“I’m pretty certain I called you folks for help,” I interrupted.
The female officer leaned over the counter and whispered something to my new biggest fan.
“I know who he’s dating,” Dickhead retorted. He pointed a finger at me. “And this ain’t got nothing to do with you being gay.”
“Thank God,” I said humorlessly. Because I hadn’t heardthatbefore.
“I wouldn’t care if you were engaged to my sergeant. You shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred feet of a crime scene.”
I tugged my sweater closed and crossed my arms over my chest. “So did you want to question me, or should I skedaddle and leave you to all this, Mr. Holmes?”
Dickhead’s nostrils flared like an enraged bull. He closed the space between us and stared me down—which didn’t work because I’ve been around the block a few times with cops—then something in his facial expression changed. Faltered, maybe.
“What’re your eyes doing?”
“Moving,” I answered, my tone more dry than white bread left on too high a setting in the toaster. My Dancing Eyes condition was hardly noticeable as an adult, but still they wobbled involuntarily at times. “I have achromatopsia. Sometimes my eyes move strangely when I get stressed.”
“You’re stressed?”
“Yes, Officer,” I said with ahintof mockery. “I’ve only had one cup of coffee and found a head in a box.”
“Your stressed is pretty calm, Mr. Snow.”
I shrugged. “Hysterics won’t change the situation. Although, I did vomit, if that’ll make you happy.”
“For Christ’s sake, Rossi,” the female cop said, loud enough for me to hear. She leaned over the counter a second time and asked, “Do you know the deceased, Mr. Snow?”
I stared at her, at Rossi, then back to her again. “Do I—know—the head? We’re not acquainted, no.”
Rossi started to speak, but the bell over the shop’s front door chimed for the umpteenth time and gave him pause. He looked around me, raised his lip, and all but rolled his eyes.
“Calvary’s here,” he muttered.
I turned around.
Rescue came in the form of Calvin Winter.
My most favorite detective of the NYPD.
Not that I was biased or anything.
He marched across the showroom floor, making a direct beeline for me where I stood at the base of the elevated counter with Rossi.
“Calvin—” I started, hoping I sounded cool and relaxed and not utterly relieved that despite our soon-to-be legally recognized relationship, he’d still been the one shouldered with another case involving yours truly.
But Calvin cut me off by grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace. His heavy coat was damp from melting snow. The wool was itchy and cold against my skin, but the discomfort was eased by the familiar warmth and hard body under the layers. Sure, I’d been in bed with this handsome man only a few hours ago, but I didn’t think I’d nevernotfind comfort in the scent of Calvin’s earthy cologne or the ever-present cinnamon on his breath from obsessive mint-popping.
He’d shown up like a knight in shining armor.
“I called 911,” I stated, pulling back and adjusting my glasses.
“I know you did.”
“I obeyed the chain of command and everything,” I said lightly in an attempt to bolster the mood.
Calvin gently took my hand and gave it a firm grip. “You’re okay?” he confirmed, voice a low whisper.
I nodded. “I’m glad you’re here, though,” I admitted, just as quietly.
