Free Power by Debra Webb Page A

contact with the bastard. As long as Spears had some sort of twisted attraction to her there was a chance she might find herself face-to-face with him again.
    Jess sipped her room-temperature wine as she recalled a line from on old Clint Eastwood movie. “Go ahead, Spears, make my day.”
    Just further proof that she actually did need that psych eval. Poor Mrs. Simmons. She had prayed for Jess’s help. Bless her heart.
    Pounding on the door made her jump. She dropped her plastic cup in the tub. “Shit.”
    She felt on the floor next to the tub for her Glock, her heart racing a hundred miles per hour, and snatched it up. Who the hell would be at her door at this hour?
    So much for her Dirty Harry attitude.
    Weapon in hand, she stood, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her. One dripping foot hit the floor, then the other. She eased the bathroom door open and listened. Besides the candle, the dim glow from the table lamp by the bed was the only other illumination in the motel room that currently served as her home.
    She mentally ran down the list of people who knew her temporary address. Wouldn’t be Harper. He would call first. Lori, maybe? Jess doubted she would show up without calling first either.
    Another round of pounding followed by, “Jess! You in there?”
    She rolled her eyes.
Burnett
.
    “Hold your horses!”
    Where was her robe?
Closet
. After placing her weapon on the counter, she swabbed her damp skin with the towel, then tossed it aside and grabbed her robe.
    “Coming!”
    At the door, she drew in a deep breath and wished she had taken the time to comb her hair. The wild mess was pinned haphazardly on top of her head. Unfortunately she wasn’t one of those women who could pull off the freshly-risen-from-tousled-sheets look.
    Be that as it may, she unlocked and opened the door. “I was trying to relax in the tub. What’s up?”
Why didn’t you call?
she didn’t bother tacking on.
    If she had her guess, he was here to scold her about not being better prepared in a neighborhood like Druid Hills. Or for making that comment to Captain Allen about his Gang Task Force having completely missed the Simmons connection. Oddly enough, Allen had taken her dressing down pretty well.
    One look at Burnett’s grim expression and she decided that maybe Allen hadn’t taken it so well after all.
    She’d built her reputation on crossing lines. Why was Burnett or anyone else surprised at her tactics? Actually, he should be here checking on her well-being. Not to mention her top detective’s.
    “What happened tonight?” Burnett demanded.
    “It’s almost midnight. Are you just now getting the news?” He was the chief of police. Didn’t someone inform him when there were bullets fired at one of his deputy chiefs? And what was with the two cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee? He towered in her doorway, a cup in each hand. A peace offering? Chocolate would have been a better choice.
    Or more wine.
    For two weeks she had fussed at him about checking up on her and worrying about every little thing she did and doing the protector thing. Oddly, after being shot at, she was a little miffed at not getting
any
of that.
    She mentally added wishy-washiness to her list of reasons the psych eval was a good thing.
    Those blue eyes that she quite often felt could see through brick walls and definitely could see through her big fat lies searched her face before skimming her robe-clad body. “Are you all right?”
    She relented and backed up. “Get in here before my neighbors mistake you for a drug connection or a pimp.”
    “After this weekend I suspect it’s too late to avoid all sorts of conclusions.” He came inside and closed the door. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over what the regulars in this neighborhood thought.”
    The heat that swept through her like a flash fire whenever she thought about this past weekend scorched her now. Frustrated the hell out of her. Twenty-some years ago they had been madly in love and then