that was staring her right in the face, but she was too busy feeling sorry for herself to see it.
She shook her head. This fucker would not get away with it. They’d find him. They always did.
Jaime shoved a forkful of Alfredo into her mouth, grimacing as she slowly spat it back into the dish. Cold, congealed, shit. She shuddered when she heard Taylor’s voice, soft at the back of her mind.No, not today. She couldn’t have Taylor with her today. Not when Jaime had already been close to blowing her shit. But then Jaime lowered her eyes, her bottom lip quivering.Of course, Taylor would be with her today, of all days. It was the anniversary of her death. The…anniversary of the day they’d gotten together, too.
Fuck!
Jaime threw her Alfredo to the coffee table, not interested in the least whether she ate or not. Max wouldn’t know. What more did he want? She’d done as he’d asked and come home for a while.
With her head resting back and her eyes closed, Jaime kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and clasped her hands together on her stomach.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you!” Taylor scowled at her from across the kitchen. Jaime was halfway out the door; she didn’t have time for this. “You don’t eat properly! What’s the point of me being here if you’re just going to shrug and walk away?”
Jaime groaned, closing the apartment door again. She didn’t need the neighbors to hear this. They’d heard enough over the years. “Babe, I have to go. I don’t have time to make some friggin’ fancy lunch. Besides, it’s not as though I’ll have the time to eat it.”
Taylor flung the fridge door open, dipping her head inside. “Here. Take this. I knew you’d need it!” When she emerged, holding out a packed lunch, Jaime instantly softened. “I need to know you’re eating properly, Jai.”
“T-thanks.” Jaime frowned. “But how did you know I’d need it today?”
“You always do. I just remembered this time,” Taylor said, handing the box over as she fixed the lapels on Jaime’s black blazer and smoothed her palms down them. “And I’ll keep remembering. I love you. It’s important to me that I can do these things.”
“I love you, too.” Jaime smiled into a kiss, lingering for a moment longer. She needed to leave, she should have been in the car by now, but Taylor was her safe place. Always. “I’ll call you, okay?”
Taylor cast her gaze between them. “Be safe. I’ll be waiting.”
Sniffling as she sat up, Jaime glared at the Alfredo in its plastic packaging. Taylor would be disappointed that she wasn’t looking after herself. She would be furious to know that this was Jaime’s life now. Chaotic and unorganized. A shadow of what they’d once had. But nothing was the same, and as Jaime sat here…alone, she knew it never would be.
“Get up, get ready, and find the bastard killing these women!”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bishop.”Anya smiled at the older man as he scanned her items.
“Afternoon. No Perrier today?” He placed Anya’s yogurt, orange, and protein bar into a plastic bag, tying it up to secure it.
“You’re out of the original. I’m not into all that flavored stuff,” Anya grinned, tapping her credit card against the reader to pay.
“I’ll put it on the list. Did you hear about that young girl who was murdered last night? It happened not too far from here.”
Anya frowned. “Oh no. I didn’t. That’s awful.” That was the drawback—and maybe the blessing—of waking up too late to see the news. On the one hand, you were always a step behind on current events. On the other hand, you weren’t constantly depressed by all the bad news in the world.
Mr. Bishop leaned in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think something is going on that they’re not telling us.”
Anya mimicked his stance, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. “Who?” She adored the old man, but he was definitely what you’d call a conspiracy theorist. Every day, there was a new story, a new fear. Anya chalked it up to him being bored sitting in his tiny store all day long.
