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1
Bishop
I frown into the darkness,peering up at the huge cliffside manor. My eyes dart to the windows, looking for movement. The few lights on inside on the first floor aren’t an accurate indicator—I know they’re on timers. The owner, Ms. Loretta Kenner, is off in Europe for the next few months.
Christ, I mutter to myself. Must be nice to be rich.
But the silent alarm fifteen minutes ago says what the lights aren’t; someone’s in there. Or at least someone was in there. That’s why I’m here, gun out and ready.
Maintaining trigger discipline, my fingers curl around the gun. The surf crashes softly in the background down on the beach, at the far side of the house past the cliffs. But it’s dark now. No stunning Pacific sunset like a painting that Santa Marina draws tourists for.
Actually, it’s past tourist season anyway. Hell, it’ll be Valentine’s Day in a couple days. I know as a resident, that should sour my mood—the end of tourist season, I mean. When you’ve been on your own as long as I have, you’re not even bothered by shit like Valentine’s Day.
But as for the end of tourist season, my mood isn’t all that soured. Yes, this town relies pretty heavily on tourism to draw folks away from San Francisco and all it has to offer as a much bigger city. But we’ve got better surf, if you’re into that. And I am. Less pretentious bars, less pretentious people, too.
But no, I’m not sad to see tourists season fade. Even if it means folks tighten their belts a little more around here. See, for me, tourist season just means a whole lot more bullshit: more bar fights, more stupid college kids getting into trouble, more drunk driving. It basically means a fuck-load more work for the same paycheck for me. But that’s the hazards of being a small town cop, I guess.
I glance back up at the huge house. Loretta Kenner’s been a Santa Marina resident since the sixties. Well, she’s not actually a resident probably three quarters of the year these days. But whatever.
There’s the faintest rustle in the bushes nearby. I freeze and then crouch, senses tingling. I’ve always been ready for action, but its’ been heightened in the last two year. Getting shot will do that. I’m healed now. But with the scar tissue came even more heightened awareness. That’s long-hand for “no one’s sneaking up on me to shoot my ass ever again.”
The rustling happens again, and I growl. I aim at the bushes, and I raise my flashlight—off, but ready. I swallow, and take a breath. I’m about to yell “police, freeze!” when the man comes lurching out.
“Who the fuck are—!”
My finger halts just shy of blowing his fucking head off, and I feel my heart jump into my fucking mouth.
“Fucking hell,” I snarl. My arm is still outstretched, gun aimed at him. But he’s got his aimed right at me, too. Slowly though, Tanner grins and lowers his gun, and I do the same.
“Fucking hell is right,” he grunts. “Jesus Christ, Bishop, you have any idea how close I was to blowing your head off?”
“Not close at all,” I grumble. “Because we both know I would have taken you out first.”
My buddy grins. “You wish, old man.”
I grit my teeth. I’m usually always down to banter with Tanner. Even with him not being my partner anymore—and off the force—we’re still thick as thieves. But tonight, I’m not in the mood for his brand of happy-go-lucky bullshit.
“The fuck are you doing here, Tanner?”
“I could ask you the same, buddy.”
I roll my eyes and tap the badge on my jacket. “Take a fucking guess, smart guy.”
He grins.
“And you?”
Tanner scowls at me. “What, you think I’m the one who tripped the alarm?”
I frown, curious how he’s privy to that information. But Tanner sighs. “Loretta’s a client, man. I’ve got my own eyes on the house. But, big props to the Santa Marina PD for timeliness. I only beat you here by like five minutes. Maybe ten.”
Tanner and me go way back. We were partners for years until the incident two years ago. That’d be the incident that got me shot and him kicked off the force, which is some major bullshit. But he’s doing pretty good these days running his own private security firm.
I glance at the house. “Well, the big boys are here now. So go sit this one out.”
“Like hell I am.”
“Tanner,” I sigh.
