Monster (2 page)

-Quinn-

I shut the door of my new apartment behind me and groaned out loud.

My new neighbor was one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever met. The simple jeans she was wearing didn't need to be painted on to promise the curves and strength beneath them. Her plain white t-shirt hugged her waist and showed off her breasts, although I didn't think she realized that the shirt gave a tantalizing hint at her nipples.

I was achingly hard just at the thought of them.

It had been too fucking long, and my body ached to have a woman beneath me, dreamed of spreading Annie's legs and sinking into the paradise between them.

The worst part was that it wasn't just my libido that was interested in her. She had the direct gaze that always undid me in a woman, and she was bright, and funny, and liked dogs.

Her dog made me feel a hell of a lot better about her living alone.

With her long blonde hair and girl-next-door (hah!) appearance, she was just the sort of woman that was in danger from the monster that had been killing women in the area.

None of the women had had dogs, though, that I knew of, and Urso was a big fucking beast. Well-trained, too. I felt a pang of jealousy as I thought about the bond between Urso and Annie. I'd been away from Dragon for just a few weeks, and it still hurt.

I tried to focus on Urso. I'd seen Great Pyrenees before, and most of them couldn't be trusted off a leash. Even with the steady Rottweiler nature to make the dog a little more eager to please humans, that dog had an independent light in his eye that proved he wasn't easy to work with.

Like dog, like owner, I thought, thinking about the same light in Annie's blue eyes.

She wasn't a woman that would fall all over herself for me.

That much was obvious.

It only made me want her more.

With another groan, I tore my thoughts away from my new neighbor.

Looking around the apartment was the cold splash of water I needed. It wasn't bad. It was a nice enough place, really. An old farmhouse, split into two apartments. Original crown molding, big windows that let in a lot of light… It wasn't a bad place at all.

It wasn't home, though, either.

That was behind me.

All my furniture looked out of place, crammed into the smaller space. Even though I'd gotten rid of most of it, it still didn't fit.

I walked through my space again. I could tell from the shape of the house that Annie's apartment was much larger than my own, which was barely larger than a studio.

Small living room. Kitchenette. Tiny hallway opening onto a bedroom and bathroom.

I could barely walk around my king-size bed in the little bedroom, but at least be comfortable. I didn't need as much closet space without my uniforms.

I didn't have a stove, but I figured I could do enough on a hot plate and a toaster oven to at least cobble together a satisfying lunch. I had forgotten that I hadn't been to the store. All I had was bread and peanut butter, not even any jelly for a proper sandwich.

I ate it anyway.

-Annie-

I needed to understand what my client wanted, but his emails were pretty much undecipherable gibberish. When I spoke to him in person, he was perfectly normal, even easy to deal with.

Unfortunately, it appeared that his brain left his body when he sat down at a computer.

He needed a lot of work from me, though. Paid on time. There were worse clients.

The old varnished wood of my desk was smooth under my hands as I pushed away from my computer to stand up.

"Urso, come here," I ordered. He got up off his bed in the corner of my office with a sigh and a stretch.

Lazy bastard.

I got his leash, but didn't put it on as I let myself out of the house and sent him into the car. As we pulled away, I saw Quinn's car slide into the spot I had just left. In the three days since he'd moved in, we hadn't spoken again, but I had seen him around.

It looked like he had time on his hands. He had been busy pruning back the overgrown bushes in the side yard when I had woken up in the morning.

His bare chest, glistening with sweat, was a pretty damn nice sight to start the day, but I closed the curtains.

No sense letting him think I was peeking.

Urso and I made it to the café quickly. The high, hot summer months were not the town's prime time for tourists.

I couldn't really see why. It was ten degrees cooler in the mountains, at least. Sometimes fifteen. If I lived down there, I would want to get away from the worst of the sweltering North Carolina sun.

I wasn't ungrateful, though. The early June day was idle and slow-paced, without the students or the tourists.

Heather stepped away from the empty counter to give me a hug when she saw me coming.

I grinned at her, glad that she was around.

Her big brown eyes were full of humor as she looked over my shoulder. "Where's that musk ox you call a dog?" she asked.

"He's a perfectly nice dog," I grumbled. "He's tied up out front. I didn't want to leave him alone today. It's nice to have the company on my errands."

Heather was already stepping back behind the counter, filling a bowl with water for my dog. She slipped some cookies into her apron pocket as she headed out to greet Urso.

She made it her life's mission to spoil that dog, and the big mutt made it his life's mission to let her.

I didn't say anything.

It was good for Urso to get some treats, and Heather was one of the only people I trusted enough to let fuss over Urso like that.

She'd complained for a year about health codes not letting me bring Urso into her cafe, but when the days were slow, sometimes she'd join us on the porch.

It was one of those days.

She left her apron on, but poured two coffees and made a quick plate of cookies. We sat at the table just by the door, so she could leap up and be a good small business owner if anyone looked like they were interested in spending money.

“It's the first hot day,” she said with a sigh. “No one's here, look at that.”

She waved one hand at the empty sidewalks.

“I'm only open because the one day I close, fifty people will have knocked on the door with money in their pockets.”

I took a cookie, shortbread with raspberry jam.

“Time to do deep cleaning?”

Anywhere that made food could never spend enough time cleaning, as I understood it.

She snorted.

“That's what teenage employees are for,” she said. “I'm two hundred pages from the end of the last Temeraire book.”

I dodged the mention of the series she'd been obsessed with for months. She'd been trying to convince me to read the books, but I wasn't a big fantasy person. Not enough romance.

“So, you're just hiding behind the counter, reading novels and eating cookies?” I asked, pretending to be scandalized.

“Damn straight, “she said.

Laughing, our conversation moved on to other things.

As we spoke, Urso remained under my chair, waiting for a command – or another cookie.

-Quinn-

Job hunting was so fucking demoralizing.

I ended every day feeling crushed under the weight of my own failure to have a fucking job. I needed to get out, go do something physical.

There were still a few boxes left at Cyn's place.

I got in my red pickup truck and headed out towards the suburbs, rubbing my thumb absentmindedly over the Chevrolet logo as I drove.

With any luck, she wouldn't be home.

I could get in, get my stuff, and get the fuck outta there.

Luck was not with me. Her sleek silver sedan was in the driveway, and the door was unlocked. I knocked before heading in, calling her name out as I stepped into the house.

No answer.

My stuff was all in the living room, in neat stacks by the stairs. The boxes had labels on them, their contents listed in her neat writing. I didn't have to worry about whether or not it was all there, or any of it would break in the boxes.

It only took me ten minutes to load the truck.

That was it.

There was nothing left for me to do but walk out the door, out of Cynthia Vogel's immaculate house, and leave her behind forever.

Something nagged at me, though.

Her car was there, but she wasn't answering. Even if she was upstairs, she should have heard me.

I knew it wasn't my business at all any more, we weren't together any more and I wasn't a cop, but I couldn't help myself. There was a fucking deranged killer around. I had to check on her.

I checked the basement first, yelling her name and turning the light on to check the dark corners, anywhere a body might hide. Even while I did it, I pictured Annie's eyes. I couldn't get my new neighbor out of my head.

It just pissed me off more.

“Cynthia?” I called, heading up the stairs.

No answer.

I started to get seriously concerned.

The door to our – her bedroom slammed against the wall as I threw it open, shouting her name again.

“Quinn? What the fuck?” she yelled, sitting bolt upright in bed and trying to drag a sheet across her naked body, as though I didn't already know every inch of it by heart.

“Woah, you didn't say anything about a boyfriend,” the guy between her legs said, clambering up from where he'd fallen off the bed in shock.

“I don't have a boyfriend,” she said. “I have an ex. An ex who was supposed to get his shit and get out.”

“Look, your car was in the driveway and you weren't answering when I shouted for you,” I said, looking away from both of them, my jaw tightening as my fists clenched.

It hadn't even been two weeks, and she was already letting some other son of a bitch eat her out on our fucking bed.

“We're not dating,” she said, flatly. “I don't have to listen to you or be at your beck and call.”

“I wasn't saying that, goddamnit,” I snapped. “Women have been being killed in their own homes, Cynthia. I was afraid that you'd been fucking murdered.”

The look in her eyes changed from fury to pity as her mouth twisted.

It was worse.

I didn't want her fucking pity.

“Get out, Quinn,” she said, almost gently. “Get out, and stay out. Not everything is a case.”

I slammed the door behind me so hard I heard something splinter, and a crash in the room beyond. The man said something I couldn't quite hear, something angry, and Cynthia told him not to go after me.

I wished he would chase me, so I could grab him, throw him down the fucking stairs, feel my fist connect with his face.

On my way to the truck, I smashed one of the lawn ornaments to to tiny fragments. A sharp stab of shame went through me, and I pushed it down.

I needed to go back to my place.

I needed to unload my truck.

I needed a fucking drink.