Spitfire (Dark Star #1)

1. Scarlett

ONE

SCARLETT

"Bet you a Benjamin she's wearing those stupid shoes, pretentious bitch," a male's obnoxious cackle reaches my ears as I close my sedan's door, ensuring my badge is visible at my waist and my gun is strapped in my holster.

The glaring lights from the cruisers momentarily blind me from being able to determine who uttered it, not that it matters, let them fucking talk.

My fancy, expensive shoes getting wrecked are the least of my problems, and he's just pissy I can afford them.

Men like that are weak and useless, their toxic male inferiority oozing from their pores like revolting pus.

They're usually all bark and no bite, which is normally a good thing for them, 'cause I'm all bite and no remorse.

I school my features into the cold, blank mask I always wear, the one that I allow no one past. "Cunt...

" someone else whispers under their breath as I shift underneath the yellow police tape.

I quickly give all the closest male officers a sharp, narrowed glance and make my way to where I can see the local medical examiner, Dr. Stephens, and my partner, speaking in close proximity.

A prickle of heat creeps up the back of my neck, but I refuse to allow them to see their callous dig has hit its mark.

All the usual suspects, quite a circus tonight.

My glance quickly surveys the scene, taking in all the little details that I know most of the officers here will miss, but not me, never me.

I'm always careful, always dissecting the small components that will make or break a case.

Always projecting my confidence like a thick shield against those who would salivate at my failure.

They can all hold their fucking breaths until they die.

I have no intention of giving them what they want, not now, not ever.

"What do we have?" My glance meets Special Agent Jasper Garnier's indigo blue, observant eyes without flinching.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Agent Lyssa. I hope we didn't interrupt your beauty sleep.” His condescending, playful smirk endeavors to get a reaction from me, but he'll be sorely disappointed. Good fucking luck, asshole.

"Unlike someone I know, I was still at the office going over the Roeman file, no sleep for the wicked, Garnier." I clear my throat, smile, and watch with satisfaction as his dark brow rises and his jaw clenches. Take that, you power-hungry prick.

I dismiss him, giving him my back, which I know infuriates him, and turn towards Dr. Stephens, who's looking on with avid amusement.

It's not that Garnier is a bad partner, quite the opposite.

The man has been with the FBI longer than I have, has a great track record of closing cases and profiling, and is meticulous at his job.

It's that he has a superiority complex, and thinks he's always the smartest person in the room.

It grates on my fucking nerves despite us working together for the last nine months on this serial killer case.

His looks don't help matters either, and the fact that he knows exactly how handsome he is and uses it to his advantage, as he is now flirting with an enamored Dr. Stephens, sets my teeth on edge.

The reality is, I have to work twice as hard as any man in this department.

My actions and behavior are always above reproach to prove myself capable, while Prince fucking Charming gets away with breaking the rules with one wink of those mischievous blue eyes.

Stephens clears his throat and brings his attention back to the dead body on the flimsy fire stretcher, mere feet from us.

"Unidentified male, estimated to be in his late thirties, with obvious signs of blunt force trauma, and a defensive stance in his limbs.

Hard to tell, though, until we get him back to the lab with all the burn marks.

" He scratches at the side of his angled head, making him appear bird-like, as he stares unflinchingly at the burnt body on the stretcher.

"Fits the current M.O. Pretty sure this is another one of his victims. I won't hold my breath for any of the killer's DNA, though. "

"This is the fourth in eight weeks. He's escalating," Jasper mutters, the exhaustion that plagues us both audible in his tone.

"Fifth." That we've been able to locate.

I turn and glance in Jasper's direction before stepping towards the body and bending down until I'm at eye level, taking a deep breath of the crispy remains and inhaling the scent of cooked flesh and smoke.

My gaze drags over the partially distorted molten facial features, the victim's mouth open in a scream, some of his teeth broken and jagged.

I lean closer, observing that his tongue is missing, and it causes the corner of my lip to lift, and I wonder what other parts will also be absent.

I take in the skull dented near the temple, leaning forward until my body is hovering above the stretcher to determine if I can see a distinct pattern embedded in the flesh. There it is. Interesting.

The charred skin goes down his neck and collarbone to his abdomen, where his clothing has melted and fused to his skin.

The new pattern is both grotesque and beautiful in its own way.

My fingers twitch with the urge to run down his ruined skin, to dig into his flesh and cause further injury, but instead I keep them tightly fisted and curb my urges.

A flicker of a shadow closes over my vision, and I feel my heart rate escalate as my vision begins to dim, and my hearing tunnels, until the only sound is my blood rushing through my veins.

No, not fucking now, not here! I try to force myself back into the moment, using my sharp nails to dig into the flesh of my palm.

The sting momentarily distracts me from the nothingness that attempts to claim me.

"You alright, Lyssa?" The rumble of his voice, and the undercurrent of concern, push me to pry my eyes away from the flesh, finally breaking my connection to its grotesquerie.

"Fine." I release the tension in my hand, quickly wiping the stinging surface on my pant leg.

"What was that about a fifth?"

"You forgot the one we found strapped under the boardwalk, with his cock still lodged in his throat." I rise to my unimpressive height, even in heels, and watch as the rest of our team moves around like worker ants, attempting to preserve the scene.

"Fuck, you're right. How could I have forgotten that one? It gave me nightmares for a week," Jasper groans, and cups himself, turning away to answer the annoying ringtone he has for our director, as it blares out across the crisp, cold night.

"Any evidence found yet at the scene?" I question as a tech moves towards the smoldering remains of where this body was found. The fire department looks on in exasperation as the FBI team blatantly disregards their orders to stay away until the fire has been fully extinguished.

Stephens sighs and rubs his jaw. "Doubt they'll find much. He hasn't made a mistake yet, plus he uses the flames to cover his tracks." He moves away to direct one of his teams to seal up the body bag and get it loaded for transport, dismissing me without a further glance.

"Boss wants us back at headquarters now. He's getting his ass handed to him by the higher-ups and the media. Someone already broke the fucking story online."

"Lead the way, pretty boy, but I'm fucking driving.

I can smell the tequila and cheap perfume wafting off of you.

" I turn my back without a further glance in his direction and head back the way I came, my heels clicking a staccato off the dirty asphalt as I take a deep breath of the night air. God, I hate this fucking putrid city.

"Doubt the mayor's wife's perfume is all that cheap, Lyssa. Maybe you're just jealous she smells good," he huffs as his long strides eat up the distance between us, and he barks threats and orders at the techs to get everything back to headquarters and not fuck this shit up.

Charming. He fucking wishes. I've never been jealous of anyone in my life. If I want something, I take it. No excuses. No hesitation. Just calculation, hard work, and action.

He pries open my passenger door, and the minute he lumbers his six-foot-two large frame into my sedan, I swear the metal groans in complaint.

I roll my eyes and force myself to take short breaths as I open all of the windows, despite the cool air.

I instantly realize I've made a mistake, and getting into this small, confined space was perhaps not the smartest idea.

I should have made the fucker drive back with one of the patrols.

I reach forward and turn on the radio to a news station, and instantly Jasper changes the station to some version of technopunk that has me rolling my eyes, and gripping the wheel for dear life, rather than his neck and strangling him.

It's not his fault that I'm attracted to him; in fact, his cocky personality alone should be a massive deterrent.

Yet whenever we are too close, I feel my body tensing and heating up.

All my senses go into overdrive, and my pulse speeds up until it's a war drum in my veins, as if I were some pathetic juvenile with their first crush.

All of which I cannot afford to outwardly show him or anyone else on our team.

"You know what your problem is, Scarlett Lyssa?

" I don't bother to utter a single syllable, knowing full well he's not really looking for my input, and instead just likes the sound of his own voice.

I do too, though I would never readily admit it.

"You need to get laid. One hard fuck, and that stick up your ass might dislodge.

Life's too short to be miserable all the time. "

I stare straight ahead, refusing to even look in his direction or acknowledge his crude words.

He's right, though. Life is too short to be miserable all the time.

That's why you have to fulfill all your dreams and goals.

I'm too busy completing mine to worry about getting laid, mind you, there's no way I can let Jasper Garnier know that.

Some things are better left out of sight.