“Fucking Batman,” I muttered. The huge, old school logo for the Batman comics was behind my head. A sticky note was in the middle of the bat.
I thought Gotham fit your band of misfits.
I looked around and saw other touches of the comic book, both old school and the newer designs in the glass. Small touches. Nothing overt.
This was my playground and no one, not even the clients, came up here.
I was glad to see the new gray carpeting was done in the offices and the outer area was almost finished. I could go back to normal tomorrow.
My laptop was locked into a drawer for the evening and my briefcase full of notes and future projects was there, staring at me.
I needed to go home. As much as I loathed to do it, I should take the papers home and work at my table until I was exhausted enough to fall into bed. Somehow I was pretty sure I was going to see dawn. I was far too revved up from the displacement, the needs crawling under my skin that were never quite answered, and Georgia.
I hated that she was eighty percent of the buzz.
She was unattainable.
I could push. I might even get what I wanted, but the slim chance that she’d tell me to go to hell always stopped me.
A little Georgia was better than none at all.
With a growl, I grabbed my briefcase and strode back down the hall to the elevators. The ride down was interminable, and the street sounds annoyed instead of comforted.
I loved this city. Loved our place in it.
Tonight I would go back to the silence of the hills and quite possibly drink her out of my mind and start over tomorrow.
I exited the elevator, crossed the lobby to the front door. We shared the parking garage across the street with the restaurant and few specialty shops on the corner. Seattle had grown faster than the streets could hold and the ever-present dampness made concrete the only viable option in city living.
The night was quiet and helped to ease the tension living in my temples. I frowned at the parking attendant’s empty booth as I stepped up onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t unheard of for the late shift to be doing a walk-through of the structure, but that was usually after midnight.
The soles of my shoes scraped over loose wet gravel and shards of glass. The hairs at the back of my neck spiked and my palms tingled. Just in case, I dipped my hand into my pocket for the all-purpose tool that I always had on me for taking apart various tech projects.
I flicked back the handles until I felt the pointy edge of the small knife. It wouldn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.
I was probably just overreacting. I pulled out my phone and cursed. The cinderblock parking structure left me with barely a bar of service. Seattle wasn’t exactly the mecca of crime, but it was like any big city.
Shit happened.
I picked up my pace. My BMW was dead ahead.
A shriek echoed through the night. I spun around, my hand on my phone. No fu
cking service.
“Just take my purse, please.”
I took off for the corner of the parking garage. A large man with shoulders that belonged on a football field was standing over a woman.
“Hey,” I called out.
The man struggled harder and I heard the rip of material as I went from a cautious lope to a full-out jog.
He pushed her to the ground and dark hair flowed around the woman’s shoulders. One strap of her top was ripped and her skirt was rucked up.
Jesus, no.
I was ten feet away and the floor fell out from under me. I knew that blue top, that dark hair. “Georgia,” I shouted.