Unlovable

Chapter 21

Chicago Investigations hadn't changed at all in the last two years. Harold pulled his truck right up next to the entrance. He climbed out, leaving it running behind him.

Well after noon, he knew that the snotty little detective would be there and he would demand her to tell him where his wife was.

He barged into the office, showing his badge to the small secretary who jumped up at his abrupt arrival, and headed straight back into Kim's office. Kim looked up from her sandwich briefly before rolling her eyes and continuing on what appeared to be a crossword puzzle.

"Where the fuck is she?" Harold demanded as he stepped in front of Kim's desk. Kim jotted down an answer and took another bite of her sandwich.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to," she said talking with her mouth full.

"You know damn well who I'm talking about, Kim." She shrugged.

"I'm afraid I don't. Now, please leave my office. I'm busy."

She picked up a bottle of Coke and tipped it to her lips. Reaching out he slapped it from her hand, sending bits of soda flying and crashing into the wall. Kim jumped, not expecting the sudden angry movement. She took a deep breath and regained her composure, not allowing him to see her sweat. She wiped a few fallen drops of pop off of the collar of her suit jacket and stood to face him.

"If you think I'm scared of you, Kincaid, you're wrong. I don't give a shit who you are. You will not treat me the same way you treated Darcie. And I will not allow you to treat her that way again."

Harold pointed a finger in her face.

"You don't have a say in the way I treat my wife. I'll find her and you can believe that at least a few of the bruises I put on that pretty little face will be because of you."

Kim took a deep breath and reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out a small hand gun. She clicked the safety off and aimed it in his direction.

"Before you say anything I have a permit, which is something I'm guessing you don't have, you sadistic, psychotic piece of shit. This is my place of business and you've come in here threatening me and my friend and demanding answers you have no right demanding. Get the fuck out of here before I take off your head in self-defense."

"You bitch," he muttered as he held his hands up and backed his way toward the door.

"Keep moving detective. I haven't shot this thing in a while, but if I remember correctly, I'm a damn good shot."

"I'm going to find her, Kim. And when I do you'll both be sorry you decided to mess with Harold Kincaid."

"Oh yeah? Because referring to yourself in the third person is so threatening." Kim quipped as she sat back down in her chair and picked up her sandwich with her free hand, the gun still aimed at Harold's heart.