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“We’re going to establish right now that I am not a girl, and I have no desire to cosplay as one, let alone a good one with you,” I hissed. “Praise kink is not my thing. Nor is pleasing you.”

“What is your kink, then, Harris?” His eyes roved over me, clearly not worried about the fate of his cock and balls.

I leaned in, lips almost brushing his, ignoring the new spark of desire born from the proximity. “You wouldn’t be able to handle it,” I whispered, yet it was a lie. I had a sense that if anyone could handle my kink, it would be Dante.

I poked the gun in a little harder than necessary to punctuate my point.

Dante’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t wince. “I can handle you, Harris, and that’s what scares the shit out of you.” My stomach clenched at the way he seemed to pluck thoughts I’d long denied out of my own head.

“Nothing scares me.” I stepped back, tossing his gun on the counter. “Especially not you. Now let’s work this case. I’ll get changed.”

I turned around, knowing I’d regret the choice.

“Need help?” he called after me.

I ignored him.

Because I had to. Because for a fleeting second, I had visions of a bed, a shower, me naked, and Dante “helping me.” And if I opened my mouth, I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t give an invitation to do just that.

The house we pulled up to was in a quieter, less affluent neighborhood, a stone’s throw from the town trailer park. We didn’t exactly have a “bad area” in Dreadwood Falls, but the socioeconomic divide was stark and thriving, as it was all over the country.

There were no patrol cars in the driveway or on the street, no law enforcement presence at all. A bike was lying on its side in the grass, which wasn’t overgrown, neatly mowed. The yard was well tended with a fresh coat of paint on the shutters.

These people took pride in their home. And the bike, I noticed, was mid-range. Not top-of-the-line but not a piece of junk either.

I noted all the details because small details always mattered.

“Where are the cops?” I shook my head. On one hand, it was a welcome relief not to have to run into Colton, but on the other hand, it gave me a wave of another emotion. Disappointment, shame at Colton not doing his job well enough.

If this child lived in a different zip code, there would certainly be more police presence and media coverage. My phone didn’t even buzz with an Amber Alert yesterday.

“They’ve already labeled him a runaway, my guess.”

The lazy policework that resulted in this kid being labeled that so soon after his disappearance had me fantasizing about violence.

“He’s been having problems at school, disagreements with some kids. That’s what the reports I heard said,” Dante explained as we walked up the drive.

“He’s a ten-year-old boy, that’s his job,” I groaned, anger and protectiveness I didn’t know I could possess for the smaller citizens of this planet rearing its head. In addition to the rage at Colton and Gerald for being so sloppy and prejudiced as to seemingly sign off on such a thing.

Dante held his hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot barbs at me. This is fake.” He tapped the FBI badge he’d pulled from inside his jacket. “Fuck the establishment.”

I didn’t have time for any kind of retort since he rapped his ring-clad knuckles on the front door.

The wreath adorning it was bright and cheerful, as was the welcome mat. I resisted the urge to hurl it away. They’d already had an unwelcome supernatural visitor do their worst. I’d get rid of the mat once we found their son.

“Can I help you?”

The man who opened the door made the greeting with both a sigh and a flash of manic hope. He was clutching the door, eyes bloodshot, shirt still pressed, wearing slacks with running shoes that didn’t match.

As if he were prepared to sprint down the street chasing someone.

“Is it him?” a voice sounded behind the man. Desperate. Choked. Expectant.

A woman appeared, eyes the same blood-red from crying or lack of sleep or both.

Grief, despair, and anticipation marred her features.

I’d seen many expressions like theirs over the years. Unfortunately, it was part of the job. Though they affected me much less than they used to, it still made me wince inwardly. Blood, gore, and nightmarish creatures were much easier to deal with than grieving loved ones.