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“Ah come on, even you were difficult.”
“What!” I exclaim with a smile still on my face. “I was a damn angel.”
He smirks right back. “Yeah, an angel dressed in black.”
I scoff and slap his shoulder. He was a great officer to learn from, and I picked things up faster than I’d thought I would. He started treating me like an officer around eight months after I was assigned, and we really clicked. I knew where he was at mentally at all times, and he read me like a book. We were seamless when we worked together, and that’s why I took it pretty rough when he left.
“Well, I’d better go find this guy. They say he’s the best.” We hug, and when he leaves, I turn back to my desk, groaning internally at the mountain of paperwork sitting on top of it. The one downside to this job—endless amounts of paperwork.
Soon enough, I’m walking up the stairs to my apartment, the weight of the day lifting from my shoulders as I walk, ready to relax in a bubble bath and drink a glass—no, a bottle of wine and forget my cares.
I moved to this apartment a year ago. It’s a huge step up from the one I was in before, and I don’t have to avoid the old man downstairs anymore, the one who still remembered the throat punch Liam gave him. It took a lot of cookies to get him off my case, but he finally forgave me after the third batch.
This one has two bedrooms and a real kitchen. It’s still on the smaller side, being that rent in Denver is astronomical, but I love it and won’t ever move. It’s got a great view from the small balcony that overlooks most of the city, and it’s my escape after a long day of work. No one bothers me when they see the officer is home—another perk of the job.
I set down my bag, still in uniform because I was too tired to change, and immediately I sense something is off. I grab my gun, heading for the hallway. I see nothing unusual in the main living area, but I can feel a presence. No, I’m not the ghost whisperer, but the atmosphere is definitely different.
Gun raised, I say, “Hernandez, if that’s you, you’re going to regret it.” Hernandez has a bad habit of trying to pull pranks on me. I don’t get mad, I get even, and if this is another attempt, I’m seriously going to kill him.
I march down the hallway, checking my office. I see nothing, so I make my way to the bedroom and feel my breath rush out of my lungs when I see a figure sitting on my bed. It’s not Hernandez.
“Liam?” My voice is filled with disbelief.
“Hey, Mo.”
