Ollie scrambled for safety, his claws making ugly raking sounds across fine leather.

Late afternoon sunlight pierced the plantation shutters, stinging George’s eyes like pissed off hornets. Muttering an oath, he struggled to his feet and went to shut up the phone. “What the hell do you want?”

The captain’s voice growled in his ear. “You’re late. Again. Get your rosy butt down to the station now or catch hell. It’s your choice.”

George groaned as pain flared in his head. He placed the phone back on its charger, tucked in his shirt. Running a shaky hand through his hair, he headed out the door to face the music.

“You’re primary on this one.” Captain Aikens leaned forward, the steel of his gaze locked on George like an old fashioned set of cuffs. “Eyes on high are following your career. You screwed up when you let the Ripper burn instead of capturing him. Oklahoma City wanted to see him crucified. You deprived them of that little pleasure.”

George grimaced. “It was a grisly death. You’d think that would be enough.”

“Maybe. But the son of a bitch murdered all those women. Understandable to want to put a face on the evil. Now we’ve got a new killer and you’ve got a chance for redemption.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be redeemed.”

“And maybe you’re full of it. I know you, Loman. The job is important to you. It doesn’t follow, but you’re becoming a cliché: the cop who drinks to handle his job.” Aikens’ eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him. George tried not to squirm.

“Or is it your personal life that’s bothering you?”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“Is it Beth?”

“I repeat –“

Aikens waved his hand to cut him off. “All right. Let me put it this way: I’ve covered for you, but the drinking is screwing your performance. It stops now. Shape up or ship out.”

George was tempted. What did he have here, anyway? Beth was gone. She’d left with the vampire of her own free will. He had no family. Ollie, sure, but cats were portable. What else was there?

The job. Always the job. George hoped with all his being this was just a one-time murder. His gut told him different. His gut was usually reliable when his personal life wasn’t involved.

He fought not to look down at his feet like a guilty child. “I’ll shape up.”

Aikens relaxed. “Glad to hear it. Now. I’ve assigned you a new partner. Jackson is a rookie, a little green, but promises to come through for the department. You’re a good mentor. Sounds like a match.”

George managed not to snarl. “I don’t need a partner. I want to work this one alone.” If what he suspected was true, he needed to work this one alone.

“As a bunch of English lads once said, ‘you don’t always get what you want.’”

George watched Aikens pick up the phone and punch a button. “My office. Now.”

Aikens gave him a calm stare. George glared back. His stomach rumbled for lack of anything but egg and vodka, six hours past. Hell, as mad as he was, he might even take a bite of the desk with his bare teeth. Serve the captain right.

A knock and the captain beckoned. George’s anger morphed into pure fury.

“Detective Loman meet Mei Jackson, your new partner.”

Jackson strode into the room; head high, confident, hand held out to shake his. “Glad to meet you, Detective Loman.”

His hand remained at his side. His mouth remained closed. His teeth remained clenched.

Aikens tried to excuse him. “George isn’t much for conversation this evening.”

Her smooth brow furrowed. “Not much for manners, either, I see.”

George couldn’t believe it. Jackson was very female and very beautiful. Glossy black hair and almond eyes spoke of her Asian heritage. Wiry muscles and the firm set of her mouth told of her toughness. Soft curves whispered vulnerability. Damn, everything he wanted to avoid in a partner. “I don’t think so.”

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