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  One

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  No, I wasn’t being dramatic, although I had been accused of that on more than one occasion. Mostly by ex-boyfriends and blowhards who thought they knew me. Which, FYI, they did not.

  “Are you even listening to me, Officer McKenzie?”

  “Yes, Captain Wolfe, I am,” I replied, meeting his steely gaze for a fleeting second. Even though he was sitting down, he still towered over me. At five foot four, I was used to having to crane my neck back to meet people’s eyes, and most of the time, it was because they thought they could stare me down and intimidate me. Well, it didn’t work for Peter Prince in elementary school, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to fly now.

  Besides, I had a gun and I was a damn good shot.

  At least, I would once they re-issued it to me. Right now, it was staring at me from beside Wolfe’s elbow, along with my badge.

  “How was the week off?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, the steel frame creaking a little with the movement. “Been keeping busy?”

  I glanced up briefly, then looked away. With blond hair buzzed close to his head and steely gray eyes, Vaile Wolfe had an aura about him that scared the pants off of me, and anything that scared me, I tried to give a wide berth. And avoided looking at.

  If I could be in another zip code right now, I would be.

  “Honestly? It sucked. Hard.”

  He smiled with more teeth than necessary, making the grin look malevolent. “You could’ve gotten out of town. Visited family?”

  “I don’t have any,” I replied, trying not to fidget in my seat. When I fidgeted in my boss’s presence, I felt like I was prey.

  Heaving a sigh, he flipped open a folder and scanned the contents. “You’ve only been with us for eight days.” Ah, so that was my career record then.

  It felt like a statement I should have a rebuttal to, but it was the truth. Okay, so here’s what happened—on my first day on the job, my partner and I got into some trouble. Yes, he was killed in front of me. Yes, I froze like a fucking deer in headlights…or like someone who just found out that all those monsters she’d been told weren’t real, actually were.

  “You’ve been on compassionate leave for seven days.”

  I held back my snarky reply.

  Captain Wolfe was a scary motherfucker who didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

  I figured that one out for myself on day one.

  ‘Compassionate leave’ was a nice way to put it though. I’d watched my partner die a horrible, horrible death. And just stood there. Then they told me not to come into work for a week while they decided my fate.

  “Are you still struggling with the Reveal?” Wolfe asked softly. “It’s okay if you are. It’s only been six months, but for many, adjusting to the new reality is hard.”

  The Reveal was the day the world found out humans weren’t the only ones living on this planet.

  It had all started with multi-billionaire John Davis and his shitheel son, Marcus. Marcus was convinced that dear old dad was running his auto-manufacturing company into the ground, and as a result, running all of his inheritance into the ground. The solution, in Marcus’s mind, was to hire a hitman to get rid of his father. The hitman, as it turned out, was fae, and when Marcus was eventually arrested for conspiracy to commit murder, he sold the hitman out in order to save his own skin.

  In a much-publicized trial, the hitman—a fae named Kailon Perry—took the slight to heart…and out on Marcus’s ass. In front of the cameras, he let everyone see what he hid beneath his glamor while he tore Marcus Davis limb from limb. Literally.

  After that, all the supernaturals had come out to play—and all of them were monsters as far as I was concerned.

  I brushed away a piece of lint from my jeans and shrugged. “I’m fine. I suspected we couldn’t be the only ones out there, you know? Like aliens or an emotionally available man.”

  Vaile grunted and closed the folder, drumming his fingers on top of it. “So, what are we going to do with you?”

  I braced myself with a deep inhale and closed my eyes. “Let me come back to work?”

  Silence.

  I peered at my boss and found him studying me.

  “And what role would you have if you did?”

  Please not a desk job. Please not a desk job. Pleasenotadeskjob. I wasn’t content to just sit on my ass all day and push paper. I wanted to be out on the streets, catching bad guys and kicking the ass of anyone who didn’t toe the justice line. “The same one?” My question came out slowly, monitoring how my boss felt about the concept.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so, McKenzie.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows onto the blotter and said, “How about we play a game? I suggest something, and you tell me how you feel about that option.”

  Wow, that didn’t sound so terrible. “Okay.”

  “PIG.”

  “I thought petty insults were below you, boss.”

  He gave me flat stare.

  I shook my head. “No. And how? It’s a department just for supes. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not a supe.”

  PIG was the very poorly selected, yet hilariously accurate, acronym for the Paranormal Investigative Group—a department made up of supernaturals who also happened to be cops before the world was turned upside down.

  His smile was cold. “Human liaison. We need one for human on supe or supe on human crimes. The department has been requesting one for almost three months now. Guess who I selected for the position.”

  “I won’t do it,” I replied, not meeting his eyes. “I refuse. You can shove me behind a desk, or make me work reception. I’d even consider being your personal coffee bitch for all eternity, but not PIG.”

  His brows rose. “Coffee bitch, huh”

  “It doesn’t even have to be just coffee. I’d be your multi-purpose gopher. Need a gift for the little lady? I’ll get it. Need a babysitter?” I thumbed my chest. “I’m your girl. I’ll do whatever you want for however long you want, as long as I don’t have to work with PIG.”

  “The little lady?” he asked. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused. I know my wife wouldn’t take too kindly to the moniker…but it’s non-negotiable. You either accept you’re working with PIG, or you’ll be suspended without pay for six months in addition to mandatory therapy three times a week and a desk job when you return.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, you think I’m bluffing?” Wolfe asked smugly, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you sure you want to find out?” When I stayed quiet, he added, “They’re expecting you tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.” He jabbed his finger at me. “Don’t be late. Don’t be an asshole, and for fuck’s sake, don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Myself? Not my partner?”

  He snorted. “McKenzie, you’ll be playing with the big boys, so if anyone is going to get themselves hurt, it’s going to be you.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, and Wolfe’s expression softened.

  “It’s a good deal, kid.”

  I tried not to let that ‘kid’ comment rankle, but it was really fucking hard.

  “No one else in your department wants to work with you. They don’t trust you to have their back. If you’re serious about being a cop and keeping your job, this is your only option.”

  I looked him directly in the eyes, holding in check the shiver I felt tracking up my spine. “How long is this punishment?”

  �
�At least twelve months.”

  Twelve months? How in the hell was I supposed to work with a group of people who I wouldn’t trust at my back?

  I swallowed, realization slamming into me like a bus. I was railing against something that everyone else in the department was railing about too, because that was exactly how my colleagues here felt about me. I’d let my partner get killed when I was supposed to have their back, and I’d done it all without lifting a goddamn finger. Fuck!

  Why was life such a shitfight sometimes?

  Peeling my back away from the chair, I stood up and waited as Wolfe slid my side arm and badge across the desk.

  “Take the rest of the day off, but I’ll be getting regular updates from Detective Taylor about your conduct once you start with PIG.”

  “Great,” I deadpanned. There was nothing I liked more than micro-management. Sliding my side arm back into the underarm holster I wore under my jacket, I clipped it in, then put my badge back into its cover.

  As I turned to leave, Wolfe added, “You’re going to be a great cop, McKenzie.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “And you know this, how?”

  He touched the side of his nose. I rolled my eyes before pushing out of the office and into the din of ringing phones and the low hum of computer monitors that rarely got turned off. Navigating to my cubicle, I slumped down into my seat and stared at the workspace that had been mine for all of twenty-four hours.

  I pulled open a drawer and reached inside, picking up the stray paperclip at the bottom. I sighed. I hadn’t even gotten around to stealing office supplies yet. Leaning back, I let my gaze drift across the room, glaring defiantly at anyone who had the balls to stare. I already knew I was unpopular. Them staring would just put me in an even shittier mood.

  Shouldering my bag, I stood up and walked out of the office, the noise of whispered conversations following me.

  They didn’t want me here? Well, fuck them. I didn’t want to be here either.

  Two

  “So, how are you feeling today, Cat?”

  I studied Joanna Wong’s face, wondering where to start. I’d been seeing my therapist for the better half of five years, not necessarily talking through the real issues, but rather skirting around them.

  Her dark, almond-shaped eyes softened—the only feature she got from her Korean mother. Her dad was Caucasian with blond hair and blue eyes. I knew this because I snooped and saw a photograph of her and her parents on her desk. “Cat?”

  “Can I say terrible?”

  Joanna pursed her lips and recrossed her legs, her pressed pantsuit unwrinkled and obedient. “You can, yes, if that’s how you’re feeling.”

  Folding my legs up beneath me, I snuggled into the brown leather couch. “I went into work today.”

  “And how was that for you?”

  “It sucked,” I replied, letting out a sigh. Being back at work only reminded me that I’d fucked up. I’d done the worst thing any rookie could do, and now I was paying for it. “I spoke to my boss.”

  “Is he letting you keep your job?” At my nod, Joanna added, “You don’t appear to be too happy about that.”

  “I am happy…I think.” I grimaced. Shit, speaking about my feelings had never been easy. I blamed it on my fucked-up childhood, where death seemed to just follow me around. I sat forward in my seat. “They want me to work with PIG.”

  “The paranormal department?”

  I bobbed my head. “Yeah, because yay. You know how much I love the supes.”

  “Would you like to talk about your feelings when it comes to the supernatural world?”

  “Not particularly.”

  She scratched down something on the notepad balanced on the arm of her chair, her two-caret wedding band winking in the light. “Alright, so what would you like to talk about today?”

  I shrugged. The truth was I didn’t want to return to my empty apartment with my empty fridge and empty bed just yet.

  Annnnd cue the violins. Fuck, I hadn’t felt this sorry for myself in a long time.

  “They want me to be the human liaison.” Joanna stayed quiet, encouraging me to talk without using any words. I hated when she did that. I cleared my throat. “Why would they do that?”

  “It seems to me that they’re giving you a second chance.”

  “Yeah.” Keeping my head down, because nobody likes looking their shortcomings in the face, I smoothed my hand over the cross-stitched cushion in my lap. “Look, I know I should be happy. I still have a job, but…”

  “But how can you work with the supernaturals when you’ve got some strong feelings against them?” I grunted. Damn her and her Ivy League education. She pressed on, “Perhaps we can spend some time in the next session to discuss these feelings and how you’ve transferred them to your father’s death in more detail?”

  Oh, yes, let’s rehash that one. I glanced at the clock on the wall above Joanna’s head, relieved to see we’d reached the half hour. “Time’s up.” Discarding the cushion, I rose from the couch and stretched. “I have a kickboxing class to get to. It starts in an hour.”

  “You’re still going? That’s great.” She smiled. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll see you next week.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wiped the sweat from my brow as I swung up into another crunch. The coach was a fucking demon tonight—figuratively, not literally. The class grunted out their count, but I couldn’t find the spare oxygen needed to spit out the number.

  “This guy needs to get laid,” Sasha panted beside me as she pulled up into her next crunch. “I call dibs.”

  I managed a grin. In between a grimace and a colorful swear word. “You’re welcome to him,” I replied, exhaling sharply through my mouth and wondering why I put myself through this torture.

  “Come on…you can’t tell me…you don’t want to…fucking ride him…hard.” Sasha had her hair piled up on top of her head like a poodle’s, the tight, black curls holding their shape, despite the humidity in the gym.

  “I’d rather his…head between my legs,” I shot back, grinning when Sasha actually purred.

  “Alright, burpees!” Mike yelled in that sexy British accent he had. Sasha let out an erotic moan.

  I did those burpees, and I did them with a fucking smile on my face. When Mike felt like he’d whipped us into enough of a moaning, aching heap, he asked one of his students to run a cool down and stretch session. As I lay in child’s pose, stretching out my lower back, I leaned my head against the tacky blue mat and shut my eyes.

  The opal necklace I’d been given by my dad, just after my mother died fourteen years ago, lay warm from my body heat against the underside of my chin, a comforting weight and a steady constant. I never took it off, even when I did this punishing class, because my dad had told me that it would always protect me.

  I wasn’t an idiot. I knew it didn’t have magical powers. It was just that this was the last thing that he gave me and, stupidly, I felt connected to him through it.

  With nothing else left to do, my mind began to work, the cogs twisting as I replayed all the horrible things that had happened today. Keeping my job was probably the least of the offensive things, but working with PIG? How in the hell was I supposed to pretend that I even liked these guys? In my head, they were the boogey man, that killer in the backseat, and Bloody Mary all rolled up into one. I was terrified of them, the irrational fear probably stemming from my father’s gruesome and unsolved murder. His death had hit me hard, making me re-evaluate the art degree I’d been working toward at college and switching over to a BA in Law Enforcement.

  Adding to my arsenic-laced shit sundae? Joanna Wong. How could she think this was going to be a good thing for me? For fuck’s sake, I had a burning distrust of these beings, but if I was being honest with myself—let’s face it, that’s really no fun—then I also had an immense fear of the supernaturals. I’d seen first-hand what they were capable of doing, and if that incident put me into therapy, what would working with them every
single day and investigating their crimes do to me?

  Humans had long been the top of the food chain, or at least, we thought so. We had no natural predators, other than high cholesterol and cancer, but with supes on the scene now? Humanity certainly got knocked down a few fucking pegs. Fear was a heathy part of human evolution—that’s how we’d survived for so long. But my fear had been amplified tenfold by my experiences of supernaturals, even before we knew they were real and not just monsters in the stories we were told.

  As I pulled out of child’s pose, I turned my head to find Sasha smiling at me.

  “Want to go get pizza?”

  I shook my head, shoving some of my loose aqua green hair from my eyes. “Not tonight. I had a shit day, and I was hoping an endorphin rush would help…”

  Sasha huffed. “Please, girl. Looking at Mike in his tight MMA shorts helps every damn time.”

  I looked over at our instructor and found him smiling at me. I glanced away. “He’ll be starring in my fantasies tonight.”

  “Girl, same.” Sasha held out her fist for me to bump. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Yup. I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  “Hashtag Masochist.”

  I laughed and stood up, stretching my arms above my head. “Hashtag You-Know-It.”

  Sasha sauntered away, and I went to retrieve my gloves and wraps from the edge of the mat.

  “You’re getting better.”

  I yelped, turning around with a hand resting against my lurching chest. “Fuck me, Mike. I’m going to have to put a fucking bell on you. You can’t creep up on people like that.”

  More so because I was a cop and I was supposed to be aware of my environment at all times.

  “Sorry.” He grinned at me, popping a dimple I was helpless against. Every time I saw it, I went weak at the knees. “I just wanted to tell you that I can see your improvement. How long have you been coming here for?”

  “Six months?” I wiped the sweat from my brow.

  He nodded. “Six months, and you’re already giving some of my full-time guys a run for their money.”