Jona swiped a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. He made a big scene at The Shipyard when they refused him a table. Not that I blame them with the condition he was in. Stupid bastard only made things worse when he started making lewd suggestions to the hostess.”
“Mike Talbot the one who called dispatch?” Relief eased a fraction of the tension pinching the upper vertebrae of Max’s spine when Jona nodded. Max whistled a slow breath between his teeth. “Thank Jesus for small miracles.” Mike Talbot was the owner of The Shipyard diner, as well as a fellow water shifter. If Mike hadn’t been on the premises at the time, who knew what might have happened. The frightening possibilities pumped Max with dread.
A sudden bellow erupted from the direction of the holding cells. “He broke my fucking nose! I’m suing your asses for this.”
Jona groaned. “Sounds like Ronnie’s regained consciousness. Too bad we didn’t take him out with a tranquilizer dart.”
Yeah, that would have saved them all a shitload of trouble. Grinding his molars, Max stalked across the room. In the holding tank, Ronnie was pacing behind a set of bars, a trickle of blood leaking from his left nostril. He stopped his aimless prowling and glared at Max. “You the one who did this to me?” he demanded shrilly, pointing toward his crooked nose.
“Yep.”
Max’s easy pronouncement only seemed to fuel Ronnie’s fire. “Fucking shoulda known. Ain’t never had no problems before you showed up and made it your personal mission to screw up my life!”
Ronnie’s endless string of ranting was nothing new. Despite having a mile-long rap sheet that went back long before Max took on the role of sheriff to parish nine, Ronnie—being the conniving little shit he was—refused to acknowledge the fact, instead preferring to see Max as the big bad brute who was gunning to get him at every turn.
“Someone get me a phone so I can call my goddamn lawyer.”
A growl shot from Jona. “You tried to fry us, asswipe. Don’t you suppose you oughta be more concerned with getting your dick out of the sling than inventing cock-and-bull excuses to sue the department?”
Ronnie’s face somehow turned an even brighter shade of red, and Max dragged in a breath. What he really wanted to do was reach between the bars and provide Ronnie with a black eye to compliment his crooked nose, but that wouldn’t exactly help their situation. “Go get him a phone.”
Jona looked none too pleased by the command but stalked off anyway, Fritz and Colby hot on his heels. In the wake of their absence, Ronnie continued sending Max death glares. Cocky little bastard was brave enough with metal bars separating them. It’d be a different story if Max was in the cell with him.
Ronnie resumed his pacing, but his beady eyes never left Max. “Used to be a fella could have himself some fun in this town without landing in the clinker.”
“You call disturbing the peace and upsetting good, decent people a fun time?”
A snort blew from the eel shifter. “Decent, my ass. If anyone around here should be convicted of a crime, it’s them damn snooty assholes for serving the slop they call food. I’m fucking glad they kicked me out so I wouldn’t have to eat that shit.”
Ronnie’s twisted logic never ceased to baffle Max. And make him eternally grateful for the few times when The Shock Factor managed to not get arrested when Max was on duty. Any day he didn’t have to deal with Ronnie was a winner in his book. And to think the morning had started out so promising. Well…up until Willa ran out on him. The reminder of her sneakiness only stoked his irritability.
As if he’d somehow sensed the steep, downward shift in Max’s mood, Ronnie gave a grating laugh that rubbed like sandpaper on Max’s nerves. “Ain’t no wonder you’re sticking up for Talbot. Fucking manatee is a freak of nature, same as you.”
“That’s laughable, coming from an eel.” Adopting his most menacing smile, Max approached the cell, a sliver of satisfaction coursing through him when Ronnie quickly backed away from the bars and gulped. Obvious relief flashed across the eel shifter’s features when Jona stormed into the room with the cordless from his desk. Rather than stand around and listen to Ronnie’s sniveling conversation with his lawyer, Max returned to the front of the station and plunked down into his seat with enough angry frustration to make the casters groan.
This definitely wasn’t how he’d envisioned spending his day off. He could think of a million and one things he’d rather be doing. Top on the list was tracking Willa down and giving her a good spanking for disobeying strict orders to stay put. Once he got that out of the way, he’d drag her back into bed and spend the rest of the day giving her plenty of reason not to leave it. His cock swelled beneath his fly, giving a resounding thumbs-up to that plan, and he smothered a groan. Much as he’d like to go after Willa, now, he couldn’t leave his men to deal with the problem of Ronnie on their own. Particularly since he’d been the one to break the asshole’s nose.
He hoped like hell though that the damn lawyer didn’t take all day to get here.
Six hours—and several curses—later, Max finally escaped the stationhouse. Ronnie was out on bond, but at least his lawyer had advised him of the foolishness of bringing suit against Max, considering Ronnie had almost electrocuted the deputies.
Max jumped in his Jeep, and after plugging in his GPS, he punched in the address he’d memorized from Willa’s license. He had a good idea of where she lived, but this made it a whole lot easier and saved time. The coordinates loaded and a second later the computerized voice he’d nicknamed She Who Must Be Obeyed commanded him to turn left out of the lot. He sped in the appropriate direction, and less than eight minutes later arrived at a two-story duplex. Willa’s was the one on the right. Although he didn’t spot her Taurus anywhere, he got out and walked up the driveway, figuring he might as well scope things out while he was there.
He scanned the exterior of the building, automatically checking to ensure there were no easily scalable lattices or shrubbery. There weren’t. Good. Tybee was a safe community, but a woman couldn’t be too careful. Particularly if she lived by herself, which he was almost certain Willa did. She hadn’t mentioned a roommate, or, God forbid, a live-in boyfriend. After what happened between them last night, the idea of having any competition for bed space sat on him with less-appetizing appeal than a bucket of maggots.
He stepped on the front stoop, ducking to avoid banging his head on the hanging fern basket. His cop instincts were gratified to notice the heavy-duty deadbolt securing the door. “Good girl.” He depressed the doorbell and listened to its echoing chime inside the quiet apartment. There was no pitter-patter of approaching feet, or any other evidence that Willa was home. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but it would have made things a hell of a lot easier. And less confrontational, since it now looked like he’d have to track her down at her workplace. Sure, he could wait for her here, but he half-suspected she would take off the minute she spotted him. Sneaky though it might be, she wouldn’t have that luxury if he cornered her in her office.
He unclipped his cell phone from its holster and dialed directory assistance. A female operator came on, and he asked for the address for the Savannah division of the National Alliance of Witches. The operator’s bored monotone as she recited the location made Max’s lips twitch. Definitely not the reaction he’d expected. Then again, maybe the woman was used to people calling about witches. Probably it was the fourth most popular inquiry—right behind the Justice League, the Power Rangers, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Shaking his head, he returned to the Jeep and punched the new coordinates into the GPS. The prospect of seeing Willa again filled him with equal amounts excitement and trepidation.