by Abby Knox
Evelyn left to follow orders, and Adam stood there shaking his head. He would have to put off his quest to find the hippie sex dream chick, whoever she was.
He almost had himself convinced that digging up the dirt on the Church of the Messenger was more important than finding the subject of his sex dream. That is, until he stepped into his office and saw who was waiting for him.
6
Morgan
Outside the coffee shop, Morgan pulled her cashmere cardigan out of her handbag and buttoned it around her body, turning up the shawl collar against the slight chill now in the air.
Surely there had been no harm in what she’d just done. Surely this magical injury was preferable to a coffee shop full of dead people and a witch-phobe with a screw loose.
Surely.
Morgan put all this ugliness out of her mind and got out her shopping list. She sipped on her coffee and made her way down the charming block of Rose Street, past the hand-carved wooden benches and the small marble fountain with the family of ducks, past the stacks of straw and carved pumpkins, past lampposts decked out with gourds and vining plants. The place could use more pumpkins, she thought.
There it was again, the urge to flick her wand, utter a simple phrase and make the world suit her tastes.
It would be so easy.
But…consequences. And then guilt. And then fear of the magic being discovered.
She turned left down Ashmond Street instead of crossing Rose Street and continuing down the next block.
Why? Why am I turning left? Josephine’s Old Things was on the next block. So why were her feet taking her the wrong way? Part of her fought this urge, and the rest of her did not. Morgan wasn’t fully surrendered to this direction, but she went with it.
And then she arrived. Her feet stopped in front of a squat, square redbrick building. Birchdale Police Department. So on the nose, she thought. What, no cute name to fit with the rest of the town? No “Headquarters of Protection and Detection”? “Sorting Out Your Misadventures Since 1892?” Surely a name change would go a long way to building trust between a police department and the general public, she mused.
Maybe she should offer her services as a designer or a marketing consultant.
Enough stalling, get yourself inside, Morgan.
Oh, the inside. This place definitely needed a makeover.
How had this place been allowed to wallow in filth for so long while the charm of the rest of town had made it into a destination for historians, ghost hunters, shoppers, coffee aficionados, exotic musical instrument enthusiasts, classic movie buffs? The town had charm coming out of its sewer grates, but the police station? First of all, the far wall was layer upon layer of industrial gray high-gloss paint on top of ancient plaster. The front desk looked like it came out of a factory in 1994 and wasn’t even real wood. Where were the old mahogany detective desks, separated by the same wooden front counter surrounding a vestibule, like you see in the movies? This looked like a severely understaffed, over-lit, front office of a mediocre warehouse. This simply won’t do, she thought.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Morgan greeted the woman at the front desk, glancing at her badge. “Yes, hello, Sergeant. I was wondering if they brought in the man with the gun from the coffee shop. He was about this tall”—she motioned slightly taller than herself—“and his name was Hank, I think? He was wearing this really hideous shirt that I can’t even describe to you unless I have a pen and paper. Do you perhaps have a pen and paper?”
The sergeant blinked at her. “He’s here.”
“Wonderful,” Morgan said.
“OK,” replied the sergeant.
The police sergeant and Morgan stared dumbly at each other for a beat.
“May I see him?”
The sergeant looked at her, unreadable. “He’s in the holding cell. We’re charging him with brandishing and improper exhibition of a firearm. Resisting arrest, for shits and giggles. Maybe more charges to come but we’re still interviewing witnesses. Are you a witness?”
“Are you asking if I was there? Yes, I was. I didn’t see exactly what happened,” she said. “Can I see him now?”
“Yeah, no,” said the sergeant. “You’re going to give a statement first.”
“What’s a statement?”
“The detective in charge will be right with you,” she said.
The sergeant motioned her over to a private office to have a seat. She sat down and waited. This place simulated those Dilbert cartoons, and not even in a funny way.
7
Morgan
She had just made a list in her mind of all the fabrics, antique pieces and wall re-finishes that would need to happen in this space when the detective appeared.
And oh my goddess, did he appear. And that fact alone spiffed up this drab environment quite nicely, in Morgan’s eyes.
Yes, this was 100 percent the man who made her come like a tsunami hitting the shore last night.
He was a five-foot-eleven, raven-haired Adonis with striking dark eyebrows. She stood as he entered the office. His pheromones poured off him and teased every follicle on her skin. His entire aura overwhelmed her and electrified her.
And then he shook her hand and introduced himself. “Nice to meet you, Mrs….”
Morgan stuttered and then finally spat out her name. “Hibbins. Morgan. Ms. I’m not married. Not ever. Not even engaged. No children. Not that you need to know all of that. OK. Shutting up now.” Breathe, Morgan.
She breathed in and caught more of this man’s pheromones. She sat down and he sat down. He stared at her, but she could not read his face. So she read his scent. Campfire, dead leaves, blood, Scotch whiskey, steel. He liked to camp. Not recently, but it was there. Deeper than that, there was his essence. Paper. Old paper. A book collector? A reader? She couldn’t tell.
And he obviously liked close-fitting jeans. Because…the bulge. Whoop, there it was.
Oh…my.
She had to take her eyes off his man bits, because now he was asking her serious questions. Something serious was also happening elsewhere…in her panties. Morgan wrenched her focus away from the outline of his dick to his face. His dark eyes, his cheekbones, his sculpted jaw, his mouth, his white teeth…this didn’t exactly help her tone down the party in her panties.
Morgan answered his questions as best she could while fighting off her hormone-driven thoughts.
Yes, she had seen the would-be gunman at Kava…. Look at those eyes. Serious. All business.
Yes, Camo Man had become belligerent…cops really like that word, don’t they…?
Yes, this was after the proprietor informed him he was not allowed to place a political poster in her window…. I wonder if the kind detective would like to put a poster in her window sometime…. OK, now you’re not even making sense…
The would-be gunman had argued. He had started shouting…. Picturing me shouting your name, Detective…. Wait, what was the detective’s first name? She’d love to shout it while having an atom-splitting orgasm….
Morgan had approached the perpetrator and yes, Morgan had tried to defend Alice and distract him from focusing his anger at her…. Speaking of distracting, there was that bulge down there, daring you to take a glance….
The man had said something threatening, put his hand on the butt of his gun…and then….
She paused.
How could she explain it? She had been too distracted by the detective’s hot bod and chiseled face that she hadn’t even thought about her own cover story. Sure, she could tell the truth. And then be charged with lying, because who would believe that she had magical powers? Do cops press charges if they think you lied in a statement? Was she under oath? She did not know the answer to that.
She barreled through with enough truth to cover her ass. “And then…I saw his hand go to his gun. I just reacted. I shouted something, I don’t know what. I don’t remember what I shouted. Something. And then I must have startled him. It worked, I
guess. I’m not sure how, but all of a sudden he screamed in pain and doubled over. I think he must have spilled his hot coffee on himself.”
The detective paused his writing and looked at her deep in the eye. Oh goddess. He’s onto me. Maybe that’s OK. Maybe later in the back of his squad car, naked and exhausted, we can laugh about how I told a little white lie.
“Spilled his coffee?” he repeated back at her.
“I don’t know for sure,” Morgan said. “His hand was burned, that’s the only thing I can think of that might have happened.”
“Which hand was holding the coffee?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see the coffee.”
“But you said he dropped his coffee and that’s what burned his hand.”
“I said I think so, but I’m not sure.”
“You witnessed the whole thing. You described everything, from what he was wearing to his height, and you talked to the guy, but you don’t remember which hand was holding the coffee?”
“That’s correct.”
He was quiet again and stared her down. Uh oh. He was doing that very serious, silent stare-down thing that cops do. He was waiting her out, waiting for her to unravel and tell the whole truth. He knew she was lying, but he didn’t know exactly in what way she was lying, or what she was trying to cover up.
Then she thought of it. Of course! It was so obvious.
“The truth is, I tossed my hot coffee on his hand. I’m sorry. I know I’m in trouble for lying, but I wasn’t sure if it was a crime that I threw hot coffee on somebody.”
He was still staring. But she was done talking now. The detective appeared to be digesting what she said. He wasn’t exactly staring her down anymore. But he was studying her. Then he closed his notebook and tossed it on his desk.
“Nope. You’re not in trouble,” he said.
“Can I see him now?”
“The perp?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I feel bad that I injured him and I want to apologize.” Actually, she wanted to find out what Hank saw and find out if the colony’s powers were in danger of being discovered.
“That’s a little unusual.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. But I’m trying to show people like him that we can all take the high road and not be so mean to each other, despite our differences.”
The detective frowned some more and looked out the window. “Problem is, he’s unstable, so I don’t think your message is going to get through. But you’re free to talk to him. Holding cell is right over there.” The detective gestured down a short hallway. She turned and could literally see him sitting right there. He had probably heard every word of her statement.
“Probably a good thing he’s unstable,” she muttered.
“What?” said the detective.
“Never mind. Thank you for letting me see him,” she said. And thank you for letting me stare at you.
She smiled as she stood and offered him a handshake.
He simply stared back at her with a poker-straight face.
He didn’t know her. His essence, or a trickster spirit, had perhaps used this man’s appearance to toy with her last night. Or it was entirely possible that Morgan had seen this man around town before and her subconscious had tucked him away in the back of her mind, calling up the memory when she’d been in a trance.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment to study him more deeply. Alas, she determined with her mind’s eye that the detective was unavailable. Not because he was married. But because through his skin, she sensed his blood moving in all the normal directions. His pulse was calm. He may have the perfect physique, essence, scent, looks, voice to make her horny as hell…but he was clueless and furthermore, not interested in her.
He doesn’t remember you. What can you say? Leave, before you make a complete fool of yourself, Morgan!
When she opened her eyes, his intense gaze made her feel extremely self-conscious. And then finally he took her offered hand.
The energy between them penetrated her immediately. She looked at their hands pressed together. From the outside, it all looked normal. But when she met his gaze again, she knew he recognized her as she recognized him.
Morgan had no idea what to do next.
But she didn’t have to think of something to do, because the detective suddenly sprang into action. He slammed shut his office door behind her with one hand, still gripping her palm with the other.
8
Adam
The office door slammed shut, blocking Morgan’s exit. Before he could stop himself, Adam was pressing her against the closed door with his whole body and taking from her a deep, forceful, sensuous, impulsive kiss. She did not try to push him away or ask him to stop.
He pulled away to catch his breath and stared hard down into her eyes, which gazed back at him with a look of surprise. “Who are you?”
Her breasts heaved against his chest. He could smell on her the same scent that had enticed him last night in the dream.
“I told you, I’m Morgan Hibbins.”
He pressed his hands against her shoulders and squeezed. “I mean, what are you?”
She tried to look away at the ceiling as she spoke, but Adam was right in her face, ready for every deflection and half-truth she might lay on him. “I don’t understand the question,” she replied.
He smiled and slid his hand up inside her blouse, caressing her stomach as their eyes locked on each other. She did not push his hand away. If anything, she pressed her lower body closer to his. She was fucking with him.
Adam stroked her skin under her blouse, sensuously working his way up her breastbone, pleased yet unsurprised to find no bra separating their electrified skin-to-skin contact. His hand wandered over to her breast. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as he gently stroked her nipple. She was trying hard not to moan at his touch. He turned his head and spoke in a low, quiet voice directly into her ear. “If I lift up your blouse and I see what I think I’m going to see, then you have to tell me what you are and how you ended up in my dreams last night.”
She breathed, “I don’t know…what you’re talking about…oh…” She trailed off as both of his hands explored her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples.
Adam lifted her blouse and she did not object. There, on her left breast, was the large hickey he’d left on her last night in his dream. His cock grew hard as timber, being this close to her body and also recalling the wild ride last night.
“I left this mark on you last night, Ms. Hibbins. Listen, I don’t have time for games. Tell me the truth.” He bowed his head and tasted her breast. Morgan stifled a whimper.
“How do I know it wasn’t you who invaded my dream last night? I could ask you the same question.”
She was a sassy little thing. Should he give it to her right in the office, or did he have time to get her back to his house? Maybe they could compromise, drive away in his car, park by the woods and get into the roomy backseat for a mutually satisfying tussle.
As much as he wanted to tear off her skirts and throw her across the desk and make her beg for even more love bites all over her, he wanted to get to the truth about what was happening between them. Adam let her blouse fall back down and smoothed the fabric over her breasts. Then he moved his hands to her skirts and began to gather them together until he found a pocket hiding a slit. Before Morgan could object, he slid his grip down under her skirt and pulled out her wand.
“What’s this?” Adam held up her wand. It was a bright silver stick with a leather grip on one end and the shaft carved with symbols and inlaid with pearls.
She smirked at him and stuck her chin out. “Something you don’t have a warrant to search me for, Detective.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. She met his gaze with a challenge. He was about to go mad with his desire. He hiked up her skirts and found she was wearing no panties; he grazed his fingers over her ass, around to the front again, and reaching deeper, foun
d her labia. He watched her cheeks turn a deep red. Her breath grew ragged. If she wanted to play dirty, so would he. “Ma’am, I don’t need a warrant for a place you’ve already granted me access to.” Her pussy was not shaved. Somehow his cock managed to grow even bigger and harder for her.
“Detective, you’re not playing fair.”
He spread her legs apart, and she did not try to keep them together. He stroked her labia for a second before plunging a single finger into her depth. She moaned and bit her lip, harder this time, presumably to keep herself quiet.
“I don’t have to play fair to get to the bottom of this.”
“I’d say you’ve gotten all the way to the bottom.”
His brain was foggy and could not think of another retort, so he simply stroked her core and responded with another kiss, this time long and slow, his lips and tongue moving inside her mouth in sync with his fingers down below. With his other hand, he continued to caress her large breasts, teasing her nipples through the gauzy fabric.
He had her right where he wanted her.
Then he stopped. He pulled his hand out of her lady bits, backed off from her kiss.
Morgan looked at him in surprise and in need. She reached for him, but he took a step back. “Tell me the truth,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “So that’s how you want to play it? You think you can just manipulate me into admitting something I know nothing about?”
He smiled like the devil he was. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”
She huffed and straightened her skirts, pushed him away and went to pick up her wand.
Before she flounced out, she said, “Have fun explaining this recording to your boss, the chief.”
Adam watched her leave and then remembered. The videotape.
Oh. Fuck.
9
Morgan
The man behind the bars was not as easy on the eyes as the detective.