Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais
26
Nothing like getting caughtnaked in bed with my lover, his cum leaking from me, to wish I’d skipped the whole college thing and gone straight to work. Sure, it would have been a low-paying gig that might not have gotten me far in life, but it beat the embarrassment of having an audience.
The professor huffed. “I told you they were both here. And have been all night, as you can see.”
Jag pushed up to a sitting position. “What the fuck? Ever hear of knocking?”
I sank under the blankets, too hot-cheeked to face anyone.
Walters barked, “Don’t get mouthy with me. How long have you been here?”
“Me? Since last night. And in case it’s not clear, I wasn’t sleeping alone,” drawled Jag.
Definitely dying, especially since I heard Jenkins muttering, “It’s a wonder she’s got time to get in trouble given how much she gets around.”
I felt Jag stiffen beside me. He didn’t know about Braedon. Would he care if he knew we’d kissed?
“Watch your mouth,” interjected my fake uncle.
“We need to question them.”
“Then you can do so once they’ve gotten dressed. Or would you like to explain this abuse of power?” The professor never got mad—he just got smart.
“Get dressed and meet us downstairs. We have some questions.”
To which Jenkins added, “Don’t try to leave, or we’ll track you down and drag you in.”
Walters coughed.
Jenkins grumbled, “Not literally, of course, but you will answer.”
“To what?” I asked.
The professor eyed me as he said, “We’ll speak about it when you’re ready. Officers?” He swept a hand that forced them to leave the room.
The door slammed shut, and I groaned into the mattress. “Fuck.”
Being a guy, Jag chuckled. “We did.”
Angling my head, I eyed him suspiciously. “How did you know they were coming here?” Was that why he’d seduced me?
“I didn’t. But this does work out well. At least now, they’ll stop acting as if we’re faking our relationship.”
Wait, did this put us in a relationship? Aloud I said, “They thought we were lying?”
“They are supposed to detect that kind of thing.” His lip lifted at the corner.
“But we’re not…That is…” I stammered. “What exactly are we?”
“About to be questioned.” He rolled off the bed, giving me a view of his ass. Nice. I could have sunk my teeth into it.
However, with the cold bucket of cops waiting downstairs, rational thought resumed. I couldn’t help but wonder why Jag had come to my bed. Had he known to expect the police?
He headed for the bathroom, and I didn’t care if he’d touched and seen every inch of my naked body as we fucked. My modest ass went for my knapsack of clothes. I managed a bra and shirt before he emerged. Head ducked because I couldn’t look him in the eye for some reason, I took my panties and slacks into the bathroom with me.
No condom during our little rendezvous meant jizz rolling down my leg. I was on the pill, so I didn’t worry about getting pregnant, but dumb-dumb me, apparently, I wanted to catch a disease.
There really needed to be a better way to ask a guy in the heat of the moment when he’d gotten tested last. Always awkward. I’d not had sex in a while and had two clean blood workups since. I took that kind of thing seriously, having seen what it could do to the body in my biology classes. I should have asked him to put on a rubber. Usually would have. But Jag…there was just something about the guy.
I emerged to find him waiting for me. “Ready?” he asked, arching a dark brow.
I breathed out hard. “No.”
He grabbed my hands and drew me close. The gesture startled me. I met his gaze.
“It will be okay.”
“You can’t know that. What do they want? I don’t even know what happened to you at the police station. Why were you arrested?” We’d not had a chance to talk with our voices. But our bodies? Best conversation ever.
“Security caught me poking around at the morgue.”
“And arrested you?”
“Yeah, charged me with trespassing. The prof sprang me, and I was supposed to go home. But then I heard about the pentagram they found.”
“You confessed to making it.”
“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me. I’m glad the professor got you out.”
“Wasn’t him, actually. Turns out they found footage of the person who made the pentagram that caught on fire.”
Given the cops were here… My shoulders slumped. “They think it’s me.”
He shook his head. “No. The video exonerated us both.”
“What does it show?”
“No idea. They wouldn’t say. But, apparently, it was enough to let me go. The professor brought me here, and rather than find a cold bed, I chose yours.” His lips quirked.
So it wasn’t an accident. “What time did you join me, in case they ask?”
“Eleven, right after the prof and I grabbed some pizza. I was starving, so we brought a few boxes home.”
Eleven? I’d still been awake. And I knew for a fact that I’d been sleeping for a bit before he crawled into bed with me. Meaning he lied.
He eyed me. Waiting.
“Still can’t believe you woke me to ask if I wanted a slice.” I built on our story.
His eyes danced with amusement. “Lucky me, your hunger was of another sort.”
I blushed. He dragged me closer and kissed me. A kiss that told me not to worry. An embrace that held promise.
He let go of me and moved to the door, swinging it open. He held out his hand.
I slipped my fingers into his, and we went downstairs toward the sounds of voices coming from the living room, where Mary, Kalinda, and the professor were gathered.
Walters and Jenkins weren’t the only cops waiting for us. A woman in a dark suit, her hair in a multitude of tight braids, sat on a chair, holding a notepad. She looked over as we entered.
I noticed the tears on Kalinda’s cheeks. The shock on Mary’s face. My fingers tightened on Jag’s, and he drew me into his body.
“Hello, again, Mr. Stallone.” The policewoman’s gaze turned on me. “You are Abby Smith?”
His last name was Stallone? I wanted to giggle and ask him if he knew Sylvester, but the serious lady stole all the mirth from the room.
I nodded but felt a need to add, “It’s actually Abby Baker now.”
The woman’s lips pursed. “I’m Detective Wilson, Special Victims Unit.”
“Why are you here?” Jag asked. “Last night at the station, I thought you had a video that cleared shit up.”
“We are here on a different matter.” Wilson then proceeded to knock the air out of me when she said, “Peter Morris was found dead in the wee hours of the morning under suspicious circumstances.”
