Dylan's Witch by Strong Jory

Author:Strong, Jory [Strong, Jory]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Erotica
ISBN: 9781419920233
Published: 2013-04-24T04:00:00+00:00

“Let’s go. We’ve got a body,” Trace said, interrupting the argument going on in Dylan’s head.

He stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, nearly relieved at having a reason to delay the inevitable, though he knew he’d be going down to Evidence and pulling the box related to the Harper investigation and Miles Terry murder. He didn’t want to believe any of it…

But Jesus. He caught himself lifting his hand to the charm now hidden under his shirt and touched to his skin. His gut twisted. He was grateful for the quiet in his head, but that left too much room for thinking, for images popping and bouncing off the inside of his skull like manic Ping-Pong balls. Lucifer’s Blade. The cut opening in the bar. His bed looking like a murder scene. Seraphine’s bed—and that had his dick threatening to go instantly hard.

“Details?” he said, doubting they’d be enough of a distraction.

“Female. Dumped a little ways out of town alongside one of the roads butting against swampland. Probably hoped an alligator would take care of the disposal problem.”

“COD?”

“We’ll find out when we get to the scene. Some confusion there, initial call came in as a suicide.”

“Like suicides typically take themselves to another location after they’re dead. Anonymous caller?”

“No. Freaked-out tourist.”

“I’m driving.”

After yesterday’s little surprise, he wasn’t letting Trace take control of the vehicle anytime soon.

His partner grinned. “Fine.”

Traffic didn’t require enough of Dylan’s attention. A question popped, escaping before he could stifle it. “It bother you? Aislinn owning Inner Magic? Always involved in that kind of shit?”

“You love the woman, you accept what comes along with her.”

Which was why he had no intention of mentioning where he’d ended up this morning. Man, there were times he felt as if he were the only one still fighting the good fight about the woo-woo stuff, when not so long ago they’d all hated anything that couldn’t be bagged, tagged and labeled evidence.

Evidence. Fuck. Conscience was a free-fall weight from chest to gut.

He should have gone down and had the boxes pulled. He should have warned Seraphine up front that he wasn’t what she was looking for in a man.

Even if he got over the whole witchcraft thing, he’d just end up hurting her. Sometimes there was no beating genetics.

How many times had he seen his mother crying, the light inside of her dying a little bit more at discovering her husband was having another affair? How many times had he sworn he’d never be like his old man?

He touched the gun in his shoulder harness. Trace caught the gesture.

“You got something on your mind?”

Dylan waged war for another mile. Finally said, “I talked to the witch.”

Trace’s instant smile had him grinding his molars.

“So that’s why you’ve been wound up tight since you walked into the bullpen. Kind of like a guy just realizing he’s on his way to pussy-whipped.”

“And you’d know what that feels like.”

“Oh yeah.” His tone saying, and fucking happy about it, cutting a little piece of Dylan’s armor away.

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