Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [5]
I turned the knob, not liking it that my palm was sweating just from her talking. “Captain Morgan…” I bit back a giggle as the image of the petite blond-haired woman in front of me decked out in a wig and pirate garb sprang to mind. Oh gods, Luna. Not now.
Morgan looked at me over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses, case file held at half-mast. “Yes? What is it, Detective?”
“Captain Morgan,” I tried again, a little more successfully this time. “I’m Luna Wilder. You wanted to see me?”
Recognition dawned in her eyes and she set the file down with a thwap. “Of course. I should have remembered you from the copious press coverage of your last case. Shut the door and sit down.”
I closed the door with a meek click and sat in the new chair across from Morgan’s new desk. All of Roenberg’s masculine wood and musty old chairs had been stripped out and the captain sat behind a blond-wood-and-chrome desk set with two aerodynamic plastic chairs facing her. I squirmed as she bored into me with her sea-blue gaze, which I’m sure was the effect her office was calculated for.
Then again, I could be reading too much into this. Morgan was a high-ranking woman, she probably had to take a lot of shit. Her ice-bitch façade could be just that.
“Detective Wilder, let me state right off that I was not in favor of allowing you to return to the force.”
Or it could be she really was an ice bitch.
I swallowed and managed to remain polite by gripping the seat of the plastic chair until I felt shavings curl under my fingernails. “Why’s that, ma’am?”
“If you have to ask, you’re even less of a detective than I’ve been led to believe.”
I felt my cheeks go red-hot as Morgan continued, “I run a tight squad, Detective. I have no place for grandstanding, disregarding orders, and especially”—she removed her glasses and looked me up and down, as if she were Anubis, weighing my sins—”weres who have no control over their impulses and endanger the human members of my squad. If you so much as ruffle one of my hairs out of place, I will have you removed.”
Anger jetted through me and my better impulses went the way of good scotch at a policemen’s ball. “What the Hex are you insinuating?” I demanded roughly.
Morgan smiled with closed lips, her eyes hard as cut sapphires. “There’s that famous were temper,” she purred. “I was wondering how long you could keep it in check.” She turned her head to examine her chrome wall clock. “Not very long at all.”
She closed the file and pushed it across the desk to me. I saw my name on the tab and realized it contained my disciplinary reports. There were more than a few yellow administrative memos inside the brown cover. “If you want to keep your job here, Ms. Wilder, I suggest that you chain yourself to a desk and stick to work befitting someone with limited interpersonal skills. The OD case you pulled earlier will do nicely for now.”
Gods, how I wanted to hurt her. I ached to clear the ugly modern desk and wring her neck, tear it, spread her blood all over her pristine furniture.
I stood up, my hands vibrating, because I had to move somehow. If I let the were become trapped, I would lash out and someone would be hurt. Much as Morgan had endeared herself to me, I would not kill the bitch. She wasn’t worth the Hexed effort.
“Will that be all, ma’am?” I whispered. Morgan thought for a moment and then nodded.
“For now.” She handed me my folder. “Please file this on the way back to your desk.”
I don’t know how I kept from ripping her hand off. Years of self-control and reining in and teaching myself to keep the were inside washed away under her smirk and her quiet blandishments. If this was what I came back to, who wanted the Hexed job anyway?
No. Matilda Morgan would not make me quit. Dead junkies and knife attacks would not force me out. Not even desk work would get rid of me. I was a good Hexed cop, and I was staying that way. Sunny wouldn’t have to hear how I got fired—again. And Dmitri, if he ever came back, wouldn