They painted the walls candy pink. The square windows were mullioned and lined in white. It looked just about big enough for one old lady to live well, devoting her life to the country garden that lay about it.
"Cute."
Blackhawk slammed the door. "It's over titrated with phenolphthalein."
Kate laughed. "That's a thing?"
"If memory serves me right, it's a chemical indicator," he frowned, striding to the fragile wood of the patio; he backed off.
Beneath his feet, the wood felt soft, not as much as a carpet, but not right for oak planks. He set his hand to the bell embedded into the wooden skeleton. Releasing it from his finger, it was unsounded. Silence. Huffing in frustration, he caught the unlock of a door and a hint of pinewood.
"Seattle P.D!" he peeked through the opening.
Peering down at Kate, he gestured with his hand to stay behind him as he entered the empty room. Something was off and he noticed it. His senses detected a rotting smell like a pot of braised onions. Just then, the squeak of a door echoed throughout the cramped hallway and his gun positioned straight at the source.
"Stand down!" Kate yelled. "Sweetie, are you all right?"
Blanketing the child's arms, she pulled him in as he shuddered in her arms.
• • •
"Where are your parents?" she asked.
Jacob, the discovered ten year old, glanced up at Blackhawk between the crack of Kate's arm. "Ma's at the back," he whispered.
"And your father?"
"Work."
"Can you call your mom for us?"
Clenching his jaw, Jacob averted his gaze to Kate. He huddled closer to her as she comforted him and she reassured him they'd question her and leave. That prompted the boy for he rushed to the back of the house and summoned his mother.
"You could've been polite," Kate said.
"I was civil."
"You scared him."
"Good."
Rolling her eyes, she crossed her legs. The man was a disaster. A roller coaster with a wreck. Yet his manliness stood out like an eagle in a park.
"A cop at my doorstep at six in the morning is never good." Said a feminine voice. Her voice–husky and coated with humor.
"I'm detective Kate Williams and this–" She gestured at the neutral man behind her. "Is Officer Blackhawk. We'd like to ask you a few questions?"
The woman dressed with rugged sleepwear glanced between the two and moved towards the secluded love seat where she sat with her son. "What about?"
"It's about your husband."
Her eyes were full and a voice croaked. "What about him?"
Blackhawk turned to the woman. "Is he home?"
She shook her head. "He's working. What did he do?" Her hands involuntarily grasped her son's frail ones and smoothed the skin as she stared at Blackhawk.
"What time does he get home?" he asked.
"Between ten and eleven at night."
"What's his occupation?"
"He's working for Gary's constructions for ten years now," she said. "Listen whatever happened to him, pleas–"
"Your husband's fine, we'd just need to speak with him."
YOU ARE READING
Staying With Her
Short Story"Are you afraid?" "No," she gasped. The cuffs clicked against her skin, "You should be," he growled, tearing off her lace he exposed her to a burning passion that had her craving for more... The last thing Officer Blackhawk needed was to find a wo...
