Hold Me Closer, Necromancer by Lish McBride

Hold Me Closer, Necromancer by Lish McBride

Author:Lish McBride
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-07-28T04:00:00+00:00


For the second day in a row, I was startled out of a deep sleep by knocking. I jerked, rolled, and fell out of bed, trying not to scream while I considered how long it was going to take my back to heal if I kept waking up this way.

Ramon came running into my room. “Sammy, get off the floor. Now.”

“Can you just tell them we don’t need Jesus, Girl Scout cookies, or whatever the Mormons worship, and let me lie here in peace?”

“It’s the cops.”

An image of Brooke’s head on my armchair flashed in my mind. “Don’t just stand there, help me up,” I said, holding a hand out to him. With Ramon’s help, I quickly pulled on a sweatshirt. “Ramon, Brooke’s head—closet.”

Ramon went running out of the room. He came back in, whispering explanations into Brooke’s bowling bag as he hid her in my closet.

I thought that might be the first place they would look, but for all I knew, the number one place for finding severed heads was under the kitchen sink. I was kind of new at this. Either way, we had no time for anything else.

Detective Dunaway was polite, asking if now was an okay time to talk. He looked large in my doorway, but as I ushered him in, I was surprised to see that he was about average size.

“Can I get you something?” I asked as I waved him to the easy chair.

“If you have coffee made,” he said, “I wouldn’t say no.” Ramon went to fetch some while I sat across from the detective. He looked to be entering his forties in better shape than I ever hoped to be in. His brown hair was short and his jawline clean; he didn’t have to rely on a mustache to intimidate like some cops did. He wasn’t big, and he wasn’t showy, but I wouldn’t want to get in a fight with him. I sat on the couch facing him, hoping my hands weren’t shaking, as Ramon handed me a cup of coffee. The detective took a cup as well and was he-man enough to drink it black. I can do without sugar, but I need cream at least, damn it.

The detective took a sip and thanked Ramon. “You boys know why I’m here?” Dunaway, apparently, was not a word waster. He set down his cup without taking his eyes off of us.

Out of habit, my eyes flicked over toward my skateboard, the usual reason for me to talk to the cops. He followed my gaze, and the hard look on his face lessened.

“Nope,” he said. Then he sighed and leaned back into the recliner, facing both Ramon and me on the couch. “Either of you call in to work today? Stop by? Talk to a coworker?”



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