The Tempting: Seducing the Nephilim. D. M. Pratt

You don’t care because your record’s clean? Shit, half the cops in this city are facing charges of excessive force, acts of omission, multiple criminal civil rights violations and a truck load of other major criminal acts including misconduct. They’re looking at everything from illegal stops, searches and arrests of individuals without reasonable suspicion and probable cause to police beatings and shootings.” Hanover said as he picked up a stack of affidavits. “According to these documents and in some cases videos, they have a fuck load of severe infractions of unreasonable use of force. Far too many to ignore. We’re in a state of siege and behind it a tsunami of major reform. So, if you think I have time to deal with your bullshit, voodoo ass, conspiracy theories, you’re crazier than I thought. Now do the Goddamn job the city pays you to do and stay away from Eve Dowling.”

      Mac didn’t move. “She’s in danger and I want it on the record,” Mac said.

      “Well, when you can tell me what she’s in danger from except being one rich and very powerful lady, I’ll spend a micro second being concerned. Until then …” Hanover stopped talking and reached into his desk, pulling out a card. “You’re going into therapy. Call her. Set an appointment. You are now on psychiatric leave of absence.”

      “Under what …”

      “Under my orders as your commander, so don’t argue with me Mac. Eight sessions. Now, call her and get out of my office,” Hanover said. “Mac, you’re a good detective. One of my best and I need you here, but I need all of you here.”

      Mac took the card. He knew there was nothing more to say. He stepped out and closed the glass door, heading back to his desk. From the looks of the other detectives, Hanover’s voice had carried far enough to draw looks from his fellow detectives.

      He sat, looking at the pile of cases stacked on his desk. He knew that’s where his head should be. That’s where his efforts should be, but his eyes were drawn back to the New Orleans Post clipping announcing the wedding of Eve Dowling and Beauregard Le Masters.

      Let it go, he said to himself.

      “She’s not your concern and it’s costing you your job,” Officer Vantes said.

      He was tall and thin and walked with a limp.

      “Hey. That loud huh?” Mac asked.

      “Yeah, that loud.”

      “Vantes? How are your legs? I mean have the doctors figured out what started the degeneration?” Mac asked.

      “X-rays showed multiple fractures all through my body. They said maybe stress. X-ray technician said it was the damnedest thing he ever saw. He thought I’d have had to been lifting a building for those to come naturally,” he responded. “I’m healing. Should be back pounding the pavement in a few months. Don’t that just sound like peaches and cream?”

      “That’s good,” Mac said.

      “Hey, Mac,” Vantes said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I want you to know I think somethin’s funky with both members of the Le Masters clan. I’d check the old man, if I was investigating. Which I’m not, mind ya.”

      “No, you’re not and technically neither am I,” Mac replied. “I’m gonna go get my head shrunk for a few weeks.”

      “Between my bones and these stupid headaches and weird ass dreams, I need to get in line behind you,” Vantes said.

      “I didn’t know you were having dreams,” Mac said, giving him his full attention.

      “Yeah, over a year and they’re getting worse, not better.”

      “What kind of dreams?” Mac asked.

      “I don’t know. A bunch of weird shit that doesn’t make sense. I feel like I’m reading a science fiction book and remembering stuff that never happened in the story. Don’t tell anyone or they’ll think I’m crippled and crazy.”