I've never been a one-night-stand kind of guy, but the blonde currently drooling on the pillow beside me might not believe it. God, what's her name? Lauren? Sharon?

In truth, if the blistering pain in my skull was any indication of how much Crown I'd put away, I was lucky to be lying next to her and not the geriatric bartender who called me "Sweet Cheeks" all night. At least the blonde—slobber and all—was hot.

Judging from the foreign, personal furnishings of the room, we'd decided on her place after the bar, rather than my hotel room. There was a lot of pink surrounding me, and stuffed animals. Both good signs that a man didn't live with her. Not that I cared about her relationship status beyond not having to get in a fist fight before coffee. That would suck.

My cell phone was laying on the carpet between my olive drab ball cap and a flowery high heel shoe. The notification light was blinking blue, indicating a missed call—or seven, as I discovered when I picked up the phone. Gripping the phone with my teeth, I quietly tugged on my dark green tactical pants. Sleeping Beauty snorted.

Creeping like a soldier through a minefield, I tiptoed out of the bedroom and prayed the chick didn't have a roommate—or parents—that I would have to deal with. It was a one bedroom apartment, thank God. And aside from us, it was empty. Or so I thought.

As I slipped silently through the apartment on a quest for the kitchen, I looked at my phone. It was almost ten in the morning. I flipped through the icons on the screen till I found my voicemail. I clicked play and pressed the phone to my ear. At the end of the hall was a living room and a dining room. What the hell? Where's the damn kitchen?

I stopped and leaned against the back of the tan sofa.

The first message was from my boss. "Nate. I need your report on the Kensington case. Call me."

Delete.

"Hey, Noot-Noot, it's Mom. It's about six o'clock on Friday night. Call me when you have a sec, OK? Hope you're having a nice trip to the mountains. Love you. It's Mom. Did I say that? OK, bye."

Delete.

I looked around the room. There was no way I was calling my mother till I got back to the hotel.

The next message was from the lieutenant again. "Found the report. Call me back."

Delete.

"Hey. It's Mom again. I'm about to go to bed. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow. I hope everything's OK. Love you, Noot."

I sighed. Delete.

"Hey Nate, it's you. The chick's name is Shannon."

I laughed. Out loud. Gotta love drunk me watching out for sober me.

Delete.

"Nathan, it is now eight in the morning, and I still haven't heard from you. I'm starting to worry. Call me."

Delete.

Another message. "Oh, I forgot. It's Mom."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm twenty-nine years old," I grumbled.

The final message was from an unknown North Carolina number. "Good morning, Detective McNamara. This is Sheriff Davis calling about the information you were looking for. I've got everything ready for you at my office if you want to come by and pick it up. I'll be here till around eleven."

I looked at the clock again. "Crap."

At the far end of the room was another door that had somehow been camouflaged by my hangover. I rubbed my tired eyes and headed for it. It was a sliding door that easily slipped into the wall, and the light was on in the kitchen. Before my eyes could adjust, an explosion of chaos detonated at my feet.

I stumbled back a few steps as the sound of furious pink toenails, clacking and scraping across the tile floor, ricocheted around the apartment. I covered my ears as a deafening series of yaps ripped through my already-pounding brain. The little yellow dog—Satan in a rhinestone collar—nipped at my ankles as it barked me into the corner.

"Shut up!" I yelled, suppressing the urge to kick the angry ball of fur in self-defense.

The dog bared its teeth at me and growled, daring me to move. When I did, I swear to God, the thing screamed at me before barking again.

Shannon—Thanks, Drunk Me—raced into the room, clutching the bed sheet around her. Her hair was wild, like it had been through an AquaNet typhoon, and black mascara was smeared across the side of her pillow-lined face. "Baby Dog!" she scolded, running to save me from the twelve pound terrorist.

I pointed at the animal. "That dog has rabies!"

She scooped the pooch up into her arms, carefully clinging to the sheet. "She doesn't have rabies." She rubbed her nose against the dog's snout. "You don't have rabies, do you, Baby Dog?" She cooed like it was a baby and not a demon.

It's a good thing she's hot.

When she finished making out with her dog, she looked at me. Her eyes dropped to my shirtless torso and grew three sizes. She pinched her lips together, probably to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. Like what you see, huh? If I hadn't been so hungover, I would've been tempted to flex.

She pointed her finger at me. "Your fly's open."

I withered.

After adjusting things, I zipped my pants and ducked my shamed head into the kitchen. "Mind if I get some water?"

"There are bottles in the fridge," she said, following me.

Her refrigerator was stocked with drinks, fruit, leftovers, eggs, yogurt... My fridge at home had beer and Gatorade. I retrieved two waters and turned to offer her one. Satan growled at me again.

"So, I had fun last night," she said, hugging the dog closer to her chest.

"So did I." Apparently. "Do you have any ibuprofen?"

She smiled and jerked her thumb toward the door. "Yeah. It's in the bathroom. I'll run get it."

I silently hoped she would glance in the mirror while she was in there.

She barricaded the pup back in the kitchen, and I followed her back down the hall and walked into her bedroom. While I picked up my clothes, a horrified gasp came from the bathroom. I chuckled.

When Shannon finally came back out wearing a pink robe, I was dressed and putting my boots back on. Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail and she was wearing makeup. I could have definitely done worse at the bar.

She swayed her hips sheepishly from side to side. "No time for breakfast?"

I shook my head and stood up. "No. I've got to swing by the sheriff's office before I go check out of my hotel."

She visibly deflated. "That's right. You're leaving today."

I nodded as I adjusted the grayscale American flag patch on the front of my hat. "Yeah."

"What's at the sheriff's office?"

I pulled my hat down low over my eyes and checked to make sure my wallet and badge were still in the back pocket of my pants. "I'm working on a missing person's case in Raleigh, and I think a victim from here might be related to it."

"That's fascinating," she said with a sing-song sigh.

I was pretty sure she would have said the same thing if I'd told her I was here to dig septic lines for the city. I jingled my keychain. "I've got to head out."

She smiled, sort of. "I'll walk you out."

I really wished she wouldn't.

As we passed through the living room, she picked up a business card off the coffee table and handed it to me. It didn't look official. Her name was Shannon Green. "WKNC News?" I turned it over in my hand.

She did a little curtsy thing. "I'm a reporter."

I smiled. "You look like a reporter." I tucked the card into my back pocket. "I'll be in touch," I lied as I opened the front door.

"It was nice to meet you, Detective."

"You too, Shannon."

The mountain air was nearly frozen, and I zipped up my thick coat in the breezeway as she watched from the door. The cold must have finished sobering me up because my brain clicked on. I shook my head and turned back around to face her. "We took a cab here last night, didn't we?"

"Oh!" She laughed. "Yes, we did!"

I sighed. "At least we were responsible."

"I can drive you," she offered.

I checked the time again. The sheriff was leaving his office in twenty minutes. "I've got to be at the sheriff's office by eleven."

She smiled. "Give me five minutes."

On what planet? I wondered but kept my mouth shut.

We pulled into the parking lot at the Buncombe County jail with two minutes to spare. I must admit, I was a little impressed. There was an SUV parked in the spot labeled 'Sheriff' and I relaxed. "I'll hurry," I said, wrenching the passenger's side door open.

She turned off the engine. "I'll come with you."

I couldn't object without being a jerk, so I didn't and she followed me inside. Behind the welcome desk was a large black woman wearing a blue uniform that was at least two sizes too small. She was smirking before I ever even opened my mouth.

"I'm Detective Nathan McNamara from Wake County, and I'm here to see Sheriff Davis," I said.

"You don't look like no detective." She stood and looked me up and down. "You're too baby-faced and blond to be a detective."

Maybe charm would work. I winked at her. "He's expecting me."

"You got somethin' in your eye, blondie?" she asked, clearly unimpressed with me.

I sighed and pulled out my badge and identification. "Will you please let the sheriff know that I'm here."

"Sheriff don't take no meetings on Saturday." She leaned forward and sniffed the air. "You been drinkin'?"

I wanted to slam my forehead against the desk. "No ma'am."

She pointed a long red fingernail at Shannon. "She been drinkin'?"

I looked at the woman's name tag. "Miss Claybrooks, is it?"

She put her hand on her shelf of a hip.

"Please call the sheriff."

Just then, the heavy metal door behind her slid open, and the sheriff stepped into the lobby. "Detective McNamara, glad you could make it!" He held up the white cardboard box in his arms. "I was just about to leave this with Ms. Claybrooks for you."

I was glad he didn't. She'd probably put me through a stress analysis test before giving it to me. I took the box from him and tucked it under my arm. "Thanks, Sheriff."

He nodded. "I hope it's helpful." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you have any luck meeting with the Bryson family yesterday?"

My shoulders slumped. "No. I spoke with the mother on the phone, but she wasn't interested in talking to me. I left my number with her in case she changes her mind."

The sheriff shook his head. "It's a terrible thing they went through."

I nodded. "I completely understand." And I did.

He noticed Shannon behind me. "Is that...?" His voice trailed off.

I took a step to the side. "Sheriff, this is my friend, Shannon Green."

He reached out his hand toward her. "Yes. The weather girl from channel four."

She shook his hand. "Morning traffic," she corrected him. She straightened her posture and saluted him. "Get the green light with Shannon Green, WKNC Asheville!"

My eyes widened. Sheriff Davis laughed. Shannon started giggling.

"I watch you every morning," the sheriff said. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "So, you're close with this fine young man, then?"

She batted her eyelashes up at me. "Quite."

The sheriff looked at me. "Well, maybe you can help me convince him to take a job here in my office."

I heard her suck in a sharp breath. "That would be wonderful."

Oh boy.

I laughed to avoid saying anything inappropriate. "That would be something." I looked at my watch. "Well, Sheriff, I've got to check out of my hotel by noon, so I need to get moving." I gestured toward the evidence box. "Thanks again for making me copies of all these reports."

He stuck out his hand. "I hope it helps, Detective. I'm sorry your time here wasn't as productive as you'd hoped." He pumped my fist a few extra times and eyed me carefully. "Think about my offer."

I nodded. "I will, sir."

The sheriff tipped an imaginary hat toward Shannon. "It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Green."

She beamed at him. "You too, Sheriff."

As we walked back out to her tiny sports car, she looped her arm through mine. "So, you might move here?"

I squinted up toward the sun. "Don't count on it, sweetheart."

She leaned into me. "What about just to visit?"

"I don't have much time these days for a social life," I told her, and it was true.

If I was correct about the contents of the box under my arm, I now had eleven dead girls to find.

**************

Author's Notes:

The Detective is completed here, but I don't know how long the whole novel will be on Wattpad, so read it while you can!

You can also grab this book for FREE on my website! Just go to www.eliciahyder.com and click on GET A FREE BOOK. It is also available at all major online bookstores.

Meet BabyDog...I love her. Most of the time. #cutelittleevildog