Their legs were entangled. The sun washed over them through the weak, cheap draping the next morning. Wulf sighed as he watched Mary Jane’s sleeping body. She was drop-dead gorgeous. Literally. She was the type of woman who men fought for, killed for. She was so soft in his arms. He mumbled to himself, “You have finally lost your fucking mind, Dylan.”

The sex had been maddening, almost barbaric. Having always been the type of person who didn’t understand relationships without trust, he couldn’t fathom how they’d ended up in bed together. He recalled their many sexual trysts. Three times last night. Each time was like being with a different woman. Except the same addictive pussy. Somewhere deep within his gut, he didn’t feel ashamed. He grumbled at the thought of no protection and said a quick prayer for the safety of his manhood and health. He imagined that with his luck, she’d kill him one way or another. He chuckled at himself.

Wulf wiggled free from Mary Jane’s hold. Even in sleep, she was a dominating force. She’d been so powerful with her emotions. She wanted it hard. She wanted it slow. She just wanted. Now, after a full night’s sleep, he was still tired. He grabbed the cell phone from his uniform pants and went to the bathroom. Closing the door, he turned on the hot water for a shower then dialed Quincy again. Why hadn’t his ex-partner responded already? He’d always been reliable. You wouldn’t get far on the force with a partner that wasn’t dependable. Besides, this morning he should’ve been home. They had to be leaving for San Diego where the ports were at any given moment. Shelly should’ve called and chewed his head off already by now.

“Quincy, call me ASAP. I have a girl with me who thinks she’s some type of special agent. She doesn’t even know her own last name. I fucked up.” He finished off the call quickly, letting Quincy know that the station he worked for was crooked.

He hung up. Wulf was a pro at alienating himself from family after resigning from the head of the Gang Unit. Growing up as a foster kid, ghosting people and hitting the road was ingrained in his psyche. That was until Shelly’s foster mother took him in. He was a teenager by the time he learned the real meaning of family. Where the fuck was his family?

Wulf chewed on his lip, knowing that Shelly would wreak havoc over his safety, and she was the younger sibling. His mother would too. But he told himself not to call his adoptive mother and worry her. Maybe they’re still asleep? But that didn’t account for his calls yesterday.

Placing the phone on the counter, Wulf tested the water with a touch and hopped in, while telling himself to focus on Mary Jane. Nothing was going on at home. He tried to believe that, since he trusted Quincy with his family. Quincy was his family.

While washing with the soap, he contemplated the various shades of MJ. Who was Mary Jane? A drug addict? A stripper? A gunfighter? A great debater? He considered retracting the drug addict tag as he rubbed more soap onto the rough, overused face towel. Maybe Beasley had forced the drugs on her. As for stripper, well, her photo was all over town. Even Hilda became embarrassed by mentioning it. He’d remembered staring at a billboard the first day they were designed. He’d thought it was airbrushed. Now he knew the truth.

Clean and refreshed, he turned the faucet off. He pulled the large towel from over the lime-stained glass door and wrapped it around his frame before getting out. He snatched up his boxers. Mary Jane had to have washed them in the sink last night and placed them on the shower door to dry.

In the stiff boxers, he opened the bathroom door to see the sheets pulled back. Empty. He stepped onto the carpet. “Mary Jane?”

Senses piqued, Wulf heard a rustling to his side. Before he could react, pain seared through the left side of his temple. He dropped to the grungy carpet in an unconscious heap.