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Sebastian
I wanted to follow Matilda into her room last night.
I haven’t felt a woman’s arms wrapped around me in pure comfort in years.
The way she was looking at me made me feel like I’d be safe in her bed, in her embrace, pressed next to her body as I drifted off to sleep.
When she closed the door to her bedroom I settled on the sofa, my gaze pinned to the window and the lights of the city beyond.
I sat there for hours thinking. I finally dragged my ass back to my bedroom at three. I slept until my alarm woke me at six-thirty.
I was showered, dressed in a gray suit and white shirt and on my way to work by seven.
“You look like shit, partner.”
I don’t look up from my desk. I know that voice all too well. Samuel Brant is standing next to me.
He landed in homicide five months ago with that wide-eyed look and frenetic energy all new detectives share.
It’s slowly wearing away now, replaced with the jaded view of New York City that every person in this squad room now has.
“I’m tired,” I reply with a forced laugh. “I was here a hell of a lot later than you were last night.”
“I have a girlfriend, “ he points out with a tap of his fingers on the edge of my desk. “I need to kiss her goodnight in my own special way every night.”
I finally look up at him. He’s younger than me by three years. His brown hair is cut short. His blue eyes are a shade lighter than mine. I’ve got a few inches on him, and I outweigh him by a solid twenty pounds, but he holds his own.
He sprinted past me last week during a foot chase of a suspect. He wrestled the guy to the ground with ease. I was impressed and told him as much.
“I don’t need the details, Brant.” I shake my head. “I also don’t need a girlfriend. I get the opportunity to kiss women good night in my special way whenever the mood strikes.”
“Have you ever been married?” He takes a seat behind his desk. It faces mine. Our lieutenant is convinced that it encourages better communication between partners. I’m convinced that it breeds hostility.
I’ve never found a perfect rhythm with a partner. Samuel is my fifth since I was assigned to this division. There’s a reason I’m nicknamed Lone Wolf in the squad room.
No one has ever said it to my face, but I hear the whispered insults behind my back. I don’t always follow procedure to a tee. I do what’s needed to close the cases I’m assigned, within the blurred boundaries of the law, of course.
“No.” I shake my head. “You?”
“I’m considering it.” He looks down at his left hand. “My girl is the one. I’m running out of reasons not to pop the question.”
The job should be reason enough.
Most of the detectives in homicide are married to it. Those that have someone at home waiting for them are the lucky ones. They found a lover willing to put up with the long hours, moderate pay and emotional demons that haunt every one of us.
I stopped looking for a woman who would tolerate this bullshit years ago.
“What’s her name?” I ask because he looks like a kid who just raided a candy store. The smile on his face is a testament to how much he loves his girlfriend.
“Remy.”
“I’d say Remy could do better.” I lean my forearms on my desk. “But she could do worse too.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m the best man for her. She knows it.”
I turn my attention back to my computer screen. If she loves him as much as he loves her, they’ll stand a chance. That’s if he doesn’t let the job become his mistress. Once that happens his happily-ever-after will be out of his reach.
***
“What the hell, Donald?” I stare in disbelief at the asshole sitting on the sofa in my living room.
Matilda’s living room? Our living room? It doesn’t fucking matter.
Donald Crimpton jerks to his feet. “Detective Wolf? How? Why?”
“Sebastian?” Matilda’s voice comes at me from the left.
I instinctively stalk toward her, blocking her body from Donald’s view.
It’s a smart move considering the fact that she’s wearing a killer red dress and matching heels.
The neckline of the dress is low enough to give both Donald and me a perfect view of the top of her tits.
I swear to fuck I’m in the middle of a nightmare right now, but I’m wide-awake. It’s just past seven o’clock, and I’m finally home after a long day filled with paperwork and false leads.
“What’s going on?” Matilda asks. “Do you two know each other?”
I look down at her. “Do you two know each other?”
She nods. “We’re about to go on our second date.”
“You’re not going anywhere with him,” I say gruffly.
Her blue eyes widen as her hands fall to her hips. “Excuse me? What’s the problem, Sebastian?”
“I answered all your questions two months ago, Detective Wolf.” Donald squeaks from somewhere behind me. “How did you know I’d be here? Is Tilly working undercover or something? Is she wearing a wire? I’m pretty sure my lawyer would say that’s entrapment.”
I fist my hands at my side, not bothering to turn around to face him. “I live here, asshole.”
“You’re kidding.” He snorts out a nervous laugh. “Since when?”
“He moved in a few days ago.” Matilda tries to move around me but I take a step to the side to block her. “What’s going on?”
“You moved in here because of my case?” The piece-of-trash asks. “I didn’t see anything, Detective Wolf. You’re wasting your time if you think I’m going to confess to witnessing an attempted murder.”
“A what?” Matilda grabs hold of my forearm. “What the hell is he talking about?”
I exhale harshly, pissed that she’s been dragged into the shittiest part of my life.
“I was at a party where a guy got hit over the head.” Donald moves to stand next to me. “Detective Wolf is convinced I saw something. I didn’t.”
He did. I know full well he did because there’s cell phone footage of him leaving the bedroom where the assault occurred after the 9-1-1 call was made. The caller, who was at the party, reported hearing a fight.
I was dragged out of bed by a call from my lieutenant to check out the situation.
The doctor working in the emergency room didn’t think the victim would make it, but he’s on the road to a full recovery.
The perpetrator was covered in blood. I finally got him to confess. He’s already worked out a plea deal so Donald’s useless to me at this point.
“The case is closed.” I turn to look at Donald. He’s a twenty-two-year-old troll who lives high on his folks’ money. “You’d think your buddy would have clued you into that by now.”
“I didn’t know anyone at that party.” He sticks to the same song-and-dance that first poured out of his lying mouth the night of the attack.
“Your cell phone records prove otherwise.” I seethe. “You’re not welcome here.”
“That’s for Tilly to decide, isn’t it?” He looks at her with obvious lust.
I want to jab a finger in each of his eye sockets.
“Leave now, Donald.” She steps closer to me, pointing at the door. “Our first date was our last date.”
“Your loss,” he quips. “I would have shown you the time of your life tonight.”
Her gaze meets mine as he leaves our apartment, slamming the door behind him.
