Dark Lover - Bung.co.nz

pushed up my bra. I came so close to being… But I got free and ran. He had blue eyes, brown hair, and an earring, a square cut
diamond, in his left ear. He was wearing a dark blue polo shirt and khaki shorts. I didn't get a good look at his shoes. His friend
was blond, short hair, no earrings, dressed in a white T-shirt that had the name of that local band, Tomato Eater, on it."
The man got up and went to her. He put his arm around her and tried to hug her against his chest, but she pulled away and put
distance between them.
"Do you really think you'll be able to get him?" she said.
The man nodded. "Yeah. I do."
Butch left Beth Randall's apartment in a foul mood.
Seeing a woman who'd been clocked in the face was not a part of his job he liked. And in Beth's case he found it particularly
disturbing, because he'd known her for a while and he was kind of attracted to her. The fact that she was an unusually beautiful
woman didn't make it any more egregious. But her swollen lip and the bruises around her throat were glaring defects within the
otherwise perfection of her features.
Beth Randall was flat-out, hands-down gorgeous. She had long, thick black hair, impossibly bright blue eyes, skin like pale cream,
a mouth just made for a man's kiss. And she was built. Long legs, small waist, perfectly proportioned breasts.
The men at the station were all in love with her, and Butch had to give her props: She never used her attractiveness to get inside
information from the boys. And she kept everything professional. She never dated any of them, even though most would have
given their left nut just to hold her hand.
One thing was for sure: Her attacker had made a hell of a mistake when he'd picked her. The entire police force was going to be
gunning for that fool when they found out who he was.
And Butch had a big mouth.
He got into his unmarked car and drove to the St. Francis Hospital complex across town. He parked at the curb in front of the
emergency room and went inside.
The guard at the revolving door smiled at him. "You heading for the morgue, Detective?"
"Naw. Just visiting a friend."
The man nodded him through.
Butch walked past the ER's waiting room with its plastic plants, dog-eared magazines, and anxious people. Pushing open a set of
double doors, he headed into the sterile, white, clinical environment. He nodded to the nurses and docs he knew as he went to the
triage desk.
"Hey, Doug, you know that guy we brought in with the busted nose?"
The attending looked up from a chart he was reading. "Yeah, he's about to be released. He's in the back, room twenty-eight." The
internist let out a little laugh. "I tell ya, that nose of his was the least of his problems. He's not going to be singing low notes for a
while."
"Thanks, buddy. By the way, how's the wife?"
"Good. She's due in a week."