Breathe
Grenton PD Book One
Winner of the 2018 Kathryn Hayes Contest for erotic romance
A GOOD MAN, FALLING APART
Small town police officer Simon Labelle repressed his attraction to sexy shopgirl Leona Chaisty for years. He's good at controlling his feelings--or he used to be, before the bombing that he can't solve, that he should have prevented. Now, after a chance encounter with Leona at the lake, Simon can't get her out of his head. All those high school fantasies roar to life.
A BAD GIRL, WISHING FOR MORE
Leona is drawn to the intensity in Simon's pretty-boy blue eyes. But he's a good man, and she's not just hopelessly kinky--she’ll never know how to love. Still, unlike everyone else, Simon acts like she might actually have a heart. The more time they spend together, the more she wishes he were right.
A CHALLENGE NEITHER CAN RESIST
After a second unsolved case pulls them together, their sexual chemistry rattles them both, and hints at an unsettling fetish that Simon struggles to suppress. Leona pushes Simon to decide what he wants--whether to dominate, submit, or some mix of both--while Simon, already falling for his dream girl, finally gets her to admit that she's lonely.
Each challenges the other to reveal more, to cede control, to be vulnerable. But they're both more fragile than they appear. It's only a matter of time before one pushes too hard, and the other breaks.
BREATHE is the first book in the suspenseful and sexy Grenton PD series. Although the series may be most enjoyable when read in order, each book tells a complete love story and stands alone.
Content warnings for Breathe: Depression, alcohol use, child neglect (off-screen/flashbacks), on-screen violence and gun use, on-screen suicidal ideation. Please read my statement about the Grenton PD series and BLM.
Small town police officer Simon Labelle repressed his attraction to sexy shopgirl Leona Chaisty for years. He's good at controlling his feelings--or he used to be, before the bombing that he can't solve, that he should have prevented. Now, after a chance encounter with Leona at the lake, Simon can't get her out of his head. All those high school fantasies roar to life.
A BAD GIRL, WISHING FOR MORE
Leona is drawn to the intensity in Simon's pretty-boy blue eyes. But he's a good man, and she's not just hopelessly kinky--she’ll never know how to love. Still, unlike everyone else, Simon acts like she might actually have a heart. The more time they spend together, the more she wishes he were right.
A CHALLENGE NEITHER CAN RESIST
After a second unsolved case pulls them together, their sexual chemistry rattles them both, and hints at an unsettling fetish that Simon struggles to suppress. Leona pushes Simon to decide what he wants--whether to dominate, submit, or some mix of both--while Simon, already falling for his dream girl, finally gets her to admit that she's lonely.
Each challenges the other to reveal more, to cede control, to be vulnerable. But they're both more fragile than they appear. It's only a matter of time before one pushes too hard, and the other breaks.
BREATHE is the first book in the suspenseful and sexy Grenton PD series. Although the series may be most enjoyable when read in order, each book tells a complete love story and stands alone.
Content warnings for Breathe: Depression, alcohol use, child neglect (off-screen/flashbacks), on-screen violence and gun use, on-screen suicidal ideation. Please read my statement about the Grenton PD series and BLM.
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Read on Radish [as Seducing the Detective]
Listen to the audiobook on Scribd
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Buy the paperback
Read on Radish [as Seducing the Detective]
Listen to the audiobook on Scribd
Add to your Goodreads shelf
Read an excerpt from Breathe . . .
A dark form huddled on the snowy bench overlooking the lake, underneath sweeping pine boughs. Ray Waller. Fifties, with a graying patch of stubble and shabby clothes. All the guys at the station, including Simon, took turns picking Ray up for public intoxication and letting him sleep it off in the holding cell overnight.
Simon stopped beside the bench, ankle-deep in snow, and frowned at the thin sleeves of Ray’s sweatshirt. “What’re you doing out here, Ray?”
“Old lady kicked me out again.”
“Where’s your coat?”
“Forgot it.”
With a sigh, Simon sat down beside him, ignoring the way Ray’s bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. “You can’t stay out here,” Simon said. “You’re gonna get hypothermia.”
Ray shrugged. He looked worse than usual, like he didn’t care if he got hypothermia or not. Slouching forward, Simon rested his forearms on his knees and gazed out at the frozen lake, its vast expanse as white as the sky.
At the sound of crinkling paper, Simon glanced over to see Ray uncapping a bottle half-hidden inside a paper bag.
“You can’t drink that out here, buddy,” Simon said, suddenly very tired.
“You gonna book me again, Labelle?”
He was off-duty today, if only because the Chief had insisted. Though being off-duty didn’t necessarily make much of a difference. “No.”
Ray nodded, his face pinched. “When’re you gonna solve that case? The bombing?”
“Dunno.” Never, since the State’s Attorney had decided there wasn’t enough evidence to pursue it. God damn it.
“Here.” Ray offered Simon the paper bag. The just-opened bottle of cheap whiskey smelled utterly benevolent. The bag trembled slightly in Ray’s hands. His gloveless fingers were pale with cold.
“I’ll trade you.” Simon stood, unzipped his coat, and tossed it onto Ray’s lap. “Go see the pastor. He’ll let you sleep in the church basement. Promise me you’ll get out of the weather.”
Ray gazed down at Simon’s coat. “You’re giving me this? Why?”
“Merry Christmas,” Simon said, sitting back down on the bench. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll take that.” He took the booze from Ray and stuffed the bottle into the bank of snow at his feet.
Ray slid Simon’s coat on over his thin frame. “Thanks, Labelle.”
He wandered away, back toward the town. For once, Ray hadn’t argued with Simon about confiscating his booze. Simon should’ve been glad. Instead, he stared at the frost glistening on the bottle’s mouth and thought about the bombing case: the same endless rounds of thoughts he’d had for months. The Chief kept telling him the case was cold, that Simon had done his best and now he needed to take some time off and decompress. But when Simon went home, he lay on his couch or in bed and stared at the darkness, and peace felt further away than ever. At least when he was working, he could keep up the pretense of doing good.
Simon’s gaze drifted away from the bottle and back toward it again. He rubbed his knuckles over his jawline, his heart racing. No one was around. No one had to know. That wasn’t why he’d taken it, but…
He pulled his phone free from his jeans pocket and dialed the station. Keene’s direct line.
“Bryan Keene.” The man shouted every damn word he said.
“Keene, do me a favor.”
“God damn it, Simon, what the hell is your problem? You’re supposed to be taking the day off, for fuck’s—”
Simon interrupted Keene’s ever-present stream of cursing to ask him to check on Ray, make sure he got to the church all right. Keene immediately agreed, before launching back into his lecture. “So now what, you’re gonna keep running yourself into the ground as fucking penance—?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Simon insisted. “Seriously. See you tomorrow.” He hung up and jammed his phone back into his pocket.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, he leaned forward, snatched up the bottle, and took a swig. The whiskey flooded his body with warmth, banishing the cold from his fingers. A sense of relief rendered him momentarily breathless.
Fuck, it was cold out. He should go home. At least he, unlike Ray, had a home to go to.
Stuffing the bottle back into the snow bank, Simon slid his palms over his wool hat. He imagined the long walk home, the empty afternoon, the night. Days like this, the future was a crushing weight of unmet expectations.
What if he didn’t go back? What if he just stayed here?
“Simon? Or should I say Officer Labelle?”
Shit. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he glanced back across the field of snow to where Leona fucking Chaisty was standing just off the hiking trail that looped around the lake. She wore black running pants and a black coat that hugged the long, slim lines of her body. Her fair skin glowed with exertion.
She hadn’t spoken to him in so long, he’d sometimes wondered if she’d forgotten his name. Not easy to do in a town of five or six thousand, especially since there were, including him, only six cops. But Leona had kept to herself even when they were kids. Now he hardly ever saw her, unless he was walking by her artsy little shop on his beat.
It figured the one time they ran into each other, he was at his worst.
Leona glided toward him, hardly indenting the snow under her feet. With her long black hair and ever-present smirk, she had always reminded him of a fairy—an evil one, who might curse you just for fun, or steal your first-born child if you forgot to leave a saucer of milk out one night. That smile, he’d always thought, was dangerous.
“You all right?” she asked, one eyebrow arching.
“Fine.” It was all he ever said these days. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you have a coat?”
“Gave it to Ray Waller.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t have one.”
“But now you don’t have one.” Her wide, expressive mouth quirked. “You see how that works.”
“I get it, thanks.” His tone was acidic, but his heart thudded hard as she moved closer to him, her hips swinging. She sat down delicately beside him, crossing her legs.
“That your whiskey?”
His neck burned under the soft collar of his fleece. “No.”
“All right.” Leaning forward, she plucked the bottle out of the snow and took a swig, her white throat arching.
“Leona.” Simon couldn’t contain a sound of hypocritical disapproval.
Her unrepentant gaze turned toward him, assessing him, as if she could unspool his soul from his body and examine it in her hands.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said.
“Like what?”
Instead of answering, she took another deep swig of whiskey. There was something obscene about watching her drink, the way she swallowed—it set his blood on fire. Every time he’d seen her over the last ten years or so collided together in his mind in a carousel of erotic imagery. That old longing burned in him.
She handed him the bottle, and its scent struck him again, as difficult and as thrilling as Leona’s presence. He set it down on the bench between them with a clunk.
“First of all,” she said, raising a finger, “I hardly ever see you out of uniform. And even when I do, you’re always…I don’t know. Helping little old ladies cross the street or something. Right now you’re practically loitering.”
“I am not loitering,” he snapped.
“What are you doing, then?”
He opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head, frustrated. He no longer knew. That was the problem.
“What are you doing?” he managed finally.
“Well, I was jogging, but now…” She shrugged. “Loitering, I suppose. You must be corrupting me.”
“You don’t need my help with that,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He knew nothing about her personal life and never had. She was intensely private, even secretive, which had always just made her more interesting to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude.”
“You’re right. It was.” Her gray eyes glittered with amusement. “But it’s also accurate.”
Falling snow had begun to stick to the whiskey bottle’s brown paper bag, and to the sleeves of Simon’s blue fleece.
“It’s getting dark,” she said. “You should go home.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically.
“Are you?” With a quizzical tilt of her head, she leaned in close and traced one gloved fingertip down his cheek like a tear. It was the first time they had ever touched, even by accident. His cold, numb skin sparked, and he couldn’t look away from her eyes, luminous in the fading daylight. This close, he could just catch the sharp, gingery scent of her perfume, mingling with the scents of whiskey and new snow.
She drew away suddenly and stood, brushing snow off her chest and arms. “Well, you might be immune to the cold, but I need to go home.”
Disappointment flashed through him. The one time she spoke to him--
“You should walk me there,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re a compulsive do-gooder and I’m a little buzzed.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. So much for feeling flattered.
“On your feet, soldier.” She reached for his arm as if to help him up, but he brushed her away. He didn’t need her help. He was only going with her because she was right about him—he didn’t like letting anyone walk off alone into Vermont snowfall, even when it was still relatively light snow like this. He couldn’t even call Keene to check up on Leona, like he could with Ray.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. Picking up the whiskey bottle, he made his way back toward the trail. All the outdoor enthusiasts he’d passed earlier had gone home to their wood stoves and hot chocolates, leaving him and Leona alone in a world of snow and gathering darkness. Even dressed for jogging, she was a fairy queen, presiding over a twilit netherworld.
“How do you jog in all this snow?” he asked, when she joined him on the trail.
“Sometimes I have to put spikes on my sneakers,” she said cheerfully.
“And you’re not freezing?”
“Not when I’m moving.”
“Fair enough,” he grunted. For him, standing had only highlighted just how cold he’d become, sitting on that bench. Not just his hands or his feet, but deep in his joints.
They passed a trashcan and Simon chucked the bottle of whiskey into it. Good riddance. He should never have opened it in the first place. If anyone else had caught him with it, apart from Leona… At least she didn’t care enough about him to think less of him.
They followed the trail through the pine forest to a road on the outskirts of town. Soon, they reached tiny downtown Grenton, where the Christmas lights lining Cascade Street cast a gentle glow across the covered bridge, the handful of art galleries, and the retro chrome diner. Only Piper’s Pub showed signs of life, with a gentle buzz of activity behind its warm, golden windowpanes.
“Where do you live?” Simon was pretty sure she rented an apartment on the main drag, not far from her shop, but he didn’t want to admit he knew even that much about her.
“Up there, on Cascade. Above the ice cream shop. But I actually have to stop by the liquor store,” she said, with a innocent glance at him.
He rolled his eyes. He’d be helping her with her grocery shopping next. “Fine.”
They left Cascade Street for the even darker, quieter Pine Road. Leona peered into the forest lining the road, smiling to herself.
“Aha!” She stopped at the entrance to Simon’s driveway. “This is yours, isn’t it? I thought I remembered seeing a police car parked here. And here it is.” She pointed up the long, dark driveway to where Simon’s cruiser was parked in front of his duplex. He let his tenants use the garage, so he parked his cruiser outside when he brought it home.
Leona looped her arm through his, dazzling him, once again, with her scent and her closeness. His elbow bumped her ribs, the underside of her breasts. He ought to move away—but he wanted to pull her even closer. Touching her was both impersonal and intimate, disorienting and addictive.
“I thought you had to—” he began, trying to stay focused.
“It was a ploy, Simon. It takes a lot more than a sip of whiskey to get me buzzed.”
She led him up the driveway to his front porch. His tenants must have strung white Christmas lights along their door sometime while he was out this afternoon, casting that same soft glow across his porch as in downtown. The light shimmered on Leona’s black knit hat, her glossy black hair, her sinful mouth.
“Go inside and warm up,” she told Simon, releasing his arm. “I don’t want you dying of hypothermia. Then the town would have to hire a new cop. What a pain.”
“I can’t believe you tricked me.”
She patted his cheek. “You’re only human, darling.” She turned away, glancing back over one slim shoulder. “Good night.”
Simon stopped beside the bench, ankle-deep in snow, and frowned at the thin sleeves of Ray’s sweatshirt. “What’re you doing out here, Ray?”
“Old lady kicked me out again.”
“Where’s your coat?”
“Forgot it.”
With a sigh, Simon sat down beside him, ignoring the way Ray’s bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. “You can’t stay out here,” Simon said. “You’re gonna get hypothermia.”
Ray shrugged. He looked worse than usual, like he didn’t care if he got hypothermia or not. Slouching forward, Simon rested his forearms on his knees and gazed out at the frozen lake, its vast expanse as white as the sky.
At the sound of crinkling paper, Simon glanced over to see Ray uncapping a bottle half-hidden inside a paper bag.
“You can’t drink that out here, buddy,” Simon said, suddenly very tired.
“You gonna book me again, Labelle?”
He was off-duty today, if only because the Chief had insisted. Though being off-duty didn’t necessarily make much of a difference. “No.”
Ray nodded, his face pinched. “When’re you gonna solve that case? The bombing?”
“Dunno.” Never, since the State’s Attorney had decided there wasn’t enough evidence to pursue it. God damn it.
“Here.” Ray offered Simon the paper bag. The just-opened bottle of cheap whiskey smelled utterly benevolent. The bag trembled slightly in Ray’s hands. His gloveless fingers were pale with cold.
“I’ll trade you.” Simon stood, unzipped his coat, and tossed it onto Ray’s lap. “Go see the pastor. He’ll let you sleep in the church basement. Promise me you’ll get out of the weather.”
Ray gazed down at Simon’s coat. “You’re giving me this? Why?”
“Merry Christmas,” Simon said, sitting back down on the bench. “Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll take that.” He took the booze from Ray and stuffed the bottle into the bank of snow at his feet.
Ray slid Simon’s coat on over his thin frame. “Thanks, Labelle.”
He wandered away, back toward the town. For once, Ray hadn’t argued with Simon about confiscating his booze. Simon should’ve been glad. Instead, he stared at the frost glistening on the bottle’s mouth and thought about the bombing case: the same endless rounds of thoughts he’d had for months. The Chief kept telling him the case was cold, that Simon had done his best and now he needed to take some time off and decompress. But when Simon went home, he lay on his couch or in bed and stared at the darkness, and peace felt further away than ever. At least when he was working, he could keep up the pretense of doing good.
Simon’s gaze drifted away from the bottle and back toward it again. He rubbed his knuckles over his jawline, his heart racing. No one was around. No one had to know. That wasn’t why he’d taken it, but…
He pulled his phone free from his jeans pocket and dialed the station. Keene’s direct line.
“Bryan Keene.” The man shouted every damn word he said.
“Keene, do me a favor.”
“God damn it, Simon, what the hell is your problem? You’re supposed to be taking the day off, for fuck’s—”
Simon interrupted Keene’s ever-present stream of cursing to ask him to check on Ray, make sure he got to the church all right. Keene immediately agreed, before launching back into his lecture. “So now what, you’re gonna keep running yourself into the ground as fucking penance—?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Simon insisted. “Seriously. See you tomorrow.” He hung up and jammed his phone back into his pocket.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, he leaned forward, snatched up the bottle, and took a swig. The whiskey flooded his body with warmth, banishing the cold from his fingers. A sense of relief rendered him momentarily breathless.
Fuck, it was cold out. He should go home. At least he, unlike Ray, had a home to go to.
Stuffing the bottle back into the snow bank, Simon slid his palms over his wool hat. He imagined the long walk home, the empty afternoon, the night. Days like this, the future was a crushing weight of unmet expectations.
What if he didn’t go back? What if he just stayed here?
“Simon? Or should I say Officer Labelle?”
Shit. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he glanced back across the field of snow to where Leona fucking Chaisty was standing just off the hiking trail that looped around the lake. She wore black running pants and a black coat that hugged the long, slim lines of her body. Her fair skin glowed with exertion.
She hadn’t spoken to him in so long, he’d sometimes wondered if she’d forgotten his name. Not easy to do in a town of five or six thousand, especially since there were, including him, only six cops. But Leona had kept to herself even when they were kids. Now he hardly ever saw her, unless he was walking by her artsy little shop on his beat.
It figured the one time they ran into each other, he was at his worst.
Leona glided toward him, hardly indenting the snow under her feet. With her long black hair and ever-present smirk, she had always reminded him of a fairy—an evil one, who might curse you just for fun, or steal your first-born child if you forgot to leave a saucer of milk out one night. That smile, he’d always thought, was dangerous.
“You all right?” she asked, one eyebrow arching.
“Fine.” It was all he ever said these days. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you have a coat?”
“Gave it to Ray Waller.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t have one.”
“But now you don’t have one.” Her wide, expressive mouth quirked. “You see how that works.”
“I get it, thanks.” His tone was acidic, but his heart thudded hard as she moved closer to him, her hips swinging. She sat down delicately beside him, crossing her legs.
“That your whiskey?”
His neck burned under the soft collar of his fleece. “No.”
“All right.” Leaning forward, she plucked the bottle out of the snow and took a swig, her white throat arching.
“Leona.” Simon couldn’t contain a sound of hypocritical disapproval.
Her unrepentant gaze turned toward him, assessing him, as if she could unspool his soul from his body and examine it in her hands.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said.
“Like what?”
Instead of answering, she took another deep swig of whiskey. There was something obscene about watching her drink, the way she swallowed—it set his blood on fire. Every time he’d seen her over the last ten years or so collided together in his mind in a carousel of erotic imagery. That old longing burned in him.
She handed him the bottle, and its scent struck him again, as difficult and as thrilling as Leona’s presence. He set it down on the bench between them with a clunk.
“First of all,” she said, raising a finger, “I hardly ever see you out of uniform. And even when I do, you’re always…I don’t know. Helping little old ladies cross the street or something. Right now you’re practically loitering.”
“I am not loitering,” he snapped.
“What are you doing, then?”
He opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head, frustrated. He no longer knew. That was the problem.
“What are you doing?” he managed finally.
“Well, I was jogging, but now…” She shrugged. “Loitering, I suppose. You must be corrupting me.”
“You don’t need my help with that,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He knew nothing about her personal life and never had. She was intensely private, even secretive, which had always just made her more interesting to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude.”
“You’re right. It was.” Her gray eyes glittered with amusement. “But it’s also accurate.”
Falling snow had begun to stick to the whiskey bottle’s brown paper bag, and to the sleeves of Simon’s blue fleece.
“It’s getting dark,” she said. “You should go home.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically.
“Are you?” With a quizzical tilt of her head, she leaned in close and traced one gloved fingertip down his cheek like a tear. It was the first time they had ever touched, even by accident. His cold, numb skin sparked, and he couldn’t look away from her eyes, luminous in the fading daylight. This close, he could just catch the sharp, gingery scent of her perfume, mingling with the scents of whiskey and new snow.
She drew away suddenly and stood, brushing snow off her chest and arms. “Well, you might be immune to the cold, but I need to go home.”
Disappointment flashed through him. The one time she spoke to him--
“You should walk me there,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re a compulsive do-gooder and I’m a little buzzed.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. So much for feeling flattered.
“On your feet, soldier.” She reached for his arm as if to help him up, but he brushed her away. He didn’t need her help. He was only going with her because she was right about him—he didn’t like letting anyone walk off alone into Vermont snowfall, even when it was still relatively light snow like this. He couldn’t even call Keene to check up on Leona, like he could with Ray.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. Picking up the whiskey bottle, he made his way back toward the trail. All the outdoor enthusiasts he’d passed earlier had gone home to their wood stoves and hot chocolates, leaving him and Leona alone in a world of snow and gathering darkness. Even dressed for jogging, she was a fairy queen, presiding over a twilit netherworld.
“How do you jog in all this snow?” he asked, when she joined him on the trail.
“Sometimes I have to put spikes on my sneakers,” she said cheerfully.
“And you’re not freezing?”
“Not when I’m moving.”
“Fair enough,” he grunted. For him, standing had only highlighted just how cold he’d become, sitting on that bench. Not just his hands or his feet, but deep in his joints.
They passed a trashcan and Simon chucked the bottle of whiskey into it. Good riddance. He should never have opened it in the first place. If anyone else had caught him with it, apart from Leona… At least she didn’t care enough about him to think less of him.
They followed the trail through the pine forest to a road on the outskirts of town. Soon, they reached tiny downtown Grenton, where the Christmas lights lining Cascade Street cast a gentle glow across the covered bridge, the handful of art galleries, and the retro chrome diner. Only Piper’s Pub showed signs of life, with a gentle buzz of activity behind its warm, golden windowpanes.
“Where do you live?” Simon was pretty sure she rented an apartment on the main drag, not far from her shop, but he didn’t want to admit he knew even that much about her.
“Up there, on Cascade. Above the ice cream shop. But I actually have to stop by the liquor store,” she said, with a innocent glance at him.
He rolled his eyes. He’d be helping her with her grocery shopping next. “Fine.”
They left Cascade Street for the even darker, quieter Pine Road. Leona peered into the forest lining the road, smiling to herself.
“Aha!” She stopped at the entrance to Simon’s driveway. “This is yours, isn’t it? I thought I remembered seeing a police car parked here. And here it is.” She pointed up the long, dark driveway to where Simon’s cruiser was parked in front of his duplex. He let his tenants use the garage, so he parked his cruiser outside when he brought it home.
Leona looped her arm through his, dazzling him, once again, with her scent and her closeness. His elbow bumped her ribs, the underside of her breasts. He ought to move away—but he wanted to pull her even closer. Touching her was both impersonal and intimate, disorienting and addictive.
“I thought you had to—” he began, trying to stay focused.
“It was a ploy, Simon. It takes a lot more than a sip of whiskey to get me buzzed.”
She led him up the driveway to his front porch. His tenants must have strung white Christmas lights along their door sometime while he was out this afternoon, casting that same soft glow across his porch as in downtown. The light shimmered on Leona’s black knit hat, her glossy black hair, her sinful mouth.
“Go inside and warm up,” she told Simon, releasing his arm. “I don’t want you dying of hypothermia. Then the town would have to hire a new cop. What a pain.”
“I can’t believe you tricked me.”
She patted his cheek. “You’re only human, darling.” She turned away, glancing back over one slim shoulder. “Good night.”
The Grenton PD series is (c) 2015-2019 London Setterby. All rights reserved.