Colton (Cerberus MC #14) - Marie James
Chapter 1
Colton
“That’s correct,” I sigh, head bent over my keyboard, eyes squeezed shut as if it will help to stave off the irritation of having to deal with this for a third time. “I submitted my request two weeks ago.”
“We can’t find it, Detective Matthews. You’ll have to submit it again.” The voice on the other end of the line seems just as annoyed as I’m feeling.
Mondays suck.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take another deep breath. The first ten didn’t help, and this one doesn’t seem like it’s going to either.
“That’s the same thing I was told last week, so I submitted the request again. Is there a supervisor I can speak with?”
“Hold, please.”
Ridiculous elevator music fills the line as my eyes dart to the growing stack of cases on my desk. Farmington isn’t a huge town, so every questionable death lands in front of me. I contemplate taking a vacation, but I know the work will only be waiting for me when I return.
“Hey.”
My eyes snap up to the doorway. I’ve only been at work for twenty minutes, but I’m still not capable of reflecting back the grin that’s being aimed at me.
I raise an eyebrow when my chief doesn’t immediately open his mouth to speak.
“What’s up?”
“Don’t forget you have Professor Wesley from that community college coming today.”
How could I forget?
The answer is simple, I have a million other things to worry about than entertaining the idea of speaking to a bunch of gore-hungry college students about police work. They don’t want to know a damn thing about the ins and outs of the job. Of course their questions start off simple, but they always end with wanting to know about the gruesome side of the job. I blame television for desensitizing today’s youth.
“Tell me that isn’t today.”
“It is,” Chief Monahan confirms as he looks down at his watch. “She should be here any minute.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, holding up a finger when the music stops and someone comes back on the line.
“Detective Matthews?”
“Still here,” I mutter because her voice is filled with the hopefulness that I’ve hung up the phone while waiting.
“I’ve found your request for those documents. I’ll start processing it now.”
“Will it be expedited due to the delay?”
Light from the outer room fills my office when Monahan walks away.
“Did the precinct pay for the rush fee?” My eyes narrow.
“No, but the initial request was made over two weeks ago.”
“Without the correct fees applied, it will be five business days.”
“Perfect.” It’s anything but perfect, but the request is for a cold case I’ve been dabbling with for the last six months. Another week, honestly, won’t make a difference.
“The requested documents will be ready for pickup next Monday.”
My lip twitches, the agitation I’ve felt since my alarm went off this morning coming to a head.
“Thank you,” I tell the clerk before dropping the phone back on the receiver.
If my first thirty minutes at work is a reflection of how today is going to go, I may need that vacation after all. With my eyes closed, I roll my head around on my shoulders, but the back-and-forth motion doesn’t alleviate the stress that’s been building nonstop since I graduated from the academy fourteen years ago.
“Looks like you could use a massage.”
My eyes snap open, but before I can open my mouth to tell the interloper to fuck off, I notice her smile.
Yes, it’s the first thing I see, but I’m a cop, so the ability to take in the full picture in the blink of an eye is a skill I honed many, many years ago.
Mysterious dark eyes, haloed by long lashes, watch me. A slender neck leads to a regretfully fully buttoned blouse. The no doubt sexy curve of her breasts is hidden behind a suit jacket. The soft flare of her hips is covered by a pencil skirt that flirts at the top of her knees. Her tan skin glistens, which should be an anomaly considering the harsh florescent lights.
She’s utter perfection. Younger than I would think a college professor would be, but what the hell do I know? There’s so much cosmetic stuff on the market these days, fifty is the new thirty-five. Going by that math, I’d say this woman may look no older than twenty-five, but she’s probably about ten years older—same age as me.
Suddenly, helping this woman out with her class seems like the best idea my chief has ever tossed my way. When her smile widens, I understand completely. As a married