Dirty Law by Mary Catherine Gebhard

Author:Mary Catherine Gebhard [Gebhard, Mary Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unglued Books

I pulled up to Law’s hotel and said, “Your personal taxi has arrived at its destination.”

“You’re coming up with me, Nami.” Law sighed, like I was the one putting him out.

“Hmm,” I mused, turning the ignition off but keeping the car on. I put a finger to my lips, as if pretending to really consider what Law had said. “I think I’d rather drink battery acid.”

“It’s time you learned about me, Nami.” Law’s usual smooth brogue adopted a sober, almost chilling intonation. “The real me.”

“Said every serial killer ever.” I turned my ignition back on. “No thanks.”

“I have information that can help you ruin Morris,” Law said, the way someone might say “I have candy” to a four-year-old. Glaring, I turned off the ignition once and for all.

“Spill.”

“Not until we’re upstairs,” Law stated bluntly. “I’m not about to give you this information and have you fuck off without a thank you.”

I scoffed. “You don’t strike me as the guy who needs a thank you card.”

Kicking his door open, Law smiled back at me. “Well I do.”

I didn’t need to follow Law up to his room. I remembered it with perfect clarity. It was where we had kissed, where he had saved me. It was where he held pieces of me I hadn’t known still existed.

It was a very eerie walk back there. I kept having déjà vu. When he waved his keycard over the lock, my eyes focused on the card and the hallway disappeared. It felt as if I were a high school student on prom night following her date into the motel.

I was so unnerved that the minute Law unlocked the door I pushed past him and ran inside before he could. I needed to get a good vantage point. I chose the radiator, ignoring the hot metal scalding my skin.

“Interesting spot,” Law remarked as he shut the door behind us.

“Shut up. Why am I here?” The metal burned my flesh, but I refused to be weak. Even changing locations felt like I was giving something up to him. In lieu of responding to me, Law went to his mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He took a sip of one and offered me the other. I glared at him.

“Suit yourself.” Law put the bottle back inside the mini fridge and turned to me. “I have a journalist that can help you.” I was so bewildered I couldn’t even laugh. A journalist? Like a member of the media? Part of the lynch mob that had personally tied me up and thrown me over the edge of a building marked “The Associated Press?”

After a few moments of silence I eventually said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you laughing?” Law asked. Thankfully the radiator had turned off. The metal was still hot, but I was no longer at risk of third-degree burns. I lifted one sweaty thigh over my other leg and leaned against the winter chilled window. Law watched me just as intensely as I him.

With

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