Page 1 of Hard Game

1

LAUREN

Swinging my car keys onto the counter, I groan, sliding my fingers into the back of my shoes to ease them off. My feet scream at their release, and I take a minute to revel in the relief. It’s been a tough week, to say the least, but I’m home again. Home, where I’m supposed to feel safe, away from the monsters and demons that lurk in the shadows of the world, waiting for the right person to prey on. The people I try to protect but fail eight times out of ten.

Shit statistics, am I right? Yes. But…It doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

I rise to my full height and shrug off my jacket, cringing when my bones crack. I’m thirty-six, not ninety. I throw my coat over the hook in the hallway before padding to my bedroom, stripping off an item of clothing along the way. By the time I reach my bed, there’s a trail of clothes following me and my gun in its holster beside me on the bed. I run my hand over the sleek barrel as my eyes close, confident that I’m protected while I sleep.

When I wake up some hours later, it’s to the sound of someone banging my door down.

“The fuck?” I grumble, my hand gripping my gun instinctively. I’d been in the force for enough time to make my gun my sleeping buddy, but I had to stop answering the door with it.

It’s getting problematic.

Like when it’s the delivery guy or my neighbor. You know?

So I grab my robe from the back of my bedroom door and leave my gun on my bed against my better instincts. I leave the safety on the door as I open it a crack peering out to see who’s waking me up so goddamn early. My heart almost vomits from my mouth when I see who it is, my fingers scrambling to take the safety chain off. I clutch my robe to my chest; my eyes locked onto the thick thighs with snug navy pants hugging them, to the stiff shirt and bulging biceps. The badge that glints at me, the?—

“Lauren.” The deep, rumbling voice threatens to take the floor from beneath me, but somehow, I hold it together.

I have to.

This is Taron Karpe.

My ex.

“What do you want?” I rasp, arching a tired brow in his perfect direction.

He flashes his white teeth at me before resting a hand on the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over me.

I know what he’s thinking—that I look like shit. That Anna, his wife, puts me to shame. Why wouldn’t she? She’s an ex-model, mother of his child, and all-round super-fucking-star.

I’m a detective with insomnia and an aggressive streak.

“You look like shit, Diess.”

Once upon a time, his words would sting, but not now.

Now? I don’t give a shit. I want to crawl back into bed and sleep until my next shift.

“Fuck you, Taron, I don’t give a shit what you think I look like. Tell me why you’re banging my door down, then fuck off.”

“As charming as ever, I see,” Taron drawls, not taking his eyes from me. “But Carmen has asked me to work a case, and I think you’ll want in.”

Carmen Torra is a high-ranking detective who surpassed my dreams and expectations in about two years. She has a cushy job behind her desk now, delegating cases to detectives like me and, unfortunately, Taron.

I grit my teeth and resist the urge to throat-punch Taron. Instead, I forced myself to ask him why I would be interested in said case.

Taron grins. “Trafficking.”

I stare at him blankly, forcing him to elaborate.

“In particular, the rings of Lockwood.”

Every hair on my body rises. The rings of Lockwood is the case I couldn’t solve. There were too many dead girls and not enough witnesses or evidence.

You tried your best. It just wasn’t enough.

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