Mitchell hands me the mug of tea. “It’s ridiculous that you’re insisting on sleeping on the couch.”
“I refuse to stay here otherwise,” I say. There’s no way I’m kicking him out of his bed. More than that, there is no way I’m getting into his bed, where I could read so much more than I ever wanted to.
“I’m not going to argue with you. It’s late, and I’m beat.” He sits down beside me on the couch. “Did you call your dad to check in?”
“Yeah, while you were making tea. Jez is fine.”
“What did your dad have to say about the murder?”
I blow on the tea, cupping it in both hands and letting the steam waft up toward my face. “He said the killer we’re looking for is way too close.”
“Clearly. He knows we’re on the case. Which means he knows O’Neil talked to us.”
“He’s as good as dead if there is someone inside that prison on this guy’s payroll.” I blow on the tea one more time before finally taking a sip.
“I can’t believe this guy stuck around after getting away with murder.”
“Maybe he stuck around to make sure he did. Keeping an eye on O’Neil and such,” I say, lowering the tea to my lap, which is currently covered with a throw blanket. “Hey, what happened to the Playboy bunny mugs you used to have?” He told me they were a gag gift from his brother.
“I got rid of them. Nick will never know. It’s not like we ever see each other, and to be honest, I don’t think he really intended for me to keep the mugs. They were just a joke.” Mitchell’s family life is more than a little depressing.
“I like these better,” I say, holding up the plain black mug. “They’re simple yet elegant.”
Mitchell laughs. “It’s okay, Piper. You don’t always have to try to make me feel better when my family comes up. And that mug cost one dollar. There’s nothing elegant about it.”
“I love a good deal,” I say with a smile.
He leans his head back on the couch and looks at me, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You look tired,” I say. “You don’t have to sit up with me while I drink this.”
“I’m not sure how much sleep I’m going to be able to get considering this killer just took out our only lead mere feet from us.”
I know exactly what he means. “Which begs the question, why didn’t he come inside the house and shoot us, too?”
“I guess he didn’t want to out himself to us.”
No. I shake my head. “Try again.”
“He didn’t want to kill more people than he had to?”
No. “I don’t think he has a problem with killing. How about I take a stab at this?” I say.
Mitchell turns up his palm, indicating I have the floor.
“I think he wasn’t certain he’d be able to take out both of us before you shot him.”
Mitchell smiles and shakes his head. “You think I’m the reason our lives weren’t threatened? You give me too much credit.”
“Really? Because you had your gun drawn before I could turn around. You just reacted. And you made sure I was safe.”
“That’s my job.”
I’m not sure if he means keeping specifically me safe or just people in general. I finish the rest of my tea in two big gulps.
“Wow, someone is trying to get rid of me,” he says.
“It’s your house. If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d go home.”
“Except you can’t. Your father would kill me if I let you leave, especially after Hugo was murdered tonight.” He rubs his forehead. “Is it just me, or do these cases keep getting worse?”
I let out a deep breath. “That’s tough to say. We’ve worked some pretty awful cases. Need I remind you of the times I was drugged through visions or the underground Phantom of the Opera hostage situation?”
Mitchell lowers his hand and stares at me. “I wonder if other towns have problems like these. Maybe it’s us. Maybe we attract these lunatics.”
“I’m pretty sure crazy people exist everywhere in the world. We’re just good at catching them.”
He places his hand on my knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We make a good team.” He stands up. “Good night, partner.”
“Good night,” I say, watching him walk out of the living room. I reach for the lamp beside the couch and turn it off. Then I snuggle under the throw blanket. It smells like Mitchell, and I’m not sure if I’m comforted by the fact that I like that or if it scares the hell out of me.
I wake up and have to look around to figure out where I am. This isn’t my room or my bed. And on the dresser is the framed photograph of me sitting on Mitchell’s lap when he played Santa at the ski lodge on Christmas. “Damn him,” I say as I toss the covers off me. I open the bedroom door and storm out to the living room, where Mitchell is already up and drinking coffee.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” he asks with a smile.
“You picked me up and carried me into your bed?” I throw my arm behind me, gesturing toward his room for emphasis.
“A gentleman does not allow a woman to sleep on the couch when there is a perfectly comfortable bed available. Besides, once I figured out why you didn’t want to sleep in my bed, I knew there wasn’t going to be an issue. I told you it’s a new bed with clean sheets. You weren’t going to read anything off that thing except for maybe me snoring.”
“You do snore. You woke up Jez last time you slept on my couch,” I say, crossing my arms. I expect him to fight back and tell me I snore too, but instead he says something that shuts me right up.
“FYI, you’re the only woman who has ever stayed the night here.”
Jeffrey whistles in his cage.
I can’t deal with whatever this is between us this early in the morning, so I point to his coffee mug. “Is there more in the kitchen?”
He starts to get up but thinks better of it and says, “Help yourself.”
I whirl around and head to the kitchen. It’s small, mostly because there’s a big island in the center with seating. I go right to the coffeepot and reach for the cabinet above it. My hand wraps around the knob.
“I should bring her coffee. She’s going to be so angry with me for moving her while she slept, but I couldn’t let her sleep on the couch. That thing is so uncomfortable. But if I bring her coffee in bed, she’s going to read too much into it. She reads into everything I do now. I never should have told her the truth. She can’t handle it. It was stupid and selfish of me. But she’s my partner and best friend. I couldn’t exactly lie to her either.”
“Piper?” Mitchell physically removes my hand from the cabinet. “What did you see?”
“Nothing. Just that the coffee mugs are in here.”
He continues to eye me as he opens the cabinet and pulls out a mug. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“So are you.”
“Uh-oh. How bad was it? The vision?” He pours the coffee and hands me the mug before leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms in front of him. He’s guarding himself from what I’m about to say.
“I really didn’t see much. It was more of what I heard.” I look down at the coffee and take a deep breath. “Oh my God.” I bring the mug to my nose and inhale deeply. “You bought toasted almond coffee.”
“I didn’t even realize that’s what I’d made,” he says, suddenly looking panicked.
I can’t believe I didn’t smell it sooner, but I’m so used to smelling it that it didn’t register. “I’m never here. Why would you buy this? You don’t even order it from Marcia’s.”
“She’s the one who gave it to me. She didn’t even let me pay for it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “She asked me if I’d give it to you. But that was when we had that fight. I wound up bringing it here, and I sort of forgot about it. When I opened the bag to make coffee this morning, it didn’t even dawn on me what it was.”
“Oh.” That makes sense.
“You can take the rest of the bag. I mean, it was meant for you.”
“It’s okay. I might be staying here for a few more days anyway until the case is closed. Keep it here.”
“You sure?” he asks, looking relieved.
“Yeah. Can we swing by my place so I can shower and get clean clothes?” Mitchell is already showered and ready to go.
“Sure. I have disposable coffee cups. I’ll transfer yours into one so you can take it with us.”
I smirk at him. “Silly man.” I raise the mug to my lips and tip the contents back. “Ah,” I say, once I’ve chugged the entire mug. “I’ll take my refill in the disposable cup.”
He laughs and does just that as I bring the mug to the sink and wash it.
“I do have bad news for you,” he says after I return the dish towel to the bar on the stove.
“We have to go to the station to talk to Chief Johansen, don’t we?”
“One cup of coffee and you’re already on top of your game.” He flashes me a smile.
An hour later, I’m showered, have on clean clothes, and am wiping my face after Jez bathed me in kisses. Dad brought her to my office so I could see her. “Why did I never think to bring her to work with me before?” I ask. “She’s so well behaved, and she definitely perks up the place.”
“Probably because we’re never here much. We’re always out investigating. You’ve been stalling long enough, Piper. We have to go see Chief Johansen.”
“What does he want?” Dad asks, and I can tell he doesn’t have a lot of love left for his former chief.
“Updates. And he won’t be happy,” Mitchell says.
“I don’t see why I have to go,” I whine. “I don’t work there.”
“You’re a consultant on this case. You have to go with me.”
I’m fighting really hard not to stamp my foot and cry, “But I don’t wanna.” Jez puts her head on my leg. “Maybe we should bring Jezebel. She could distract him for us.”
“Johansen isn’t scary in the least, pumpkin. Once you let him know you can handle your own cases without interference, he’ll back right off.”
Except this is the first time he’s interfered. All thanks to Officer Andrews. “I just need to know what it was Hugo knew.”
“Are you saying you want to read Hugo?” Mitchell asks me.
“Want to? No, not at all. Need to? Most likely.”
“Want me to go along?” Dad asks. “I can bring Jez to my house and then meet you both at the station.”
“Actually, I need you to do me a different favor. I need you to interview Hugo’s wife. Find out if he ever talked about O’Neil at home. It’s possible whatever he knew, she heard about at home.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Mitchell and I head to the station since I can’t stall any longer. I try to pretend I don’t notice the smile on Officer Andrews’s face as we walk past his desk. But when he says, “Brennan, heard you failed to stop a murder from four feet away,” I can’t help myself.
I stop, turn on my heel, and walk right over to his desk. “Andrews, does your wife know you have another woman’s underwear in the glove compartment of your car?”
The entire station goes silent. Chief Johansen steps out of his office, hands on hips, and his eyes volley between Officer Andrews and me. “Brennan, Ashwell, my office,” he barks before disappearing inside.
Officer Andrews is just glaring at me. Mitchell has to physically push me toward the chief’s office.
“I was channeling his anger,” I whisper to Mitchell. “I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t even know that it’s true.”
“Oh, it’s true all right. Did you see his face? It was like he was trying to figure out when you managed to read him without him knowing.”
This is not how I planned to use my abilities. I don’t want to stoop to Officer Andrews’s level.
Mitchell knocks on Chief Johansen’s open door to announce our arrival.
“Shut the door behind you,” the chief says, without looking up from the file on his desk.
I step inside but don’t sit down.
“Have a seat,” Chief Johansen says.
“No, thank you. I’ll stand.” I have to distance myself from all the anger flying around this station this morning, or I’m going to completely lose my mind.
Mitchell stands with me, but I can tell doing so is making him uncomfortable. I don’t want to get him in trouble with his boss, so I dip my head in the direction of the chair. He doesn’t move, though.
“Care to tell me why I have a dead prison guard on my hands when you were with him at the time he was killed?” Chief Johansen asks.
“Ms. Ashwell and I were in the victim’s living room. He left to answer a knock on the door, which he told us was most likely the security guard in the community following up on our visit.”
“There was no reason to think we’d been followed,” I say. “Or that anyone else was at the door.”
“No reason?” Chief Johansen’s brow furrows, and he puts down the pen that was previously in his right hand. “You went to the prison to interrogate an inmate whom you suspect might be in danger. But you didn’t think to report that you were following up on a lead with a guard who left under suspicious circumstances after your arrival at the prison? And you didn’t think that the killer O’Neil is protecting might also try to eliminate anyone who might be looking to prove his guilt?” He laces his fingers in front of him on the desk. “Should I keep going?”
“It’s my fault you weren’t notified,” I say. “Mitchell—Detective Brennan was about to call you when I stopped him. I wasn’t sure about the lead I was following and didn’t want to alert you until I knew it wasn’t a false alarm.”
“You have no authority over Detective Brennan’s actions.” He stresses “Detective Brennan,” letting me know he not only noticed my slipup in calling Mitchell by his first name, but he didn’t care for it one bit.
“I accept full responsibility,” Mitchell says. “I should have called it in.”
I study Chief Johansen’s face and realize he’s going to nail Mitchell on this. Johansen never met me before because he didn’t want to. He doesn’t like that Mitchell brings me on these cases, and he used me to try to get Mitchell to screw up. I move toward Chief Johansen’s desk and grab his pen before he can even try to stop me.
“That damn woman has put this station through enough. It was one thing when Thomas was still here. He had this entire town’s respect, so people were willing to overlook the use of a psychic on police investigations. But now, she’s making us look bad. She humiliated Andrews, and I’ve been dealing with phone calls ever since. It has to stop.”
“I said, hand me my pen,” Chief Johansen bellows. He’s on his feet with his hand outstretched, palm up.
Mitchell removes the pen from my hand and places it on Chief Johansen’s palm.
“Ms. Ashwell, consider yourself removed from this case and any future cases with the Weltunkin PD. Your services are no longer wanted.”