Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“Right.” Jay shrugs and sets the food on his desk. “You see the news?” He grunts, shaking his head like the grumpy old man he can sometimes be. “The fucking Butcher of Beverly Hills. Fancy sounding, right?”
“Ugh, are you serious? That’s…fuck it’s catchy as hell, which means they won’t stop using it.” That shit pisses me off. The guy is a serial killer, not some kind of celebrity.
“Fuckin’ press.” Jay bites into my sandwich and frowns at it. “Damn, this is really good. Sure you don’t want some?”
More than anything. “No, I’m good. I don’t know what came over me. Probably need something a little healthier than donuts and bacon.”
Jay shakes his head. “I’ll take a lot of shit, Frankie. I’ll fight the boss to keep you in the field. I’ll deal with you dating a rich, pretty boy and I’ll even stand back and be proud that you’re shaping up to be a better detective than me. But if you come here with some kind of quinoa burrito or beet steak, I’m going to lose my shit. I swear to God.”
I stare at Jay for a long time before a laugh burst out of me at his ridiculous statement. “What the hell is a quinoa burrito?”
“Don’t know,” he grumbles. “It just sounds nasty.”
“Says the man eating a sandwich that uses donuts for bread.” I roll my eyes, feeling slightly better thanks to my crotchety partner. “I promise not to eat a quinoa burrito if you promise not to use the Beverly Hills Butcher moniker.”
He nods while taking another bite of my sandwich. “And don’t say moniker. Who even talks like that?”
I laugh but a knock sounds and then the door opens before I can answer him. Amelia appears looking put together in a dark green blouse and black slacks. “Is this a good time?”
“Please,” I sigh, waving her in. “Are you here to chat or business?”
Her auburn brows lift and mischief lights her eyes. “You haven’t been making a very good impression on Mr. Franklin.”
My brows dip. “Jeremy? He’s a good prosecutor, but a pompous ass.”
Amelia snort-laughs, and the sound is unexpectedly amusing. “Yeah, well, that pretty much sums up how he feels about you too.” She sticks out her tongue before dropping a stack of folders onto my desk. “The unsealed juvenile records of our victims.”
My eyes go wide. “That fucker! He said there wasn’t enough evidence to get them unsealed.” We’d gone back and forth—loudly—before he told me I needed to get him more evidence, as if I wasn’t trying. “Did you bribe him?”
“Nope, just reminded him this was purely investigative. For now.”
“Doesn’t hurt that Jeremy has a thing for leggy redheads,” Jay adds almost under his breath.
Amelia rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the flush that stains her cheeks. “Anyway, want to talk about it over drinks?”
I could use a girl’s night out, but I’m not up for it. “I want to say yes, but I’m not feeling that great. My stomach’s messed up.”
Her smile fades. “Oh no, did you eat one of those heart-attack breakfast sandwiches?” She shoots a glare at Jay.
“What?” He raises his hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No, I didn’t,” I say quickly, avoiding the truth about how much I actually love those donut sandwiches. “It’s probably just exhaustion. Raincheck?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll come back in the morning with some tea, and we can talk about what you think after you go through the files.”
“Who says I’m going to do that today?”
She tosses her head back before letting out a laugh. “Sure, Frankie. I can’t wait to hear your theories about who the killer might be. Feel better.” With a wave, she leaves us to stare at the stack.
Jay breaks the silence first. “You take half, and I take half?”
I nod. “Sure. Take good notes,” I tell him. “None of that steel trap mind shit,” I say and tap my head the way he always does when he refuses to write anything down.
He flashes a smile I’ve seen thousands of times in my life. “You insult my memory, Frankie.”
“You hurt my head, Jay.”
By late afternoon, I’m feeling better, and I head to Damien’s penthouse, wondering what excitement he has for me today. Since the night he cooked dinner, things have changed—again—but for the better. Damien is more attentive, and the romance is growing by the day, making me exceptionally giddy to return home each day.
Home.
That’s exactly what his place feels like.
And that worries the crap outta me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Frankie
The house is way too quiet when I get home, which gives me a bit of the creeps. But this place is like Fort Knox, so I try not to worry as the smart lights come on and I head to the bedroom. Damien’s been insistent that I stay in his room—our room—ever since that night.