Free Sacrificial Muse (A Sabrina Vaughn Novel) by Maegan Beaumont

her. A queasy feeling took root in the pit of stomach.
    Michael was with a woman.
    “Sabrina … ” Ben said, quiet but firm.
    She climbed the steps, the throb in her thigh echoing her cadence. “I understand and I’ll be there, but only because the sooner my leg gets better, the sooner I can do whatever it is you want me to do. Then I can be rid of you and get on with my life,” she said before terminating the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.
    Hanging up on Ben Shaw was a mistake, one she’d probably pay for later, but she didn’t care. Right now, she told herself, she had other things to worry about. Pulling the door open, she stepped into the main lobby and headed for the information desk.
    The officer behind the counter was an older woman, her face aimed at the fashion magazine on the desk, so all Sabrina saw was a short puff of frizzy brown hair. “Excuse me,” she said and the woman looked up. Acne scars, a blunt piggish nose, and tired blue eyes completed the unattractive picture. As soon as she recognized Sabrina, the woman’s eyes went flat, like she was trying not to see her. Sabrina was used to it. She’d never been Miss Popularity but thanks to Croft and his string of bullshit articles, she’d achieved bona fide leper status. Sabrina forced a smile. “Hi … ” she checked the badge, “Officer Donner. Did you just come on shift?” Hopefully, this was the officer working days and she’d be able to give her some answers about the note card.
    “Nope. Just waiting for my replacement. He’s late—as usual,” Officer Donner said.
    “He? Who is he?” Hopefully she’d recognize the name.
    “Anderson,” Donner said. “Cute—too bad he’s being rotated out from behind the desk.”
    Sabrina just nodded. She did know Anderson, and Donner was right—he was good-looking, in that clean-cut, toothpaste commercial kinda way. He also happened to be one of the few uniforms who still treated her like a human being. “What time does he usually roll in?”
    “Depends on where he wakes up. Kid’s got a thing for badge bunnies.” The look on Donner’s face soured a bit, taking her from unattractive to downright ugly.
    “And today’s his last day?”
    “Yup. Starting tomorrow he’ll ride a car on second shift.”
    That meant she only had today to track Anderson before he’d be almost impossible to nail down.
    “Thanks … I’m Inspector Vaughn—could you call my desk when he shows up?”
    Donner tipped her face toward the magazine she’d been thumbing through. “I know who you are,” she said.
    Which meant Sabrina had hit a dead end. Short of camping out in the lobby, she’d run out of options, save one. “Never mind. I’ll just come back later.” She backed away from the desk and headed for the elevator.

    The first thing Sabrina saw when the elevator slid open onto the Homicide bullpen was Strickland. He was sitting at her desk, leaned so far back in the chair it was a wonder he stayed upright. His feet were kicked up on her blotter, the left one threatening to knock over her desk lamp. Coffee cups and a few take-out boxes littered her space, and she frowned at them. Her partner wouldn’t be satisfied until every flat surface between here and hell was covered in garbage. She leaned her backside against her desk and looked at him. His suit was rumpled, his hair uncombed, a few days’ worth of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. She smiled. They were like The Odd Couple—with guns.
    “Hey.” She poked one of his knees with her index finger, knocking them together. He came up swinging, jolting out of his seat as though she’d hit him with a cattle prod. His foot made good on its promise, launching her lamp off the desk.
    Strickland stared at her for a second or two, blinking himself awake. Sitting up, he swiped a heavy hand down his face, the rasp of whiskers against his palm the only sound between them. “Where the hell have you been?” he said, his voice cracked and