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Bianca. The name suits her. It sounds both exotic and a bit fiery. It is a little weird that he sputtered the name Vi first. I assume that’s the other girl I saw living there but I’m not sure why he would care about her. In the end I decide it’s none of my business and nothing I want to get involved in so I send him on his way, not only because I’m exhausted but also because I feel a little guilty that I just jerked off while thinking about his daughter. However, I’m relieved he turned out to be her father. I don’t like the idea of some creep scoping out her house. Well, some creep that isn’t me. I really need to get my head on straight when it comes to this girl.
***
Something they don’t tell you when you have a kid is that it takes you three times as long to get ready in the morning. I used to get up and be out the door for work in twenty minutes, freshly showered and shaved. Now, I’m up two hours earlier and lucky if I get to the shaving part. I’ve got to get Oliver up which isnotan easy task—the kid sleeps like the dead—get him dressed,make sure he’s had breakfast, and pack his backpack. My days of sleeping in are long gone.
As I’m settling Oliver into his car seat, I immediately notice that Sparky’s—I mean Bianca’s—car is gone. At least she didn’t lie about leaving first thing in the morning. I’m a little disappointed that I’m not able to catch a glimpse of her though.
After getting Oliver safely to daycare I make my way to the South Precinct. I’ve been on the job for three weeks now and it’s my base of operations. The Seattle Police Department has a severe shortage of detectives at the moment which was one of the reasons it was relatively easy for me to transfer in with my shield. Looking around the place you can tell that staffing is off. It’s nine a.m. and it looks closer to a ghost town than the bustling precincts that I’m used to in the LAPD.
I’m pouring myself a cup of black sludge, that’s supposed to be coffee, in the break room when I feel a hand slap my back, almost causing me to spill the cup and carafe all over myself.
“Hey man, how was your first night in the new place?” Rafe asks.
I shrug, setting the coffee pot back down into its holder gently. “It was okay, there’s still a lots of unpacking to do but it’s nice to finally have our own space. It was great staying with Gloria, she was a huge help with Oliver, but we couldn’t stay there forever. I want him to get settled into a routine as quickly as possible, you know?”
Detective Rafael “Rafe” Campo, my new partner, nods his head at me. “I can understand that. Is the kid warming up yet?”
I sigh and take a sip of my coffee then make a face. I can’t do it. There’s no way I can drink this. It tastes like it’s been cooking for three days and somebody added a hefty amount of dirt to it. “Not really. A few conversations here and there. Same as usual.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll come around. Now that he’s got his own space things will start to settle down.”
“I hope so,” I say while tossing the full cup of coffee straight into the trash.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have time to drink that anyway. We caught a good old smash and grab out in North Beacon.”
“Yeah? Who got hit?” I ask as I start making my way through the bullpen to the back parking lot where I know Rafe has his unmarked parked.
“A gas station. Luckily the owner was in the restroom when it happened so no civvies were hurt.”
“Yeah, but that also means we won’t have any eyewitness accounts to go on. And let me guess, their security cameras aren’t working.”
A wide smile crosses Rafe’s face, “Now you’re starting to get it, Detective Turner. Welcome to Seattle.”
Chapter Three
Bianca
It’s been a long week. A very long week.
I’ve been running around like a crazy person getting the gallery ready for tomorrow’s exhibition. We’re showing four different artists and coordinating them coming in and getting their work displayed has been a bit of a nightmare. I’m all for untraditional art but I don’t know how I’m supposed to hang painted and torn t-shirts from our twenty-foot ceiling. Then there’s the guy who insists his work be shown in a dark room with only blue tinted lights aimed at his “found art” sculptures. I’m somehow going to have to get temporary walls put up in the gallery to accommodate his requirements. I feel like Margot should have looked into this a little further before booking all of these people together. I guess it’s not my job to question, it’s just my job to get it done, and get it done I will. Between the gallery, my friends, seeing my parents, and trying to work on my own pieces it’s been a busy week.
The cold autumn air blows through the backyard and whips the hair from my ponytail around to smack me in the face. I quickly spit out the pieces that have gotten into my mouth and push the rest out of my eyes with my forearm, careful not to transfer the paint on my fingers to my face.
I know I could be painting inside right now, Hollie and Violet have never cared where I work, but I love painting outdoors. This is Seattle so I need to get outside and enjoy every dry day I can get, even if it’s a little chilly and windy.
I dip my brush back into the muted green color I’ve been using and bring it up to the canvas. Instead of a full portrait, today I’ve just been concentrating on one enlarged eye filling my canvas. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that the color of said eye is exactly that of the hot jerk that lives next door. As far as I can remember anyway.
I’ve been lucky enough to avoid Detective Dickwad—as I’ve affectionately dubbed him—for almost an entire week and you can bet I haven’t parked my car anywhere near his damn driveway. I don’t need that kind of grief again. With how much of an arrogant jerk he is, it’s beyond annoying that every time I pick up my brush I seem to paint something that reminds me of him. Strong lips with a hint of a smirk, the profile of a strong jawline, and now a hazel green eye. I could lie and say that I’m painting some rando, but I’d only be fooling myself. He’s been off and on my mind all week, much to my chagrin.
To be truthful, I’m not even sure I’m happy I haven’t seen him. A little part of me wants to get another look at the man and see if he was as hot as I remember. Though it’s probably not worth the attitude I’d get from him. But I can’t deny I’ve peeked out our window a few times to see if I could catch a quick glimpse.
I let out a little sigh and push him from my mind. Well, as much as you can push someone out of your mind while painting their giant fucking eye.
“What are you doing?”
The fuck?!The voice makes me jump and I turn around expecting to find someone standing behind me with a machete, but the yard is empty. There’s nothing but grass and our sparsely filled flowerbeds.
Now, I’m hearing things. Awesome. The stress is definitely getting to me.
