Free Monsters Under the Bed by Susan Laine Page B

Christ, Ford. That woman was high, and those were bitch slaps she doled out. I’ve been mauled worse by cats. That doesn’t count.”
    “And the Wyatt case? Hmm?” Ford crossed his arms over his chest, a surefire tell he was as serious as he got.
    “Aw, Ford…. The guy came at me from nowhere. I’m not a fortune-teller. How could I have possibly known he was gonna ram me and throw me out the window into the bay? I mean, hell, I landed in water, and the cops got him for assault. I’m fine, babe. I’m fine.”
    This time it was me trying to assure him it was all good, the way he had said before. But that had been the afterglow talking, and now Ford had had the time to really think about it. Seeing his blue eyes mist and his jaw quiver while he kept his posture rigid and his shoulders squared hurt my heart and my conscience.
    “Ford, you know I love you. Just because you’re making good money, I can’t just sit on my ass all day and do nothing. I know how to be a cop. I can do this. Those guys aren’t going to get the drop on me again, I promise.”
    Ford shook his head, gave a halfhearted snort, and looked anywhere but at me. “And the next time? The next case? The next thugs who decide you shouldn’t poke your nose into other people’s business?”
    That gave me pause. Ford was truly afraid for me. I was devastated at the thought of causing him suffering with my choices. “Okay, Ford. Okay. I’ll talk to the lawyer tomorrow, and I’ll drop the case. It’s fine.” I went to him with the intention of pulling him in my arms.
    But he backed off, looking mortified and sad and angry. “God, Sam. I don’t want you to do that. You’re committed to this. And I want those thugs to pay for what they did to you. If I know you, and I do, you’ve got an idea about what’s going on already.”
    He wasn’t way off on that one. “I won’t cause you heartbreak….”
    Ford smiled then, brightly as the sun. “We’ll always be together, Sam. In this world or the next. We’re bound by forces beyond our imaginings. You won’t ever break my heart.” He wound his arms around my shoulders, letting me in, and his forehead touched mine. “Don’t let go of the case, Sam. If Mo Chance was murdered, the world should know. Just… be careful.” Then he kissed me softly, and I knew my place in the world.
    “Okay, babe. I’ll stay with the case. But I swear I will do all that I can to ensure—”
    “I know, Sam.” He kissed me again, and our row ended on a pleasant note. Then he pushed me off, laughing. “Go do your thing, hot stuff.” He swatted my behind on the way out.
    I laughed with him, and my battered face didn’t hurt one damn bit.
    Later that evening, after hours of reading and research, I had learned a lot more about the Chance case. Or more specifically, about Mo’s personality.
    I’d read most of the books Mo had kept in his playroom—in addition to having perfect recall and being ambidextrous, I was also a speed-reader, as I’ve said before—and it was obvious Mo had been interested in every little thing under the sun. His wealth of knowledge about sciences across the board, society at large, and literature from erotic romances to the classics was astounding.
    His library consisted of classics like Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath , Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front , Shelley’s Frankenstein , the entire literary works of Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Conan Doyle, Dumas, Kipling, Verne, Dickens and so on. My eyes were beginning to get crossed and glazed over. His scientific interests were cutting edge: from astrophysics to robotics, from sociology to psychology, from mathematics to chemistry, from economics to pyrometallurgy, from politics to paleontology. Mo had even written papers on several topics, and his reputation was considered legitimate.
    It seemed like the kid had been born asking questions. Not even the loss of his parents and brother had quelled those