The Reaper and the Cop by Mina Carter Read Free Book Online Page B

kitchen as he advanced, claws clicking on the tiles. I lifted my blades, ready for battle like some ancient warrior maiden, and then heard a sound that made my heart plummet and sing at the same time. Troy wasn’t the slug-a-bed I’d though he was, he was a sneaky son of a bitch who’d been pretending.
    “Hey, asshole. Get away from the lady.”
    Great. I was in a kitchen, fighting a werewolf I didn’t have the clearance or training to reap. If that wasn’t bad enough, I think the love of my life was threatening it with a gun.
    Boy, am I screwed now.
    ***
    She was quiet. Troy had to give her that. He’d heard the glass breaking downstairs at the same moment she’d jerked awake, but he’d schooled his reaction and focused on her instead. He’d mentally categorized her as a pixie woman, well known to be non-combatant, and assumed she’d gotten caught in the alley by mistake. But now, seeing how easily she woke at the first sign of danger, he was forced to reassess.
    The way she slid from the bed and padded across the floor, even in those clumpy boots, was near silent. Keeping his breathing deep and even as though he still slept, he watched her from under a cracked eyelid. She’d make an excellent cat-burglar, but somehow he didn’t think that’s what she was about. Which was good, since he didn’t want to arrest her after a night of mind-blowing sex. Besides, he had nothing worth stealing.
    He was proven right when she bent, distracting him for a moment with a view of her curvy ass. God, he loved her ass. He almost gave himself away when she pulled two vicious-looking curved knives from nowhere. Startled, his lidded gaze flicked back to the belt, but it looked like a normal belt. He’d thought there was something odd about it. When he’d carried her clothes upstairs, they’d been too heavy and oddly balanced to be simply the fabric he saw and felt.
    Magic-user. She had to be.
    He slid his eyes shut as she turned toward him, no doubt checking he was still asleep, then slipped out of the door and pulled it shut behind her. He didn’t fall for the bait. Instead, he lay there a little longer, in case she pushed the door open again. She didn’t, and after a minute, his breath eased from his lungs in a long rush.
    He surged into movement, flipping back the covers and on his feet in a heartbeat. Like her, he dragged the minimum of clothing on before grabbing his sidearm and heading out the door. It shut behind him with a soft click, and he froze. A crash from downstairs assured him no one had heard it.
    Swearing under his breath, he ran down the stairs, eyes trained on the bottom and his gun at the ready. He tried for quiet, really he did, but at six foot plus was wasn’t a lightweight and the sound of his heart thundering in his ears made it difficult to tell if he managed it.
    Fear raced through his veins like a thousand marching ants with hobnail boots on. A terrible tattoo that accompanied the racing of his thoughts. She’d be okay, she had to be okay, he told himself, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to listen.
    Instinct and the smallest of drafts, little more than a whisper of sensation over his skin, turned him in the direction of the kitchen. Instead of turning left and going through the small study area, he headed right to the main room. The door into the kitchen there was wider with a better line of sight. Whatever was in there wouldn’t be able to hide from him, not from that angle.
    He turned the corner and did a neat half-step to the left, his movements slick with experience. He’d walked around his own place often enough he could do it blind-folded. The main room was rendered monochrome by night. The warmth leeched out of the beiges and browns.
    Half an apple flew out of the doorway ahead of him, hit the floor, and slid a few feet across the wooden floor before it came to a stop at the edge of a rug. He spared it a glance and tucked himself against the wall to approach the door. Three slices of