Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

enough to pin this on shock, or stress, or the very unwise popping of a prescription pill. Perhaps even a combination of all three.

But I also think, deep down, that I’m in a good mood because I’d got the better of that asshole. I’d killed a man who was trying to do the same to me, perhaps with even more evil intentions to play out before that. I’d defended myself, I’d been brave, just as I’d always hoped I’d be.

In other words, I feel like a grade A badass. A little spring in my step could be allowed, couldn’t it?

Now that I think about it, the answer is no, as the phone call with the hiker’s parents has proved. Two deaths in as many days in this quiet mountain town, both on my watch, is going to raise eyebrows. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

The door to the station jingles open and Kyle steps in, dressed for his shift at the Bait & Tackle rather than his bartender look, not that the two are much different. He looks harried, alarmed, but the expression turns to relief when he sees me.

“Jesus, Mary, I just heard. You okay?”

“Heard what?”

“About what happened last night. The… the guy in your house. Holy shit.”

“Oh yeah, that. I’m fine, really.”

He’s staring at me like I’ve just stepped off an alien spacecraft. “You’re not fine. You’re in shock. I’ll get Doc over here.”

“No.” The word’s a little harsher than I intend, and the tone seems to only add to Kyle’s concern. I try again. “I am fine. Really. Just… look, between us, I feel kinda… I don’t know, powerful. I defended myself, Kyle.”

“You did more than that,” he says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. That’s pride, I think. And something else, too. A glimmer in his eye I recognize.

I stand and walk past him, locking the front door and setting the OUT OF OFFICE sign to indicate just that. Then I stroll past Kyle again, letting his eyes follow me as I make my way to the back where the storage rooms are.

He gets the hint.

In a room used for storing cleaning supplies, paper towels, and printer paper, I lay the man down on the hastily cleared table and let him deal with his own disrobing while I strip out of the uniform.

Naked, I climb up over him and resist the tug he gives me. He wants an embrace, he wants to see my eyes. Two nights ago our mouths never parted while we made love, but I need something different now. I turn and face the door, away from him, and with a few adjustments he’s inside me and I’m doing all the work.

“Slow down,” he breathes.

Not today, I think, staring at the door, then with my eyes closed, fulfilling myself with total abandon. It’s over quickly. I’ve barely broken a sweat, and unlike our previous encounters I skip the sensual process of coaxing him back for round two. Instead I leave him there, panting, glistening, then calling out to me with more than a little confusion.

Not ten minutes after I locked the front door, I’m back and opening Silvertown Police’s headquarters for business. Kyle emerges from the back room a few minutes after that, glancing around expectantly. “Who came in? Did they suspect anything? Didn’t hear the door.”

“No one came in,” I tell him, back at my desk already.

“Oh,” he says, confused. “You got up in such a hurry, I thought…”

“Just have a lot of work to do, actually. You know?”

From his expression I gather he’s not taking this at face value, and for a second I’m tempted to reassure him. I decide instead to let the boy stew a bit, wondering what my intentions with him are. It’s a relationship tactic I’ve seen a hundred times, be it friends or characters in films, but one I’ve never tried myself. I’ve had a fair number of lovers in my life, but one thing I’ve never had is makeup sex. No games, not even a single argument. Maybe I’ve been missing out.

“Well, okay. See ya later, I guess?” he says from the door, though his eyes are begging me for a rematch.

“Bye,” I say, with a grin I can’t quite manage to hold back. He returns the smile, though a little sheepishly, and leaves.

I don’t exactly know who this new Officer Mary Whittaker is, but I think I like her.

Paperwork ensues. By 10:00 a.m. I’m already thinking about lunch despite having had two breakfasts. I decide I should get out into the sun and patrol on foot for a bit. Be seen, answer questions if people have them. The incident at my house last night has already spread like a virus through Silvertown, I’m sure of it. Might have even made the morning headlines down in Granston. Gossip I can handle, but the idea of a news van or two arriving fills me with dread. Slick-talking so-called reporters and their camera teams. One of the draws of this place over a city like Oakland is the distinct lack of those parasites.

I’m halfway out the door when the phone rings. “Silvertown Police,” I answer.

“Greg?” the caller asks.

“Do I sound like Greg?”

A pause. “No, sorry. It’s Mary, then?”

“That’s right.”

“Hi, Mary, my name is Milton Skinner, don’t think we’ve met. I live up on Silver Glen Lane—”

“Is this an emergency, Mr. Skinner?” I ask. Silence stretches.

“Er, well, I’m not sure. It’s about my neighbor, Sally Jones.”

My mind is yanked back to earlier, when I passed her on the sidewalk. “Sally, yes. I just saw her here in town. What’s the problem?”

“You saw her in town?”

“That’s literally what I just said.”

“Ohhhh-kay,” Milton Skinner replies. “We got off on the wrong foot here, Mary. Maybe I should call back.”

I take a deep breath. “Sorry, no. I’ve just got a lot going on. Go ahead. You were calling about Sally?”

“Thing is, Officer, I can hear her babies crying, which is saying something, because she