RATTLING THE HEAT IN DEADWOOD
ANN CHARLES
Unlike Cooper, who was a decent detective except when he was
harping on me for something that wasn’t my fault, Hawke was a pen-clicking,
brown-nosing dipshit who’d most recently mistaken me for a witch. Not the nice,
sexy sort of witch either. More like the wart-covered, spell-casting type with
knowledge of mind-altering potions and disfiguring hexes. I wasn’t sure if this
included flying broomsticks, but most days I wouldn’t put it past Detective
Doofus.
“That’s a whole lotta corral dust, Coop,” Harvey said.
Corral dust? That was a new one for me. Harvey had a way of
speaking that often left me either scratching my head or fanning my cheeks.
“I’ve seen you
rip-roarin’ through town, tearin’ up the streets without your cherry lit too
many times to recall.”
After shooting his uncle a glare, Cooper pointed at my
speedometer. “Slow down, Parker, or I’ll give you a speeding ticket.”
I batted Cooper’s hand away. “You can’t give me a ticket
when you’re not on duty. Hell, you’re not even wearing a tie or one of those
bulky police utility belts.” Not to mention his short blond hair looked like
he’d been trying to tear it out tuft by tuft.
#RATTLINGtheHEAT
#AnnWCharles
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