Page 175 of They Are Mine

Not a cop.

Not in uniform.

He moves too loose, too casual.

Rough around the edges.

Broad shoulders, tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves of a faded t-shirt. Ones that look gang-affiliated. Like the kind of tattoos people get when they’ve murdered someone and the group throws them a party.

He doesn’t stop. Just pats the desk in passing, flicking a smirk at Grimm. “You questioning that sweet girl without an attorney?”

Oh.

Oh.

I like that.

I like him.

Grimm doesn’t even look up. “Move along, Callum.”

Callum.

His name is Callum.

That is disgustingly hot.

I watch as he moves past, disappearing down the hall, and suddenly?

Tammy is not my problem anymore.

Because him?

He’s mine.

“I’ve told you all I know,” I say, crossing my legs, tilting my head like I’ve got far better things to do. “I have so much work to do, Detective. Why don’t you call me if there’s anything else I can help you with? Though, honestly, I simply don’t associate with my boyfriends’ exes.”

Grimm watches me for a long moment, then relents, thank God, because I need to get out of here before Callum fucking vanishes.

I don’t rush. I’m poised, composed, regal. A woman who definitely didn’t just lie about murdering someone with a baseball bat.

But the second I step outside?

I scan the lot, heart sinking.

He’s gone.

Shit. Double shit.

I barely had time to drink him in, to really memorize every gritty, rough-cut detail.

Callum.

He oozed danger.

Excitement.

Something raw and untamed.

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