White Night

Chapter 9

Connors closed the door to her apartment, resting her forehead against it for a moment, finally home for what was left of the night...

"Wondered when you were getting back," the surly voice behind her said, sending her heart into her throat and her skin cold.

She didn't need this now. She could already see the look on his face: resentment mixed with insecurity, hurt, and anger.

Her gun was still on her hip. Two seconds, one bang, and the problem could be gone forever, but a million new ones spawned...

"I fed the cat," the sullen voice continued.

She looked down to see Merlin licking his lips contently, his green eyes barely open but still glowing against his thick black fur. He looked up at her calmly and then stared at the wall again. Still processing his meal, he wouldn't move for a while now. Merlin wasn't concerned by the intruder; it was her problem, not his.

"I said I—"

"Thanks." She kept staring at her digesting cat. If she didn't turn all the way around, then maybe he wasn't really there and she wouldn't have to look at a face she'd once loved but now feared.

It didn't last. The hallway creaked as he moved toward her and she didn't trust him at her back.

His beautiful blue eyes were agitated, but at least his hands were empty. Proxemics training kicked in. The subject was twenty feet away, still a safe distance for unarmed suspect. The officer in her took a deep breath.

"Why are you here, Jay?"

He stopped suddenly as if she had shot him. The pretense was gone now; his face darkened as his hand came to rest on the heavy vase on the shelf beside him, a potential impact weapon—reactionary gap now ten to twelve feet.

Aware of the gun she carried, she blocked her natural instinct to put her hand to it. Any movement toward her Glock could escalate things irreversibly.

"So that's it. I'm no longer welcome here?" His voice cracked, his fingers twitching on the vase.

An impossible question, although she had answers...

You weren't happy here.

You weren't happy with me.

"Jay, nothing's changed."

His shoulders sank as his face reflected the pain of her words. His hand slid off the vase. "What happened to us?"

We met when I was injured. As I recovered, you stopped helping me fly and started ripping out my feathers.

"We just drifted, Jay."

"You drifted! I was still here!" he shouted, taking steps toward her.

Ten feet away now—her reactionary gap for an unarmed suspect was five to six. She held her ground, as did Merlin, his eyes open wide now.

Yes, you were, always here. Demanding to know when I would be home and furious when someone's death stole me from you.

She looked at the floor. Prolonged eye contact could aggravate him. The usual methods to calm a subject—paraphrasing his words or using his name to build a connection—weren't designed for someone you'd slept with.

False intimacy wasn't going to cool this pyre. She could only let the standoff continue and hope his fire burned out on its own.

He moved toward her slowly, just five feet away now. She looked at her ex-love; he'd left her no space to react if he rushed her, but she still couldn't move first. Shifting her feet, she softly slanted her gun side away from him. She couldn't let him get near it.