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When Shelby creeps out of her galvanized roof shelter to check us out, he taps her affectionately on her head before opening the back door to his bungalow. I’m surprised to find the inside is a sharp contrast to the outside of the property. Sure it’s not the cleanest, but it’s cozy, and trinkets are all set about the place with decorative order.”
“Have a seat,” he points me toward a tatty peach-colored couch as he moves into the kitchen. When I sit down, I sink into it much further than I was expecting.
“My Jem would be cursing me now for not using the best China.” He laughs to himself as he hands me a mug of black coffee.
“Never had a ma… person of the law in the house before. She’d have wanted everything to be pristine. I’d be in a world of trouble if she thought I’d not at least run a duster around the place.” He takes a seat in the armchair opposite me, staring at the photo of the old woman on the table beside him for a few seconds before diverting his attention back to me.
“You want details on those boys?” he reminds me of the reason I’m here.
“Yes, I do, but we can get to that. First, I’d very much like for you to tell me a little bit about Jem.” It’s obvious the man isn’t used to company these days, and I know how it feels to lose someone. Speaking about them helps. I got a taste of that with Abby last night.
I leave old man Clarkson's house two hours later after he spent the last twenty minutes of my visit, giving me very basic descriptions of the boys who have been hanging out in the woods. The rest of the time we spent talking about his late wife, who passed a few years ago. Turns out Mr. Clarkson isn’t an asshole; he’s just lonely, and I leave him with the promise of an update. I also give him my direct work line, so he can call me the next time the boys show up.
Checking the time on my dash, I realize I only have a half-hour before the pharmacy closes, so I put my toe down and, maybe, break a few speeding violations on the way back to town. I make it just in time and quickly rush into the pharmacy, scanning the shelves near birth control for the plan B drug.
“How did it go with the old man?” The voice takes me by surprise, and when I spin around, Lucille is standing behind me.
“Lucille, what are you doing here?” I laugh awkwardly.
“I left a little early, got myself a migraine coming on.” She rattles the bottle of paracetamol she’s holding in her hand.
“How about you?” She glances over the same shelf I was staring at when she caught me.
“Nothing, I was just grabbing some…” I grab the closest, most obvious item I can get my hands on, “…Tampons.”
“Damn those periods.” She tones down her smile before heading toward the counter to pay. I wait until she’s out of sight before focusing on the shelf again.
“Can I help you, Officer Monroe?” the pharmacist, who I've never actually met, asks in a friendly tone. This is the problem with small towns, everyone knows everyone, and I feel my cheeks heat as she approaches me.
“I’m looking for the morning-after pill.” I lower my voice, despite the store being empty now.
“Ahh, Plan B. Sure, we have that in stock.” She smiles at me knowingly before making her way toward the counter. “We have to keep it behind the counter these days. You’d be surprised how many pregnancy tests and these go unaccounted for.” She chats normally to me as I follow her to the counter, where she pulls the keys from the chain on her belt to open up the glass cabinet.
“Now I need to make you aware that this is only effective within the first 72 hours of intercourse,” she checks as she places it in front of me.
“I did my research,” I assure her, my cheeks on fire now and my eyes darting toward the door, waiting for someone else to come through it.
“Good, will there be anything else?” The woman's being perfectly professional, she's not judging me, but I’m sure as shit judging myself. I shouldn't be in this situation. I’m a thirty-year-old, officer of the law for Christ's sake.
“No, nothing.”
“That’ll be 38 dollars please, oh, 42.80 with the tampons.” She pops the tampons in the paper bag with a wide smile.
I hand over 45 and tell her to put the change in the charity box before dashing out of there and getting back to work.
When I reach my desk, I read the instructions in the box, take the pill and look back through the notes I made at old man Clarkson’s place, these boys are just kids, and they’re playing around with class A drugs. Someone somewhere is supplying them, and Roswell’s made it clear that the Souls kept this shit out of town. I push to the back of my mind that maybe they could be the ones to help me. I’m sure if Roswell had been on duty, he would have gone straight to them with this, let them deal with it while he sits behind his desk.
It reminds me of another thought I’ve been having lately, one that’s so ridiculous I’ve not let it develop.
The Souls want Hawker. I’m sure they have information about him that I don’t, information that could make sense out of the intel I have. Maybe if we worked together on this, we might stand a strong chance of catching up with him. The question isn’t can they help me; it’s, would they? And even if they would, am I really prepared to make a deal with the devil?
“Jesus Christ, Gracie!” I crush her tit tighter in my palm as I finish offloading inside her. She lays her body back against mine, her hair smothering my face as she giggles, and as I sit here on my couch, with my girl backward straddling my cock, I have to ask myself if life can get any better.
“You really will do anything to avoid talking, won’t you?” She struggles to catch her breath, and I growl into her neck before kissing her soft, delicate skin.
“I told you before, I’m good.” The hand I’m gripping her tit with loosens and slides down her belly, dipping between her legs and making her fidget on my cock where it’s still seated inside her. I’m tempted to go round two, but she’s got an assignment to finish, and I’ve got somewhere I need to be.
“You should see if Ella wants company tonight. It might be a late one.” My finger strokes lazily between her slit, and I feel her clit is already tight and pulsing for more of my attention. It would be easy to push her forward, bend her over the coffee table in front of us and make her come for me again. But I like keeping Gracie on the edge far too much. Selfish as it is, I want to leave her craving me, the same way I know I’ll be craving her until I see her again later.
