Read Online Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) by A.E. Grace - Free Book Online
Authors: A.E. Grace
Tags: A BBW Shifter Romance
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what I meant, Sasha. Do you want James to tag along?”
Sasha glared at him. “D.I. James? I don’t need his help, sir.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I do, sir.”
“Fine. Don’t disappoint me, Monroe. Give me a reason to take away your promotion, and I will.”
Sasha glowered at him. “I know… sir .”
He waved her off. “Then go.”
She went back out through the revolving door, trying not to let herself get angry. In the dusty, windswept parking lot of the police station, she saw the car she’d been given sitting out in the sun. She sighed. Blue five was the department’s worst car, dark, and equipped with a weak air-conditioner, and it meant she’d have to ride with the windows down if she wanted to stave off the heat.
But it would have to do. If she was right about her hunch, then Dylan would be snooping around the crime scene, either to check for evidence he had left behind, or because somehow he was connected. Even if he checked out the scene out of mere curiosity, it would be a big enough violation that she could hold him for the rest for seventy-two hours. She reaffirmed to herself that she didn’t believe in coincidences, not of this magnitude. Dylan was definitely connected. Even if he didn’t kill Charlie Kinnear, he’d probably lead her to the person who did.
And for now, it was all she had to go on.
*
He’s tall, dark, and handsome. A cliché rarely realized. His eyes smolder. His jaw cuts. There is always a space between his lips, as though ever inviting the kiss. That is how Sasha Monroe, retired Detective Inspector, describes him. She does so enthusiastically, as though the memory of the first time they properly ‘met’ is forever at the forefront of her mind.
She also says that he’s got a quite a head on his shoulders, an intelligence that is unusual. She’s quick to temper the statement, though, by reminding me that he’s no genius. Her smile indicates she’s being playful, teasing. It is an unsurprising truth, however, and is no indictment.
But the point is made. He was not an idiot stumbling in the dark. Sasha knows that he knew it was a trap, but she also knew that he was going to take the bait. When asked how she knew, she shrugs, and her eyes flicker sideways, breaking contact for just the briefest of moments. She cannot say for sure, and that bothers her more than she’s prepared to admit.
Gut instinct, she says. A feeling, she says. But it is clear these are just words that are unable to convey the depth or complexity of her meaning. Instinct. Feeling. That special type of precognition that all animal species depend upon for survival. In humankind, the talent is dulled and smudged by technology and cognition.
She elaborates a little. She says she always had it, and even in her youth, she learned to trust her gut instinct quickly, because she was mostly rewarded for doing so.
It is quite clear from her recounting of the Salty Springs incident, in which she and Dylan first met, that her capacity for precognition, that sixth sense, was telling her something. But it was her mind, her reason, her logic, that distorted it. She admits to not being entirely convinced that Dylan Macready was the killer, though she pursued that path anyway.
It so perfectly exemplified the dichotomy between reason and instinct. One could be honed, of course. But the other?
Sasha would remain unaware that she was the just the type of person to make the leap. To cross that bridge.
To return to animal.
- Excerpt from Return to Animal: Unlocking Within by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.
*
Dylan consulted his map again, and drained his small bottle of water in one sip. Chucking the plastic into a rubbish bin, he listened to it rattle in as he looked at the tacky town map. He wasn’t far from Lester Street. At least, that was the best he could glean from the ridiculously off-scale illustration of the town.
Glancing at his watch, he
Sasha glared at him. “D.I. James? I don’t need his help, sir.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I do, sir.”
“Fine. Don’t disappoint me, Monroe. Give me a reason to take away your promotion, and I will.”
Sasha glowered at him. “I know… sir .”
He waved her off. “Then go.”
She went back out through the revolving door, trying not to let herself get angry. In the dusty, windswept parking lot of the police station, she saw the car she’d been given sitting out in the sun. She sighed. Blue five was the department’s worst car, dark, and equipped with a weak air-conditioner, and it meant she’d have to ride with the windows down if she wanted to stave off the heat.
But it would have to do. If she was right about her hunch, then Dylan would be snooping around the crime scene, either to check for evidence he had left behind, or because somehow he was connected. Even if he checked out the scene out of mere curiosity, it would be a big enough violation that she could hold him for the rest for seventy-two hours. She reaffirmed to herself that she didn’t believe in coincidences, not of this magnitude. Dylan was definitely connected. Even if he didn’t kill Charlie Kinnear, he’d probably lead her to the person who did.
And for now, it was all she had to go on.
*
He’s tall, dark, and handsome. A cliché rarely realized. His eyes smolder. His jaw cuts. There is always a space between his lips, as though ever inviting the kiss. That is how Sasha Monroe, retired Detective Inspector, describes him. She does so enthusiastically, as though the memory of the first time they properly ‘met’ is forever at the forefront of her mind.
She also says that he’s got a quite a head on his shoulders, an intelligence that is unusual. She’s quick to temper the statement, though, by reminding me that he’s no genius. Her smile indicates she’s being playful, teasing. It is an unsurprising truth, however, and is no indictment.
But the point is made. He was not an idiot stumbling in the dark. Sasha knows that he knew it was a trap, but she also knew that he was going to take the bait. When asked how she knew, she shrugs, and her eyes flicker sideways, breaking contact for just the briefest of moments. She cannot say for sure, and that bothers her more than she’s prepared to admit.
Gut instinct, she says. A feeling, she says. But it is clear these are just words that are unable to convey the depth or complexity of her meaning. Instinct. Feeling. That special type of precognition that all animal species depend upon for survival. In humankind, the talent is dulled and smudged by technology and cognition.
She elaborates a little. She says she always had it, and even in her youth, she learned to trust her gut instinct quickly, because she was mostly rewarded for doing so.
It is quite clear from her recounting of the Salty Springs incident, in which she and Dylan first met, that her capacity for precognition, that sixth sense, was telling her something. But it was her mind, her reason, her logic, that distorted it. She admits to not being entirely convinced that Dylan Macready was the killer, though she pursued that path anyway.
It so perfectly exemplified the dichotomy between reason and instinct. One could be honed, of course. But the other?
Sasha would remain unaware that she was the just the type of person to make the leap. To cross that bridge.
To return to animal.
- Excerpt from Return to Animal: Unlocking Within by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.
*
Dylan consulted his map again, and drained his small bottle of water in one sip. Chucking the plastic into a rubbish bin, he listened to it rattle in as he looked at the tacky town map. He wasn’t far from Lester Street. At least, that was the best he could glean from the ridiculously off-scale illustration of the town.
Glancing at his watch, he
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