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So it will be teasers from all unpublished manuscripts.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 continues 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.

~ * ~

“So it’s definitely a Gene-Breed?”

 I cut off the growl that was trapped at the base of my throat. “Unfortunately, yes. The way in which the body was . . . It would be a little difficult for a human to do that, even if they were packing a tone of fancy equipment.”

 He dragged his hand over his face. “All right, but that just leaves one small little detail; Chris’ hair and blood was found on the remains.”

 If Christopher had been near the boy when he had been killed, all anyone would have to do is pull some of his hair out and make him bleed. Do it over the body, and hey presto, framed.

 “Well yeah, you want to set someone up you’re gonna have to plant a little something to connect them to the victim.”

 “So you agree with Lynthia, you think he’s being set up?”

 “I know he is, which means he’s gone and pissed someone off big time.”

 Killing him would make more sense, but someone obviously wanted to drag Christopher through the legal system, and they had gone to a crazy ass length to get it done.

 “The parents made the call to state that their son was missing, right?”

 “Yes.”

 My brow furrowed. “The name sounds familiar.”

 “I’d imagine so; Senator Gibson and his wife have been running the last five terms. There hasn't been a day where they haven't been on the news updates for their campaign.”

 Clap. Flash. The rain beyond the mouth of the tunnel became heavier, each hit to the pavement like nails dropping against glass in my head. I growled. My fingers pressed firmly against my temples, rubbing in circles as I continued to pace; counting each step I took.

 "You shouldn’t be out.”

 I glared at him; teeth bore as I took deep ragged breaths. He lifted his hands and took a step back.

 Even though there was fog rolling around in my mind, Marcus’ last comment somehow seeped through. My steps faltered. “They’re the married couple fighting for equal rights for Gene-Breed’s?”

 “They have been for the last couple of years.”

 I spun on my heels and looked at him; my excruciating headache momentarily forgotten. “And let me guess, it’s looking good for them, right?”

 Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Extremely good.”

 Well, it was nice to know that the many civilians of Florida were more open minded than most of the states.

 I just stared at him; my hands held out before me as if I were offering him something. “Well that proves it, it’s a set-up. What better way to abolish the success of such an amendment than have the only child of the people doing it, murdered by one of the people they are fighting for?”

 “Why not kill the senators?”

 I threw my hands in the air. “I don't know, maybe it make more sense to destroy their campaign by hitting them where it really hurts.”

 A Gene-Breed murdering their son was sure to give them second thoughts about handing over equal rights.

 “Very possible.”

 “Screw very possible, Marcus. It makes total sense.”

 His brow creased; head tilting. “But what worries me now is if this is indeed a set-up, who’s behind it?”

 It wasn’t like there were a lot of possibilities to pick from. Either a Gene-Breed with some warped vendetta, or a homo-sapiens anti-Gene-Breed group who didn‘t believe in equal rights for enhanced humans. Neither would surprise me; there were plenty of people out there who weren’t going to except that change was on the horizon. We just needed a name.

 “Well, isn’t it your job to figure that out, Detective?”

 Pulling at his sleeve, he stared at his watch. “I need to get back to the station and make some calls.”

 “I would suggest setting up a meeting with the Gibson's.”

 “First on my list—” a melodic bleeping cut him off. Digging in his pocket, Marcus pushed his hair behind his ear, and hit the piece of plastic lodged in there. “Green.” His back went rigid. His gaze landed on me. “Are you positive? Fairly, doesn’t cover it, Armstrong. Was Jackson there or not?” His jaw tensed. “Right, I'm on my way.”

 Well, it looked like the cat was out of the bag. What the hell was he playing at? Why hadn’t he come straight to me? It was damn typical of his arrogant ass to go parading around so all the boys in blue could get a good look at him.

 I took a deep breath. “Where is he?”

 “The Cube.”

 I walked passed Marcus, being careful to not fall in to him as another clap sounded above. A scream vibrated at the back of my throat as my vision blurred slightly. God damn storm!

 “Delaney, you’re in no condition.”

 Sucking in a breath, I turned and continued walking backward. My eyes locked with his. “If Lynn told you her past, it means she trusts you.”

 He nodded. “I realize that.”

 “Don't you dare hurt her, and don’t you dare treat her like—”

 His expression twisted. “My opinion of Lynthia hasn’t changed.”

 Good, because I had a big feeling that shit was severely going to hit the fan, and if that was the case Marcus was going to have more than Lynthia’s past to deal with.

 Reaching up, I pulled my black mask in to place over my eyes. With a curt nod, I turned and set off running along the pavement. The sound of my heavy footfalls echoed around the tunnel; the beats falling in sync with the pulse thumping in my temples. The familiar slicing pain was beginning to spiral round my head, caging it. My breathing was ragged as I pushed myself to fight past the blistering heat burning in my chest. I willed my heartbeat to be stronger; for the hunk of fucked up junk in my chest to work better.

This was a bad idea for a number of reasons and I damn well knew it. Looking for Chris was a bad idea, because if I found him I didn’t know if I would have the energy to kick his ass without landing on my own.

Copyright © 2017, Charged,  Elizabeth Morgan

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 another scene from Charged.

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.

~ * ~

Boston Industrial Harbour

Back pressed against the rough stone of the lower harbour tunnel, I kept my head at an angle as I glared at the continuous twist of the clouds. I hated storms; they made my body feel sluggish and my brain feel fuzzy as hell.

 So coming outside in the middle of a storm and getting soaked by the on slaughter of rain wasn’t the best idea in the world. Plus, the tightness of my inner hood really wasn’t helping the pressure that was building in my temples. One would have thought that after a decade of wearing the stupid suit, the claustrophobia from being trapped inside rubber would have initially worn off; no such luck. Not like I wore the damn thing for comfort any way, simple safety precaution so I didn’t accidentally kill anyone I walked past.

 I grimaced as a thunder clap sounded above me. My jaw clenched as the static in my temples pulsed through my head. The weight of my grey jogging pants and large black hoodie became painfully obvious as I shifted from foot to foot; the soaked cotton was an added weight I really didn’t need at this particular moment.

 I lifted my head and looked to my left as footsteps echoed around me. Marcus’ familiar form skulked toward me as he popped his umbrella, and let it dropped to his side. “We really need a new meeting place.”

 His eyes had darkened since this morning, evident lines marking the skin below his eyes. “You really look like shit today.”

 “It’s been a tiring couple of days.”

 “I’m sparking.” I stepped back as he walked closer to me. “So, unless you want to take a lengthy nap, I would stay there.”

 His steps faltered; understanding blossomed on his face. “So, I take it by us meeting this means you’ve decided to assist me?” He took four steps back.

 “There are holes in this case the size of Niagara Falls, please tell me you at least see that?”

 He nodded, his gaze wandering to the gloom lying outside the wide tunnel. “I agree a few things aren’t adding up.”

 A few things? “Dragging a boy from Florida just to kill him in New Mexico doesn’t make sense.”

 “How doesn’t it? He was covering his tracks. He didn't want to be caught. He wouldn‘t be the first killer to make such a decision.”

 My eyebrows rose in unison. “Seven states is a bit extreme, particularly if you’re all going with the whole "savage" angle.” I tilted my head to the side. “I thought it was common knowledge that once a Gene-Breed has gone savage, human sense has fled?”

 “He might have only triggered, which means he’d currently be battling between what's right and wrong. Once he picked up the boy . . . he might have panicked and instead of dropping him off at the police station and running, he took the boy with him.”

 I snorted. “You honestly think that?”

 “I believe it’s a strong possibility.”

 “Well then, you haven't done enough research. The first thing you should know is Chris never hesitates on decisions. Secondly, as everyone knows, savages don't panic; they go on instinct, even if they have only just triggered.”

 “Then it was done purposely. He took the kid and in the end he gave in to his primal instincts. Now he feels guilty.”

 “If he was savage he would have pounced, killed, and not run at all. No way would any savage drag a kid around just to kill him within another zip code.”

 His jaw tensed. “Then that only leaves one option; he must have been taking the boy to someone.”

 I folded my arms across my chest and shook my head. “I already told you, Christopher would never take a job that involved children. I can promise you that.”

 Something dark rippled across his expression as he looked at me. “You believe this because he helped, Lynthia?”

 And it looked like Lynthia‘s History: 101, really did get to the calm and collected Detective.

 Another thunder clap boomed, and a flash struck across the gray sky. My brow tightened. “Lynn's situation is one factor.” I gritted out as I forced myself to walk; pace—do something to ignore the pain.

 “If I'd have known—”

 I shook my head and glanced at him. “For your own peace of mind don't go down that route, Marcus. That type of shit has been going on way before any of us were born and will no doubt continue once we're gone.”

 His jaw was tense; a muscle ticking in the side of his neck. “That doesn't make it right.”

 “I never said that it did, but there are some sick people in this world. They were here way before the “scary” Gene-Breeds and they always will be.” I laugh grated my throat. “Yet, the child molesters, and murders, and petty crooks get fair trials because they are straight up homo-sapiens. They're judged on their actions alone, not their genetic make-up.”

 “I get your point already, Delaney.”

 “Good, because you need to understand why Chris is running, and also that as much as you would no doubt love to put O’Brien’s ass on death row—and trust me, you’re not the only one—McKenzie and his boys are too far up to be touched. They have the Chief in their back-pocket, and they won’t hesitate to cause trouble for you.” I looked at him as I continued pacing. “They could kill you and your Chief wouldn’t bat an eyelash. The news would say you died on the job, and people would believe it ‘cos you’re a cop.”

 His expression darkened. “I understand.”

 “Good. Now, if we go back to the theory of Chris taking the boy somewhere, well, you need to step away and look at what that would mean. If he was taking the boy to someone, then he definitely didn't kill him. You don’t damage your delivery, which leaves one other possibility; another Gene-Breed killed the boy.”

Copyright © 2017, Charged,  Elizabeth Morgan

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

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.

Taken from a WIP that I started in 2012 but as with my WIP Let Me In, I also hit a wall with this little superhero story titled, Charged. 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.

~ * ~

At the sound of a distinct buzz echoing throughout the entire building; I sighed and lifted my foot from the pedal of my pottery table.

 The rain was beating against my windows, and the gray clouds seemed to have swallowed the entire sky; a crystal warning that a storm was already brewing. A warning that I wouldn't be going to the market today after all and that I was going to get a headache. Great.

 Again, my room filled with the buzz of the doorbell.

 I quickly wiped my hands on a ragged towel and stood up, making my way across the upper studio to the stairway. I took my time walking down the staircase, only rushing when I heard the doorbell for the third time, as well as a heavy thud against the gallery door.

 Retrieving the keys from my pocket, I unlocked the ground floor stairwell door, stepping through to the gallery. The room was cold, more so than usual due to the bad weather, but since I was closed on Sundays, heating the room seemed pointless.

 Pulling the door shut behind me, I walked over to the window situation near the entrance. Peaking through the beige blinds, I saw the familiar form of Detective Green standing outside the main door. I sighed. Just the man I wanted to see on my day off; not.

 The collar of his black coat guarded his neck from the falling rain; the stiff material framing the grim expression on his face as he got up close to the stained glass, trying hard to see inside.

 With a muffled curse, I backed away from the window, and dipped my hand inside my apron pocket. I retrieved, and pulled on my thick pair of gray rubber gloves, before switching on the lights to the gallery. The faint pop of the circuit sounded, and the ground floor quickly flooded with soft white light.

 The annoying buzz of the doorbell echoed throughout the long hall, for the fourth time. 

"Open up, Delaney, this is important." Detective Green stated, with yet another heavy knock on wood.

 Everything was important to him, but then he was a cop after all; they really had no examples for comparison.

Walking over to the inner doors I quickly unlocked them, and pulled one open for him. "It's Sunday. I'm closed."

 "I'm not here to browse." He answered, and walked past me. His focus completely fixed on scanning the shop floor.

 I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath as a headache started to prick at my temples. "Somehow I doubt this is a social call."

 Another minute passed before he finally turned and faced me. Grey eyes locked on to me as if he had found the culprit he was searching the gallery for. His narrow lips were pulled down at the corners, a sure fire indication he was in his usual chipper mood. His ink black hair was soaked due to the vast downfall of rain; stray strands stuck to his square forehead, allowing droplets of water to crawl down his flushed cheeks.

 "It isn't." He reached inside his coat and pulled out a large, brown envelope.

 "You know, I should probably be offended at the fact you never come and see me for a simple talk, Marcus." Watching that I didn't step on the small puddles of water he had walked in; I shut the door and slid the bolt into place.

 "I don't think we would have much to talk about, Delaney."

 That much was obvious.

 Walking straight past him, I headed toward my office. "Since you have brought me a present I should ask if you received the one I left at the station for you this morning."

 "Yes." A slight expected pause. "Thank you."

 As always he sounded like he was chewing on glass, and as always the sound of his irritation caused a smirk to form on my lips. Thank you didn't quiet cover the delivery of a felon he had been trying to catch for the last four months, but it would do.

 "You're welcome."

 Light bounced off the carefully placed mirrors as we walked through the long cold room. The pieces of artwork hanging against the white washed walls were vibrant, and bold. Despite the fact that I had looked at all of them a dozen times, my gaze still wandered over each and every piece; admiration dawned once more for the artists who could still find a drop of beauty left in this godforsaken city.

 "You're escapades are starting to become front page news." Marcus commented.

 "Are they?"

 "Are you going to tell me you don't listen to the news updates?"

 I snorted. "I stopped paying attention to the news a long time ago."

 Mostly because it was full of prejudice bullshit; twisting incidents. Making the police look like heroes, and not actually telling the public what they needed to know. Seventy years and they were still feeding the public nothing but fear, and hate.

  "Lynthia is the one who keeps me up to date with what is going on in our wonderful city." I unlocked the door and stepped inside my office. Flipping the switch, I walked over to my desk, sitting down immediately to rummage through my draws and look for the painkillers I always kept in there. "Journalists will report what they know will sell and have the most effect, you know that."

 "I also know that the Chief isn't happy at the attention you're rubber wearing alter-ego is drawing to herself." He stated, closing the door.

 "I'm not drawing attention to myself. Sometimes there are witness', and sometimes the victims sell their story for some extra money, that‘s not my problem.”

 “You could stop.”

 “Hey, I didn’t ask to be born with a bad heart, and I didn’t ask for my new one to go psycho after my accident. I also didn’t ask to live in a city pulsing with crime, and inhabited with every possible piece of shit living. But since I’m still alive, and I can actually do something about half the stuff that goes on in this hole, I will.”

 God, the man goes on like I enjoyed being a walking electro magnet. He’d damn well think different after a few rubber burns on unwanted areas. I can say with all honesty that rubber really wasn’t meant to be worn anywhere apart from feet and hands.

 Finding the packet, I popped two pills out and swallowed them dry. “I won’t stop helping people because your boss is having a fit over the fact that I'm continuing to tidy these street up better than his own men."

 I dropped the packet back in the draw, and closed it. My gaze shifted back up to a suddenly tense Marcus. His stubble covered jaw had popped to the side; his teeth clenched.

 Honestly, men and their stupid egos.

 "I hardly—"

 "The mayor hasn't said anything." I stated, holding my hands up. "In fact I'm sure Lynn said that he was rather thankful for—what the heck have they nicknamed me?"

 The slightest hint of amusement danced in his tired eyes. His lips twitched as he replied, "The Spark."

 "God, I sound like some eighties super-heroine." I shook my head. "Well, he isn't complaining, and it's not like you've done anything to stop me."

 "You saved my life, the least I can do is keep your secret."

 I decided it was best not to remind him that he didn't have a choice. Also that I had actually saved his life three times, and if I hadn‘t he wouldn‘t have been bumped from officer to detective, which wasn’t bad for a man who had recently turned thirty.

 Sitting back in my seat, I stared at him. "Now, what can I do for you today, Detective?"

 Taking the seat across the way from me, he pulled out the documents hidden inside the large envelope he was carrying, and threw them on the desk. "I really wish you would get a computer deck." He grumbled, spreading a variety of pictures in front of me. "Do you know how difficult and expensive it is to get prints?"

 Here we go again. Always going on like I didn't wish I could have all these nifty little devices everyone else got to play with.

 "Do you know how expensive it would be to replace everything that I would keep accidentally frying?"

 "How the hell do you keep records of everything?"

 "Lynthia has a portable. She brings it in with her and types everything up."

 His tension faded slightly at the mere mention of my fiery haired, big-eyed assistant.

 He kept his attention fixed on the pictures. "Where is Lynthia today?"

 Fighting the want to taunt the interest held in his tone, I simply said. "It's Sunday, she's at home. Now, I know you didn't come here to ask me about my assistant. . . ."

 He looked up, brow slightly furrowed. "Of course I didn't."

  I crossed my legs, and clasped my gloved hands on my knees. "Well then, what's up?"

 Flapping his coat, he lent back in his chair, taking on the all too familiar role of a man of authority. My jaw clenched at his ignorant action. Ignoring the small pinch below the surface of my skin, I wiped the droplets of water off my cheek.

 He studied me. "How well do you know, Christopher Jackson?"

 Every muscle in my body froze. "Chris?” My brows arched in unison, eyes growing wide as I stared at him. “You've come here to ask me about, Chris?" The mere thought of those golden cat eyes, and that wicked grin sent an annoying pulse of electricity around my body; turning every ounce of tension in to liquid fire.

 Marcus‘expression remained placid. "You were friends, weren't you?"

 The laugh that passed my lips was sharper than blades gliding against one another. "I would hardly call us friends."

 He arched his eyebrow. "Would partners be a better way to describe your relationship? Or perhaps lovers, is?"

Neither was better, just accurate. 

Copyright © 2017, Charged,  Elizabeth Morgan