Page 124 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

“I might have to,” he admitted. “After this case, I’ll probably lose my badge.”

“The police department’s loss is Merry Maid’s gain,” she quipped, referring to a local housekeeping service. She took an experimental sip. The coffee was hot and strong.

“Just as long as you don’t print it.”

“Moi?” she mocked, splaying the fingers of one hand over her heart. “Never!”

“Yeah, right.” He drained his cup, tossed the dregs into her sink, then slid into his socks and shoes. “It’s been fun, but duty calls.” He tucked in his shirt, slid one arm through his holster and grabbed his jacket.

“Keep me posted,” she said. “If you hear anything about Simone.”

“I will.” He started for the door, then turned quickly and cleared his throat. “About last night…”

“Don’t.” Holding up a hand, she said, “Let’s just forget it.”

He felt a slow smile spread from one side of his mouth to the other. “Just for the record, let’s get something straight.”

“What?”

Though he knew he was probably making a mistake he’d regret for the rest of his life, he crossed the short distance between them, removed the cup from her fingers, wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her body tight against his.

“What’re you—?”

He kissed her. Soundly. So there would be no question about what he felt. She squeaked a bit of a protest before her lips molded to his and she melted against him, locking her arms around his neck before he finally lifted his head. “Now, do we have an understanding?”

She raised slumberous green eyes to his. “And how, Detective. And how.”

Sylvie Morrisette punched the accelerator of her little car and tore around a corner on her way to work. She’d just dropped her kids off at school and preschool. For once, both her daughter and son were healthy and in school, seemingly not suffering from the lack of “quality time” with their mother. Fortunately Bart, their unemployed, broke father was pinch-hitting in the care department and for that, Sylvie was grateful. At least he seemed to understand that until the Grave Robber was nabbed, Morrisette would be logging in hours and hours of overtime.

But she missed working with Reed.

Cliff Siebert was a pansy-ass and a hothead. Smart enough, but flawed. Morrisette’s friend Celia had once made the comment that all men were seriously flawed, it was just in their nature, but Sylvie thought it went further than that. They were fatally flawed. Period.

As proved by Reed.

What the hell was he thinking?

She slid in her favorite Alabama CD and cranked up the bass as the country music filled her car. What the hell was Reed thinking, getting involved with Nikki Gillette? He could protest it to the heavens, but Morrisette recognized what she’d witnessed last night when they were together. The guy was getting crotch-deep in trouble. Hadn’t he learned anything with Bobbi Jean Marx?

Morrisette poked in the cigarette lighter as she braked for an amber light that was about to turn red. She’d never thought Pierce Reed was a fool, but she’d been wrong, she decided, picking up her pack of Marlboro Lights and shaking out a cig. When it came to women, Reed thought with his dick. The lighter clicked and she lit up just as the traffic light turned to green. Rolling down the window, she made a final turn toward the station.

Her cell phone beeped. “Great. Just give me two minutes, will ya?” she growled as she pushed the mute button on her CD player and flipped her phone open. “Detective Morrisette.”

“Where are you?” Cliff Siebert.

“In the lot. I’ll be up in half a minute.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I just got a call from the caretaker at Peltier Cemetery.”

“Don’t tell me. Our boy’s been busy.”

“You got it. A unit’s already been dispatched and Diane Moses has been called.”

“Okay, hotshot. Let’s go check it out.”

“I’m on my way down,” Cliff said and hung up.

Morrisette took a long drag on her cigarette and wished to hell that she was waiting for Reed instead of Siebert.

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