Surrendering(82)

A half hour ago he’d been headed home, after several of the longest, shittiest days of his life. Just as he’d reached his car, Giselle popped up, blocking his entrance. He hated it when vamps flashed. It was completely unnatural and unnerving. She’d given him some bullshit about being in danger, blah, blah, blah. He couldn’t go home, blah, blah, blah. He’d told her to fuck off, shoved her out of the way, started his car and drove off. He hadn’t been home in days. Between his binge drinking and sleeping at the station, he needed a good long shower. Even his lumpy mattress sounded good tonight and he hated that old thing.

He’d just turned onto the highway, heading south toward his meager house, when she suddenly flashed in front of his goddamn car, causing him to slam on his brakes and swerve into the ditch in order to miss hitting her. He almost clipped a one hundred-year-old oak. He should have just mowed her ass down instead of trying to avoid her. That bitch was going to pay every cent it cost to repair the damages to his now incapacitated car. Maybe it would be totaled and he’d make her pay for a brand new one.

Before his head had even cleared from the impact, she’d had his door open and had flashed him to Devon’s house. Where he now sat. Glaring at her. Blood dripping down his face.

“Listen up, Giselle. You get me the fuck back to my car right now or so help me God, there will be hell to pay.”

She stood there with a smirk on her face and arms crossed against her bountiful chest, which pressed her quite lovely tits even further above the black lace corset she wore. Christ, if she weren’t a vamp, he would have fucked her ten ways to Sunday by now. God knows his dick didn’t care what species she was. That bastard wanted a go at her anyway.

“My eyes are up here, detective.”

Buuuusted. He started to speak, but she talked right over him.

“Believe it or not, I’m trying to save your pathetic little human life. Why, you ask? I can’t even understand that myself. But you are in danger, Detective. If you’d shut your piehole for five seconds, I’ve been trying to tell you that we received intel this evening that your house is being staked out by Xavier’s lackey’s, who were sent there to kidnap you. I saved you from certain death, and the thanks I get for that are your futile threats.”

Mike began to protest when she cut him off…again. Bitch.

“And before you pull your macho bullshit and tell me I’m full of shit and that you can take care of yourself—yada, yada—I checked out your place before I came to the precinct and I could smell their stench a mile away. So they are there. They are waiting for you, and they will take great pleasure in killing you once they’ve tortured you for an indefinite period of time.

“Which means you are going to have to stay here until it’s safe for you to return to your home. Like it or not. Unless you have a death wish.”

This made no sense. “Why in the hell would they want me?”

“They know you are working on the Sarah Hill case and they know Kate was in to see you about it. They are actually after Kate and will do anything to find her.”

His stomach dropped. Had something happened to Kate? “Is she safe?”

Giselle nodded. “She’s been here for the past several days, since they tried snatching her from her home.”

She added, “And before you ask, no harm has or will come to her. She’s safer here than anywhere else.”

Well, fuck. They stared at each other for several minutes. Neither wanting to give in and be the first to break their eye lock. Jesus, they were both stubborn as the day was long. He hadn’t fulfilled his objective yet, so a death wish was off the table. But sometimes it sounded like sweet relief from the constant pain he carried in his soul.

His memory flashed back to the station the other day when she also mentioned she was trying to protect him. This whole situation confused the hell out of him. Mike couldn’t wrap his head around why Giselle even seemed to give a shit if something happened to him. Why not let just him traipse off home and get flayed piece-by-piece? He wasn’t exactly their biggest fan, and she knew that.

So what was her angle? Although she was trying hard to throw him, he was getting the genuine vibe that she actually cared what happened to him. And why would that be? He knew he’d have to tread lightly or she’d Mrs. Hyde into her usual frigid bitch. Then not only would he get no answers, he also wasn’t sure he could restrain himself from trying to kill her. Or fuck her. Christ.

Mike stood and slowly made his way across the room toward Giselle. Her challenging eyes never left his. She didn’t move, other than to drop her arms to her side and stand to her full, glorious six feet. Instead of her red fuck-me heals today, she had black, thigh high fuck-me harder boots, which ended a couple of inches below her tight, black leather mini skirt. As sick as it was, he wanted to know what she had on under that skirt. The thought almost made him throw up a little in his mouth.