P.S. I Spook You

by S. E. Harmon

  Some things anyway. I didn’t bother to hide a smile as he fell on his hot dog like a ravenous beast and emitted sounds that were purely orgasmic. “Do you and that hot dog need a moment alone?”

  “Yes. Get out.” He savored another bite and hummed with happiness.

  I was slower in tucking into mine, despite the fact that I’d been ready to go full-on Kodiak bear just scant seconds before. I popped a jalapeno in my mouth, chewed slowly, and enjoyed the flavorful bursts of spice that seared my tongue while I watched a couple of dogs get frisky with a hydrant. I wasn’t a big fan of dog-on-dog action, but anything was better than watching Danny eat something decidedly phallic-shaped.

  I was just beginning to acknowledge the obvious—I still wanted him in the worst way. Wanted him on his knees. Wanted him on his back. Wanted that soft, pretty mouth wrapped around my dick. Wanted him in the quiet darkness of morning, when it was too early to think about work or starting our day. Wanted him to take me when I was still drowsy and slick from round one and go for a soft and sleepy round two.

  It was slow and intimate there in the dark. And it was never enough. I could probably have sex with that man every day for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough. I grunted. I could be honest with myself, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I also didn’t have to like the fact that none of that was ever going to happen.

  We ate in companionable silence. Only the sounds of wrappers and chewing filled the car. I found some classic rock on the radio, and the Boss crackled softly out of the speakers. With my belly full of hot dog and the muggy heat working its magic, I had to focus to not fall asleep.

  A lot of my contentment had to do with the man in the driver’s seat, softly humming and tapping his fingers on the wheel. That was too bad, really. Too bad that it was very much temporary. That every day that passed put me one step closer to going back home. Back to DC.

  My hot dog suddenly felt like ten pounds of lead sparking with the jangled nerves in my stomach. And even though I didn’t want to fuck up our good vibe by saying the wrong thing, I had to air a grievance. I didn’t care if it made me sound crazy.

  “You should let someone know if you don’t drink soda anymore,” I blurted.

  “What?”

  “Soda. You said you don’t drink soda anymore.”

  “So?”

  I huffed out a breath. “So I would have appreciated a heads-up.”

  “It’s not as if we were on those kinds of terms.”

  “We weren’t on bad terms.”

  “No, but we weren’t exactly chatting either.”

  “Well, we’re chatting now, aren’t we?”

  He looked momentarily flummoxed. “I guess we are.”

  “So.”

  “So, what? You want me to call you up and let you know if I change my dietary habits?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Danny’s lips quirked, and I could tell he was laughing at me. He’d known what I meant from the beginning. I shook my head ruefully. What devil’s pact he’d made to make his mouth look so soft and kissable all the time, I’d never know.

  “Yeah, I rather think I do,” he said, chuckling. “I missed you too. Idiot.”

  I should’ve left it there. But I never could leave well enough alone. “I guess you just don’t miss me enough.”

  He stilled, and I knew he was staring at me. I’d lit our silent truce on fire. Rain-danced in the ashes. I was far too embarrassed to say anything else, so I just made a noise suspiciously close to a caveman’s grunt. I reached for the door handle. “Be right back. Gotta hit the head.”

  “Thanks for the update.”

  “What can I say?” I waggled my eyebrows as I got out of the car. “I like to keep it classy.”

  Even after I finished decorating some bushes, I was in no hurry to get back in that hot car. Or have the argument I’d been about to start with my careless words. I was the one in the wrong…. I was the one who’d left. I had no business getting pissy because he wouldn’t give me a second chance. I walked a little way down the street, stretched my joints, and shook out the pins and needles.

  It was certainly a different working atmosphere than I was used to. Graycie’s method of supervising was very… er, let’s just say, hands-on. Meaning he was a bossy little prick who wanted to know what his team was up to every moment of their waking days. I preferred Danny’s Lieutenant Tate’s approach—she liked to give you enough rope to succeed. It was also enough rope to choke you with if you failed. I’m sure that’s just a happy coincidence.

  A blur of motion bolted through the yard and startled me out of my thoughts. I spun just in time to see it headed for the street. It was a moment before I even realized what I was looking at. A brightly colored shirt. Gym shorts. Furiously churning pale legs.

  “Brock,” I yelled. “We just want to talk!”

  Like that ever worked.

  There was only one thing to do. “Fuuuuck,” I groaned as I tore down the street after him. “Why don’t they ever choose the easy way?”

  AS I sprinted down the block, I wondered what the hell happened to my life. Instead of sitting behind my desk in a tailored suit, I was wearing Converse and running hell-bent for leather through an unfamiliar neighborhood.

  I wished Danny had seen him first. I also wished Brock would catch a leg cramp. While I wished for things, I might as well wish that I hadn’t devoured two bacon hot dogs before I ran what was clearly shaping up to be a leg of the Boston marathon.

  As Brock leapt a chain-link fence with ease, I sent up a prayer. I had a feeling my leap wasn’t going to be quite as smooth. I almost hesitated with visions of catching myself in the nads on spiky chain-link dancing in my head. Then I thought of Danny somewhere behind, hopefully with a first-aid kit, and was reassured enough to take the jump.

  I wasn’t nearly as graceful as Brock, but I did clear it. And land on my feet. Which really made me feel better about that second bacon dog.

  The sudden flurry of barking ahead almost sent me into cardiac arrest. Big dog barking. Wait. Wasn’t it always the small dogs with the big bark? I cut through the small yard and expected at any second to get an asscheek full of sharp teeth. Please be something small. An aggressive Chihuahua. A Yorkie with a Napoleon complex.

  When I glanced over and saw the thick-necked Rottweiler lunge on his spiked chain, I upgraded my heart-attack status from possible to probable. The chain caught the snarling Hound of the Baskervilles at the last moment, and I charged past, scaled the wooden fence, and landed in someone’s vegetable garden. I smashed some sort of melon with my foot and slipped a little and then pelted after Brock through what was turning into the world’s strangest obstacle course.

  Sweet Jesus, I’m a profiler. I’m supposed to be behind a nice, cushy desk somewhere. Fuck Graycie, sending me to fucking Brickell Bay. I’m going to get him back if it’s the last thing I—

  I rounded a corner and ran smack into a clothesline. I windmilled for a moment, and clothes flew everywhere as I tried to keep my balance. I batted a pair of boxer shorts out of the way as I sprinted through the yard and tried not to think of whose junk had been in those shorts. Which had then been on my face.

  I was gaining on him, closing the distance. Luckily his yellow shirt made it easy to track him. When I saw the thick of woods ahead, I had a sinking feeling that was about to change. Sure enough the yellow shirt charged ahead and barreled through the trees without hesitation.

  I crashed through the trees and charged after him. One of the tree limbs smacked me in the eye, and as I stumbled, a starburst pattern exploded behind my half-closed lid. I held up my forearm as I continued to run, one eye half-shut, and batted branches out of my way.

  My breath sawed through my lungs unevenly as I leapt over a log, but the yellow shirt was still in sight. I could hear rushing water, somewhere up ahead, and I poured on speed. As I closed in, some sane part of me realized that the guy was possibly dangerous, and I pulled my gun.


  When I burst out of the copse of trees, I saw the river looming ahead. A rickety bridge spanned the length of the crossing, but there was a gap in the middle that no sane person could hope to cover. Thank God.

  I slowed and shouted, “Brock! We just want to talk.”

  My eyes widened in disbelief as he charged across the swaying bridge. No, he wouldn’t… he just wouldn’t. And then he did. He leaped the distance between the bridge parts like he was qualifying for the long jump, and I could only stand, hands on my knees, and pant.

  He stuck the landing, stumbled, and went to his knees. He looked nearly as surprised as I was. We locked eyes for a moment, and then Brock staggered to his feet and took off at a run again. And I barely kept myself from yelling out “Kimble,” like we were in the fucking Fugitive.

  “Fuck,” I swore loudly. I holstered my gun, eyed the distance between the bridge parts, and backed up a little. There was the possibility that Brock had weakened the bridge by landing the way he had, but shit, if that half-baked kid could make it, maybe… I eyeballed the gap again and backed up a little farther. And then I started to run.

  “Christiansen!” Danny thundered behind me and stopped me dead in my tracks. I skittered to a halt a few feet from the bridge and kicked up rocks and dust. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  Fuck. I’d forgotten about that little detail. I planted my hands on my hips, thoroughly frustrated, breathing hard. After a few moments, I finally felt composed enough to speak. “I wasn’t going to.”

  “You were.” When I turned, Danny looked mad enough to throttle me, color high in his cheeks from exertion or anger. I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “We’ll get another chance to collar him. One that doesn’t involve breaking your fucking neck.”

  I wanted to argue. Wanted to be right. But… well, Danny was right. It would’ve been pretty fucking stupid. I cursed. I hated it when Danny was right.

  The slow walk back to the car really hammered home how much distance we’d covered. I sighed and kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk. “Well, at least we have a lead.”

  “Yeah, but our lead is on the run.”

  “You’re really a ‘glass half-empty’ kind of guy, aren’t you?”

  Danny shrugged big, tense shoulders. “Seeing you almost take a flying leap off a bridge has got me a little stressed. Okay?”

  “What can I do to help relieve your stress?” At his meaningful look, I colored. “Something that doesn’t involve my tongue or my ass.”

  He sighed. “Only you. Only you can take me from wanting to kill someone with my bare hands to laughter in six seconds.”

  I liked being the one to make Danny laugh. It made me feel… things.

  Things that suddenly seemed less ridiculous and more possible. The kind of things that caused an effervescent bubbling to start deep down inside my chest, a chasm in the river where stupid hopes and dreams and flowers lived. I wasn’t crazy anymore, after all. Eventually I’d be able to kick the antianxiety meds to the curb because I wasn’t a lunatic. I just saw… ghosts. All the time. And spoke to them. I bit my lip.

  Huh. That would probably still be a bit of a problem.

  Which didn’t explain why Danny pulled me to a stop right before we reached the car. His hand curved around the back of my neck and tangled in the sweat-dampened hair at my nape. That big hand suddenly tightened and drew me in. I could only stand like an idiot as he kissed me soundly, right there on the street. That kiss wasn’t like the other. It came less from a place of punishment and more from a place of pure want. When he pulled back, I followed and chased his mouth almost instinctively. He relented and kissed me one more time before he pulled free.

  I growled. He hadn’t even sucked at my lips or fucked my mouth with his tongue. Just a quick kiss that made me want more. How was I supposed to live off that measly little kiss?

  “What was that for?” I finally asked.

  “You don’t get to take chances like that.” Those blue eyes were intense on mine. “You’re too important for that shit. Okay?”

  I could still taste him on my lips. In my mouth. It wasn’t enough. “Okay,” I managed.

  “I mean it.”

  “I heard you.”

  The indentations that bracketed Danny’s mouth deepened as we stared at one another under the street lights. If I looked down, I knew I’d find he was hard as I was. So I didn’t. Finally I had to break the silence. “What?”

  When he spoke again, he sounded angry. Irritated. “I’m not getting sucked in with you again.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s just such a bad fucking idea.”

  “I said okay,” I snapped.

  His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen while I scowled at my shoes. Sucked in with me. Like I was a goddamned incubus. His words probably wouldn’t hurt as much if I felt the same way. But I wanted him back. In my bed. In my life. I just didn’t know how to make that happen.

  I hurt him when I walked away the way I did. And when you trusted someone to hold your fragile heart and he dropped it, dusted off his buttery fingers, and walked away… well, you don’t ask him to hold it ever again.

  “Our backup is here.” His tone was dry as he pocketed his phone. “Their timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

  I only grunted my assent. I was still a little nonplussed. I don’t know how I felt about my entire being encapsulated in the phrase “such a bad fucking idea,” but I knew it wasn’t positive.

  He sighed. “I guess we should go to McDonald’s tomorrow.”

  “Nuggets?” I asked hopefully. At his amused look, I frowned and thought about it. And then it dawned on me. I shook my head. “No way. You don’t really think he’d go to work.”

  “I do. He doesn’t know that we know he works there. We should go home and rest up for tomorrow night.”

  I rubbed at my knee ruefully. “After a chase like that, all I want is some Icy Hot and a heating pad. But I guess he is a little younger than me.”

  Danny’s second eyebrow joined the first. “A little?”

  “Shut up, Irish.”

  Chapter 15

  THE NEXT day followed a similar pattern.

  “You can stop giving me that sour look,” Danny grumbled as we made our way back through the busy McDonald’s parking lot. “How was I to know he was going to run again?”

  I hoped my expression had the appropriate amount of “bye Felicia.” “Really? The three-mile obstacle course we ran yesterday didn’t give you a clue?”

  “I can’t believe we lost him again.”

  “I can,” I grumbled. “He’s clearly a fucking android.”

  “Well, we know he’s not coming back here.” After a beat Danny added, “Or to his mother’s house.”

  That just irritated me even more. We’d blown two locations. I yanked on the front door of the restaurant and held it open for two chattering teenagers. “Let’s just check with the manager. He’s got to send his checks somewhere.”

  After flashing a badge, we were led through a phalanx of frying, greasy goodness. I gave the nugget-fryer basket a longing look as we trooped past. Too bad I had important business to tend to. Manager’s office, then nuggets, ’cuz, you know, priorities.

  When we entered his office, the manager was behind his desk, texting rapidly on his phone. He glanced up, and his already sour expression soured further at the sight of Danny. He looked like he’d been mainlining key lime juice.

  “You again.” He looked back down at his phone. “Anyone else you want to pull off my busiest shift?”

  Danny’s jaw developed a fascinating tic. “We didn’t know he was going to run. Obviously.”

  “We need to locate Brock so we can ask him a few questions. That’s all,” I said.

  “Well, I guess you’re shit out of luck.”

  I sighed. No, we were shit out of patience. We’d run out of luck fifteen minutes and two fences earlier. Hitting a parking meter with my elbow as we chased Brock in the darkness had really dimmed my optimism.
I glanced at the man’s name tag. “We’re sorry for taking up so much of your time, Paul. But do you know where he might’ve gone? Or when he’ll be back?”

  “Do you think I’d still be talking to you idiots if I knew where he was?”

  Danny’s eyes went narrow. “You know, it’s been a long day. I could do without the fucking attit—”

  “We’re going to need his contact information,” I cut in smoothly. “Address, phone numbers, emergency contacts, everything.”

  “Because I have nothing better to do?”

  Apparently Paul was not a man who picked up on cues. Otherwise he probably wouldn’t have kept answering those texts. And he would have definitely seen that Danny’s already short fuse was lit. Burning down by the minute. And surrounded by firecrackers.

  “You know, hindering an investigation is really not a smart thing to do,” Danny said silkily, his voice quiet and dangerous.

  “You wanna know what would be smart for you right now?” The phone buzzed again, and Paul glanced at the screen. His hand was outstretched to pick it up again when Danny beat him to it.

  Danny closed his fingers around the phone and tossed it to me. I almost fumbled it, but then I clasped it to my chest, eyes wide. Oh, that did not bode—

  Paul’s face went red with anger. “I don’t have time for this nonsense—”

  Danny’s hands were suddenly attached to Paul’s collar as the shorter man hung slack in his grip. He growled. “Do you have time for missing kids? You certainly have time to waste our time while you text.”

  Paul’s frantic little beady eyes sought out mine from around Danny’s back. “You can’t… he can’t do this,” he spluttered over his suddenly tight checkered tie.

  “If only you knew how many witnesses said that exact thing to this man,” I said with a sigh and reviewed my résumé in my head. By the time Danny was done, I’d be lucky to land a job at a FedEx Office. Considering I was always the guy asking for assistance at the copy kiosk, that was not a good thing.