Tuesday Teaser: Charged

Every Tuesday I will share a teaser from Work in Progress' only.

So it will be teasers from all unpublished manuscripts. Nothing from already published books.

This weeks teaser is taken from Charged and carries on from last weeks, which you can read here.

I started Charged in 2012 but as with my WIP Let Me In, I also hit a wall with this little superhero story titled. A lot of world building went into this, but for some reason my Muse wasn't getting along with the characters enough to want to continue with the story. It currently stands at 15k and I am determined to eventually completing it. Especially since I purchased the book cover back in 2012 also.

Please remember it is still a rough draft so there will be mistakes and details are subject to change. Plus after reading through it I already know I need to add a little more background detail here and there.

~ * ~

Ignoring the tightness winding around my jaw, I shifted forward and placed my arms on the desk. "Why do I get the feeling you already know the answers to everything you are going to ask me?”

He simply stared at me, completely unfazed.

"I'm honored you would do your homework."

"I make it my business to know everything about a person who decides to take the law into their own hands."

"Fair enough.” Not to mention wise, which was why I had done the exact same thing the moment Detective Marcus Green had found out who I was, and what I could do. I took a deep breath, and folded my arms on my desk. "I last saw Chris three years ago, and I haven't seen or spoken to him since."

 "Did you part on good terms?"

 "Fairly."

 "Would you care to explain what fairly means?"

 "I didn't hunt him down and put him in a coma." Oh, how I had wanted to, so badly.

 Folding his hands on his lap, he shifted in his seat. An agonizing moment passed, before he continued. "Do you think he is capable of murder?"

 I was starting to dislike the direction this conversation was heading. "Anyone is capable of that."

 "Including you?"

 "Especially me."

 He already knew that. He already knew that if I held on to long—even if it was for a minute—I could kill someone.

 Taking a life was a person’s choice. It wasn't as simple as if they could or couldn't do it. You put someone in a situation where they had to fight for their survival, nine out of ten times they would. If you wanted to live and the only way to do so was to injure or kill someone else . . . Hell, you would do it. Didn't mean you would like it, or that you even wanted to do it; you just would.

 "You didn't answer my question."

 "I think I did."

 He popped his jaw. "Has Chris ever killed anyone before?"

 "Once; it was self-defense."

"How do you know?"

 I arched an eyebrow. "I was there."

 "Did you ever report it?"

 If he had done his homework on Christopher he would already know the answer to that. Christopher was a Gene-Breed, and it wouldn't matter to the cops or the judge if he had done them a favor and rid them of one more crook. They would fry him, simply because he wasn't completely human. Simply because they were repulsed and afraid of him; of what he was, what he could do, and how he came to be.

 Twenty-second century, and that was justice for you, or at least it was if you were a Gene-Breed.

 I rolled my head in a full circle, listening as the muscles popped. My headache had already started morphing in to a dull throb. "Marcus, I am not a prisoner and we are not in one of you little questioning cells. Also I would like to point out the despite the fact you find it hard to believe, I do actually have things to do on a day to day basis." I looked back at him. "So just get to the point already."

 "Chris is wanted for kidnap and murder."

 I snorted. "That's ridiculous."

 He blinked, genuinely stunned at my reaction. "Kidnap and murder is serious, Delaney."

 No shit Detective. "I'm very aware of that, Marcus. I meant it's ridiculous because Chris would never do such a thing."

 Even if he was given all the money in the world to bump someone off for someone else, he wouldn't do it. He always said he drew the line at taking a life, and it was the one thing I believed him on a hundred and ten percent. He was an idiot, but not a heartless one.

 "Has he ever kidnapped anyone?"

 "Nope."

 He had taken people to remote places, scared them to within an inch of their lives, but then he knocked them out and returned them to the spot he had found them. Could that be classed as kidnapping?

 I scrubbed my hands across my face. "Why are you asking me about, Chris?"

 "Like I said he is wanted for kidnap and murder by the state of Florida."

 "Then why—" I bit my tongue as the answer hit me. Man I was dumb in the morning, or was it during a storm? It didn't matter. Marcus' answer only confirmed my late realization.

 "He's in Boston. Why else would I come to you with this?"

 Christopher was in Boston; great. He was in Boston and he was on the run from the cops who were charging him with murder; fantastic. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Why had even bothered coming back?

 "I was hoping it had something to do with the fact you like me in rubber." I had meant to reply in a teasing fashion; instead it came out flat, like I was a comedian who missed the point of my own joke.

 "Has he been here, Delaney?" He shifted forward, pressing his arms on the desk; mirroring me. "Don't lie to me."

 "No. I haven't seen him." If I had, he would be dead. Dead with a massive bow tied to his corpse ready for Detective Green to take home with him. “I didn’t even know he was back. I swear it.”

 He nodded, and it was the only indication that he might believe me. His focus shifted to the pictures before us. Finally, I glanced down, my eyes trailing over the images of a mangled body, yet my stomach didn't turn until I saw what the victim was.

 Grabbing a picture of the body in full I dropped back in my chair. "This is a child."

 "Yes."

 "You're trying to tell me Christopher Jackson kidnapped and murdered a child? This child?"

 "Yes."

 I looked up at him, my lips curling as I threw the picture on the desk. "Bullshit. Chris would never do such a thing. Whoever the hell told you this is lying."

 "Maybe he has gone savage." He moved the images about, his focus fixed on them.

 My fists clenched. "Not a chance." He was a pure, third generation Gene-Leopard; he had ages before he was suppose to trigger.

 "You haven't seen him in three years, he may have changed. Maybe someone is using him. Maybe he is desperate—"

 My fists landed on the table, causing him to jump back slightly. "Listen to me, Marc, and listen very carefully; Christopher is the biggest asshole I ever met. Yes, he has done some odd—"

 "Illegal."

 I growled. "—Things in his time, but if you had done your homework properly you would also see that whatever he did, he brought the cops right to the men or women who hired him. On many occasions he has helped me. He may act badly, but he is a good man, and he would rather fry than ever hurt a child."

 His eyebrow arched. "And you know this for sure, despite the fact you haven't seen him in such a long time?"

 God, I wanted to punch him. "Yes."

 "Why is he running then?"

 My jaw tensed. "Christ Marc, if you really need an answer to that . . . . You need to wake up and see how fucked up the justice system is.”

 "He's not helping himself by running. If he's innocent—”

 “Innocent or not, the judge will just see this as another opportunity to exterminate a Gene-Breed. You’d run if you knew you were screwed either way.” I held the picture before his face. “Christopher Jackson didn’t do this.”

 “Every officer in the district is looking for him, and they will eventually find him, Delaney.”

 I dropped the picture to the desk. “Well, I guess I better wish you good luck.” Chris would only be found if he wanted to be found.

 His expression flattened once more. "Be smart, Dee, and for yours and Lynthia's sake, don't try and help him."

 I stood up; all my weight rested on the desk as I leaned in and looked him square in the eyes. "I wouldn't threaten me if I were you." I suggested calmly.

 "Ditto." Not moving his gaze from mine, he stood up, and lent in, leaving a breath of space between us. "If he comes here, call me"—he shifted as a spark of electricity popped between us—"and make sure he doesn't leave." He finished, squinting from the small shot of pain. "Did you hear me?"

 I straightened. "Yeah, I heard you." But there was no way in hell I was promising such a thing.

 "Good." He walked over to the door and pulled it open. Without sparing me another glance he simply said. "Keep the file, I have a feeling you will want to look at it some more."

Copyright © 2017, Charged,  Elizabeth Morgan