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“Oh, bless your heart,” she mock gushes. “You think there are others like me? I’m one of a kind.” Then she takes his hand, twists it at the wrist, stomps on his foot, and flips him over her back onto his.
“Holy shit,” I mutter in awe.
“Great, isn’t she?” He must hear me growl, warning him to stop saying shit reminding me he already knows her. “That’s my sister,” he explains. Reluctant to let her leave my sight, I glance at him long enough to take him in from head to toe, then do the same to her, lingering on her form. “Yeah, the resemblance is uncanny,” I mutter. Jeremiah laughs, knowing I’m referring to the fact she’s Caucasian and he’s not.
“In a nutshell, my parents essentially adopted her and her mom as family. Hence, I consider her my sibling and she loves me like one in return.”
“Just saved your ass,” I inform him.
It takes him a second, probably because no man wants to think of their sister in that way. “Come on,” he grouses good-naturedly. “Bristol,” he calls out and her head snaps up. When he points at the guy currently being helped up, he and I both, as if we’d planned it, begin clapping.
She takes a bow, then pretends as if she’s retrieving flowers that we threw at her and gives a wave worthy of royalty. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she has it in spades. Jeremiah tilts his chin our way, indicating he wants to talk to her, and she holds up a finger, asking for a minute.
“She’s coming over here,” I almost squeak, the thing I want most – to meet her – making me sound like a boy going through puberty. Which Jeremiah catches and chuckles at. He’s laughing at my pain. I’ve had men taken out for less. “The two of you close?” I ask, digging.
“Very,” he immediately responds. I’ll have to figure out a plan b then. She’d miss him too much.
“What’s up, bro?” She asks by way of greeting, making me grin. She just dealt with a rude patron, put him in his place, went about her job, then casually strode toward us as if it’s just another day.
Wait. Maybe it is for her here. I don’t care for that at all. I could fire her, offer her a new position working under, err for, me.
Whether it’s his way of indicating me or he somehow mystically knows where my mind has gone, Jeremiah nudges my elbow with his. I grin despite myself at his audacity, his complete lack of concern that I’m considered untouchable. Apparently, that’s something they have in common because Bristol – a name as unique as the person bearing it – reaches for my hand where it’s hanging at my side and begins shaking it. “The neanderthal seems to have forgotten his manners. I’m Bristol and sadly, I claim this guy.”
“Is that a club I can join?” I did not just ask that. She smirks while I mentally berate my idiocy. “I’d have to know your name to send the invite.”
Jeremiah chimes in at this point. “Stop flirting with my new partner. You and everyone in the city, maybe the state, knows who he is.”
She glances at him, letting go of me in the process, and I want both her eyes and skin back on mine with such a ferocity that it staggers me. I knew she was special; I just hadn’t understood how much yet until this moment.
“I’m Simon,” I tell her, wanting her to knowmenot the rumors – true or false – that she might’ve heard about me. I know I can’t delete them from her memory bank, but perhaps I can show her that’s not all I am. That I never wanted to be that person.
If only she’ll give me the chance.
**Bristol**
Having never seen Simon face to face, I expected the harbinger of death when I did. He’s not in the least. Oh, I’m not saying he’s innocent of all, or even some, of the crimes associated with him, merely that he looks like a normal person. And yes, I know that sounds stupid. He isn’t going to be wearing Death’s robe and carrying a scythe, at least not in public, I think with a grin I barely refrain from showing. Though with how many are rumored to have met their end because of him, it would be fitting. That reminder effectively wipes out any humor and the cop – because damn it, I am still police with or without my badge – takes over.
With a practiced eye, I observe his body language, looking for tells, then do a casual sweep for any noticeable bulges. My gaze wants to linger on the only one I find, and while impressive, it’s not exactly a weapon. Though I may have to get closer to be sure.
Focus, Foley!
Lifting my head to his, the heat from his stare lets me know he’s fully aware of where I was peering and has no problem with it. Of course, he doesn’t. He has no reason to be from what I saw.
A throat clearing seems to jolt us back to the here and now, and I feel pleased, and a little vindicated, that Simon felt it, too. Is still feeling it if the cough Jeremiah adds to his quest for attention is evidence.
I want to tell Jeremiah to go away, to give me and Simon space so I can do what I’m here for. But I have to be honest with myself. That’s not why I want to be alone with him. That desire has nothing to do with being a uniform and everything to do with being a woman.
I am screwed.
Chapter Six
Simon
March 17th…
She ran from me that first time. I didn’t even realize it until it was too late. Bristol had politely excused herself, answering the call of a patron, then proceeded to move so swiftly I lost sight of her and never regained it.
Jeremiah was no help either. In fact, he seemed amused at my reaction to her and vice versa. That was a relief since I expected him to have a huge problem with it. Not that I cared, but his acceptance would make it easier on Bristol.
