Page 11 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

My jaw drops. “Oh, sweet buttermilk tap-dancing Jesus—are you serious right now?”

He exhales like I’m the inconvenience in this story. “Ma’am?—”

“Ma’am?” My voice hits dangerous sparkle.

“Oh, he did not just.” Sebastian locks his phone screen now, fully attentive.

“Unless you’re about to follow that with ‘you were absolutely right and here’s a fleet of patrol cars,’ I’d suggest you choose another noun.”

“Period.” My personal hype squad of one cheers me on in loud whispers.

“You’re emotional.”

I stop pacing. Go still.

Sebastian gasps. Hand to chest.

“Do you know what I am, Detective Brannon?” I ask, calm as can be.

“A woman trying to prevent a second attack that will land onyourdesk if you keep ignoring what’s right in front of you. And when it does? I will make sure every inch of that blood is traced back to the fingerprints you didn’t lift. The leads you didn’t follow. The bare minimum you couldn’t be bothered to do.”

Silence.

Then, finally:

“If something happens, tell her to call it in.”

That’s it. That’s his answer.

I don’t even say goodbye. I just hang up.

Hard.

The phone hits the desk with a bang and skids into my stapler. My rosé sloshes, and so help me, if it had spilled on my blouse, I’d be filing a second criminal report today.

“Fiddlesticks!” I hiss, grabbing the edge of the desk. “Fiddlesticks and flaming fudge rockets!”

Because what I want to say is too unladylike for my lipstick.

“Do we need shovels for bodies or martinis?” Sebastian is ready for anything. Always. No questions.

“Both.” I stare down at the desk, breath hitching. My hand is shaking from the adrenaline.

I blow out a sharp exhale through my nose and tap back to Mari’s line.

She picks up instantly. “Poppy?”

“I’m here.” I soften my voice, smoothing the edges like a fraying hem. “Listen, honey, it’s Friday night. Courthouse isclosed until Monday, which means the legal system is basically on vacation unless someone gets murdered.”

“Great,” she mumbles.

“I’m not saying that for drama—I’m saying it because I need you somewhere safe until I can do something more permanent.”

She goes quiet again.

“Can you get to a hotel?” I ask gently. “Something close by, maybe a place with cameras in the lobby. Somewhere with staff, lights, witnesses. Give me the weekend. I’ll be the first one through the courthouse doors Monday morning.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian mutters, going back to editing his Tics with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Tragic.”

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