Later that night, as I lay in bed, I decided I’d been lucky Simms hadn’t thrown me in jail. All he’d done was rub his cheek, raise an eyebrow, and send me home to cool off. “I’ll be in touch,” were his parting words. He hadn’t even had the decency to stumble back or look as though he’d been affected by a punch to the jaw. My knuckles were sore, though.
I turned over and thumped a pillow, wincing at the pain in my fist and willing myself to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, though, images of the dead man swam before me and I would wake up again. At this rate, I was going to have a crappy Monday.
I hadn’t had such a strong reaction to another man in, well, never. Detective Simms had pushed every last one of my buttons, and all I could think to do was fight back. Nothing else was possible
