Continued from here.

"Dammit, Natalie!" Lance grunted, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him.

The next thing he knew, her dark head slammed into his face in a head-butt that broke his nose. Blood gushed, splattering the front of his already greasy t-shirt. He yanked the hem out of his jeans and held it to his nose staunch the flow. He glared at her over the material. She only folded her arms in a pose of smug self-satisfaction.

"Don't be such a baby," Natalie admonished. "Knowing you, a little thing like a broken nose won't last very long."

She was right. Within minutes, the throbbing pain subsided to an annoying tingle as his body healed. He winced as the bones shifted back into place. Lance sniffed experimentally and wiped away the residual blood with the front of his shirt, now hopelessly ruined. He glared at Natalie again.

Lance was just putting the plastic panel back over the seatbelt housing when Natalie's red sports car drove up. He wadded up the old seatbelt and tossed it into the plastic bag before going to greet her. He couldn't help noticing how tired she seemed. Granted, she'd been through hell since getting to Bremerston: finding her perv dead, the little girl going missing, getting killed, discovering her true nature, finding Sarah. It was enough to make anyone temporarily nutters.

The morning air was still cool, if not a tad humid, as he walked Natalie out to the Jeep. There was no hiding the greenish cast to her face when she fastened the seatbelt and noticed the rather obvious brown stain on the nylon. Lance made a mental note to replace it as soon as possible. She may still want to wear the jacket, but he didn't want her to be reminded of that day every time she rode in his Jeep.

The turnoff for Mooney's trailer was a frequently-ignored path that most thought was a driveway to a well-hidden home. They weren't far wrong. The going was fairly easy for the first quarter-mile or so, then the trail began climbing. Recent rains had washed out parts of the graded road and he knew that would've spelled doom for a Vic. The Jeep bounced down the trail and jounced over roots, rocks and ruts.

A half-hour later, Lance unlocked the door of his Craftsman-style bungalow. It had been on the market five years ago as a "handyman special," and it had taken nearly all of those five years to restore the place back to its original glory. He breathed in the comforting scents of aged hardwood, pine cleaner, lemon wood wax, hard work and home. Just beyond the switch-back staircase, were two bedrooms separated by a full bath. The guest one in front, the master behind. On the left side of the house were the living room, dining room cum office, and kitchen with the laundry room doubling as the mud room. Upstairs was a vast wasteland of attic space that was next on his list of projects, right behind finishing the master bath.

Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 :: Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 :: Chapter 5

"I assume the detective already noted the foot prints?" (prompt #34.1.A from writers_muses)

Even above the controlled chaos that was a murder investigation, her voice got Lance's attention. It was low and husky, even for a woman, with a distinct note of no nonsense. He looked up from the bloody footprint in question. Standing just on the other side of the yellow crime scene tape was a tall, slender brunette dressed in jeans, a white oxford shirt, and black windbreaker. Everything about her was lean and lanky from her mile-long legs to her arms to her torso. She had wavy, dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders and dark eyes that seemed to soak up every detail. Hanging from her belt, a shield glinted in the waning sunset. Stifling an irritated groan, he stood up and walked over to her and the CSI tech standing nearby. He didn't have a partner, didn't need one, and having someone poking around his investigation just got on his last nerve.





Titus Quintus Farris (mun knowledge only)
Present Alias: Detective Lance Arturo
Highlander OC
4959 Words