Hazel

5 SAM

After tossing him onto the bed, I went to the kitchen to grab some water for him, plus a bucket and towels in case things got ugly.

When I got back to the bedroom, Connor was already rolling toward the edge of the mattress, about to fall off.

I set everything on the nightstand and took off my button-up so I wouldn’t ruin my clothes.

I kicked off my boots too, wanting some comfort.

Then I braced myself and hauled him back toward the center, listening to him grumble.

“Nobody made you drink that much, detective,” I said, rolling him onto his side. “If you’re going to puke, please aim for the bucket.”

I positioned the bucket close enough that he wouldn’t have to think twice.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. The man lying there was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but jeans. The waistband of his underwear peeked out above his jeans.

“Just what I needed to top off this disaster of a night,” I muttered with a bitter laugh.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed some cookies. I was starving. Catching my reflection in the window, I noticed my blouse was stained with small reddish marks.

“Damn it.”

My last decent nightgown was under the bed, trapped beneath White Head. A sliver of light blue fabric was visible just below his arm.

I pulled off my shirt and pants, leaving me in just my bra and panties.

“Please don’t wake up,” I whispered, creeping toward the bed. I nudged him gently, trying to reach the strap of my nightgown.

Just before I freed the last bit of fabric, he growled. I froze, praying he didn’t have a gun stashed under the pillow. He went quiet, and I tugged the nightgown more carefully until it came free. I was about to celebrate when something yanked me onto the bed. On top of him.

My necklace pressed against his chest, my face inches from his.

Connor’s eyes were open, locked on mine.

A smile spread across his lips, and in one quick motion, he flipped us over, taking control.

One of my hands was trapped in his, pinned beside my body, while his other arm created a golden canopy above me.

“Hey… buddy…” I whispered, feeling the weight of his body pressing down on mine, his breath heavy against my skin while my own heart galloped out of control.

He leaned in slowly, his beard brushing against my face. A sigh escaped my lips. He gauged the distance before pressing his lips to mine.

All that tension exploded into a fierce kiss as he held me completely in his power.

As much as I tried to hold onto my sanity, it was impossible to stop. I didn’t want to… I…

Connor released my hand, gripping my waist and pressing his hips against mine. His lips trailed down my neck and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness.

His body moved against mine in waves. My fingers tangled in his hair as his beard grazed my sensitive skin.

He dragged his teeth across my exposed skin. I’d gladly go to hell with a smile on my face for giving in to this feeling.

Connor turned his attention back to my lips, watching me gasp for air. But when the dim light let me see his face clearly, I noticed his pupils. And reality came crashing down, crushing whatever madness had taken hold of me.

“No!” I shoved him aside, sending him tumbling onto the mattress. I scrambled up, grabbed my clothes, and bolted for the bathroom. My skin was on fire, my chest heaving.

It had been hours since I’d found Connor passed out in the gutter, and he was still sleeping like a rock. When I came out of the bathroom, he’d already blacked out again, and he hadn’t moved since. I had to check a few times to make sure he was still breathing, keeping my distance as I did.

The sun was coming up and I was already on my third cup of coffee.

He had his back to me, and I couldn’t ignore the scar on his waist. I remembered what I’d read about him the other day. About his encounter with Ammit.

“You should stop staring at me,” he grumbled, eyes still closed. I froze. My heart raced as I wondered if he’d say something. Ask me what happened.

Connor rolled over, and his pants were still half-undone, just as I’d left them last night. A chill ran down the back of my neck.

“I was waiting for the right time to call the funeral home,” I shot back, stepping away from him and heading for my fourth cup.

He groaned as he shifted, but I made a point not to look.

“Can I make the call?”

“The last thing I need is your wisecracks this early,” he shot back in his usual morning mood.

“Is that your charming way of saying thank you?” I snapped. “I think a simple ‘Thanks for getting me off the street and carrying me to bed’ would do.”

He didn’t say anything, so I turned to look, only to come face-to-face with his annoyingly toned chest, dusted with a few silver hairs.

“Thanks for doing the bare minimum.”

My eyes traveled slowly from his chest to his face, and I had to take a step back before I ended up punching this jerk.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked.

“No idea. But I’ll find out,” he said, rubbing his temples as the room grew brighter.

“Must have been quite a night,” I said mockingly.

“Not what I expected,” he muttered, heading to the coffee pot. “I thought you'd be out all night.”

Did he really not remember anything? Or was he just trying to get under my skin? Because if so, it was working.

“You're lucky that jerk stood me up,” I replied. “Otherwise you'd still be lying on the sidewalk.”

“I get it, you saved the night.” He leaned against the counter.

“You look terrible.”

“You don't say.”

“Didn't your mother teach you never to accept candy from strangers?”

Connor stared at me, his expression a mix of “I'm dying from some horrible disease” and “be thankful I'm not armed right now.”

“Oh, so it was intentional?” I mocked. “You should stay away from drugs. At your age, scopolamine can be fatal.”

“How do you know I don't just have a terrible hangover?” He looked at me curiously.

I took the last sip from my cup.

“Your pupils were dilated, you could barely stand. Your breathing seemed shallow. Oh, and of course… there's the smell.”

“Smell?”

“Yeah… I noticed it when I put you to bed.”

He rubbed his temples again, closing his eyes.

“You should go to the police.”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay.” I kept watching him.

“This staring thing is annoying.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” I shot back.

“Obviously.”

“Great. I'll keep doing it.”

“You know what? Maybe my headache isn't from the drug.” He stared at me seriously. “Maybe the problem is you.”

“You can always leave,” I replied, more irritated than I expected.

“In your dreams.” He walked past me toward the bathroom, leaving me so furious I could have burned a hole through the floor.

Either he didn't remember anything or he was playing dumb to avoid admitting it. Whatever the answer, I hated what this feeling was doing to me.

Trying to distract myself, I put in my earbuds and got lost in music while scrolling through the news on my phone. After almost half an hour, he came out of the bathroom with water still glistening on his skin, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, and went straight to bed.

I did my best to push away the memories from the night before and act like an adult. He had been drugged and robbed. I tried to convince myself it was a lot to deal with and maybe he just wasn't ready to talk about it.

“Feeling better?”

He let himself collapse onto the bed.

“I'll feel better when the substance is completely out of my system.”

“If my theory is right… and I'm pretty sure it is, it'll take a few hours before you feel better.”

“And you're some kind of drug expert?”

“No. But I'm twenty-five.”

He glanced up at me sideways.

“Do you remember?” I asked, not sure if I wanted the answer.

“I only remember getting to the bar. And the blonde girl.”

“Girl?”

“Yes. A tourist. She told me she needed help.”

“And you just couldn't resist… Was she pretty?” My teasing seemed out of place, and he glared at me, making me swallow any follow-up jab.

I fell silent and went back to the news and the music in my ears. I was deep into scrolling through pages and sites when a Twitter user posted that he'd started his day by finding a body near his house.

In the following tweets, he described what he'd seen and what he'd heard one of the cops say.

Another user commented that the night before, he'd seen a bizarre scene and described a creature that could be a figure we knew all too well… Ammit.

I wondered if Connor was on Twitter. If he was, I could send it to him.

I didn't even dare search. What if I found out he was some kind of crazy neo-Nazi? The idea of kissing a neo-Nazi made my stomach turn.

I kept reading, and other random people seemed to have spotted the beast too.

“Damn,” I muttered before working up the nerve to show him. “Detective Whitehead?”

He didn't respond, and I wondered if he was asleep.

“Whitehead?” I repeated two more times. “Detecti—”

“My name is Connor,” he responded suddenly.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“You've never called me that,” he shot back.

“Not to your face,” I added.

“What did you want? Besides annoying me?”

I got up and walked over to him, phone in hand.

“How’s your investigation going?” I asked, then realized from his expression that he wasn’t exactly eager to share. “Forget it... I saw something... it might be nothing, but...”

Connor forced himself to sit up and took the phone from my hand. He stayed quiet while he read, not showing a single ounce of interest.

“So?” I was anxious, but he ignored me and kept reading. Several minutes later, he was still silent. “There’s no way you’re still reading.”

“I was.” He handed the phone back to me and moved to get out of bed. With great effort, he stood up, and the towel almost fell, taking my heartbeat with it. “Sorry, I’m going to get dressed.”

He walked unsteadily to his suitcase and pulled out a change of clothes.

“I’ll step out... so you can change.” I sighed and went to the bathroom door, locking myself inside. “Tell me when I can come out.”

I heard him groan while getting dressed and waited until he knocked on the door.

He was checking his gun.

“Have you seen my phone?”

I tried to remember if I’d seen it on him, but all I could remember was that he’d been wearing pants last night.

“You should see a doctor,” I said, watching him rub his temples again.

“I don’t need to.”

“Have you considered you might have been assaulted?”

“I’d know if that had happened.” Connor tucked another gun into his ankle holster.

Would he really? So he was just pretending nothing happened?

“I’m worried that...”

“You’re worried about me?” he asked seriously.

“I’m worried you’ll die in my house,” I said with a mocking expression.

“I won’t,” he shot back. “Can I borrow your phone?”

I hesitated for a second but finally unlocked it with Face ID and handed it to him, hoping he’d ignore my photo dressed as Cleopatra on the lock screen.

“It was a costume party...” I tried to say, but he ignored me.

After trying to call a few times, he handed the phone back to me.

“You should rest,” I said, watching him walk toward the door.

“I’ll rest when Ammit is caught... or dead,” he said, and left.

“You know what? You’re the adult, right?” I said to the walls, watching the door slam shut.

I put my phone on the counter and grabbed my parents’ files. I had my own hunt to worry about too.

For about half an hour, I worked on cleaning up the notes I’d made after my last trip to the desert.

My phone rang, and I answered.

“Hello?” I said, without taking my eyes off the paper.

“Hello Sam, it’s me, Ahmed. I’m investigating a man’s death and I think we need to talk.”