Knockemout 2 - Things We Hide From the Light

THINGS WE HIDE FROM THE LIGHT LUCY SCORE Copyright © 2023 Lucy Score All rights reserved No Part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electric or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the publisher. The book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. ISBN: 979-8-88643-904-5 (ebook) ISBN: 979-8-88643-905-2 (paperback) lucyscore.com 021623 CONTENTS 1. Tiny Little Embers 2. Avoidance Tactics 3. Dead in a Ditch 4. Downright Filthy 5. What Happens in the Shower Stays in the Shower 6. The Middle of a Pissing Contest 7. We Weren’t Dry Humping 8. Green Beans and Lies 9. A Neighborly Cockblocking 10. Sweating with the Oldies 11. Panicking Never Helps 12. Welcome to the Danger Zone 13. Bed Buddies 14. Snack Cake Heists and Bad Apples 15. Satan in a Suit 16. A Pair of Thank-Yous 17. Pillow Talk 18. Eggs Benedict for Assholes 19. Khaki Is Not Her Color 20. Carpool Confessions 21. Fan, Meet Shit 22. Soccer Game Showdown 23. Team Lina 24. Pecan Pie Punch and Pointy Elbows 25. Speeding Ticket 26. Nash Who? 27. Snakes and Shakes 28. Shark Week Crappy Hour 29. Winning Career Day 30. Surveillance with a Side of Drama 31. Would You Like Onion Rings with That? 32. A Courtesy Warning 33. Book or Treat 34. Inevitable 35. Pushed Too Far 36. High Fives and Orgasms 37. A Hole in the Wall 38. First Date 39. The Gang’s All Here 40. Smile Pretty for the Camera 41. Words of Wisdom 42. Chocolate Chocolate Chonk 43. Bad Day, Bad Advice 44. Eye Water 45. A Perfectly Good Parachute 46. Blame the Candy Penises 47. Pantsless and Ass Up 48. They Kidnapped the Wrong Girl 49. A Score to Settle 50. Brecklin Is the Worst 51. When Did You Stab Him with a Pitchfork? Epilogue Author’s Note to the Reader About the Author Acknowledgments Lucy’s Titles In memory of Chris Waller, the reader husband who reached out and asked me to include the word “gusset” in a book just so he could win a bet with his wife. Kate, I hope it makes you smile when you find it again inside. ONE TINY LITTLE EMBERS Nash The federal agents in my office were lucky for two reasons. First, my left hook wasn’t what it had been before getting shot. And second, I hadn’t been able to work my way up into feeling anything, let alone mad enough to make me consider doing something stupid. “The Bureau understands you have a personal interest in finding Duncan Hugo,” Special Agent Sonal Idler said from across my desk where she sat with a ramrod-straight spine. She flicked her gaze to the coffee stain on my shirt. She was a steely woman in a pantsuit who looked as though she ate procedures for breakfast. The man next to her, Deputy U.S. Marshal Nolan Graham, had a mustache and the look of a man forced into something he really didn’t want to do. He also looked like he blamed me for it. I wanted to work my way up to pissed off. Wanted to feel something other than the great, sucking void that rolled over me, inevitable as the tide. But there was nothing. Just me and the void. “But we can’t have you and your boys and girls running around mucking up my investigation,” Idler continued. On the other side of the glass, Sergeant Grave Hopper was dumping a pint of sugar into his coffee and glaring daggers at the two feds. Behind him, the rest of the bullpen buzzed with the usual energy of a small-town police department. Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. Officers served. And the coffee sucked. Everyone was alive and breathing. Everyone but me. I was just pretending. I crossed my arms and ignored the sharp twinge in my shoulder. “I appreciate the professional courtesy. But what’s with the special interest? I’m not the only cop to take a bullet in the line of duty.” “You also weren’t the only name on that list,” Graham said, speaking up for the first time. My jaw tightened. The list was where this nightmare had begun. “But you were the first one targeted,” Idler said. “Your name was on that list of LEOs and informants. But this thing is bigger than one shooting. This is the first time we’ve got something that could stick to Anthony Hugo.” It was the first time I’d heard any kind of emotion in her voice. Special Agent Idler had her own personal agenda, and nailing crime boss Anthony Hugo to the wall was it. “I need this case to be airtight,” she continued. “Which is why we can’t have any locals trying to take matters into their own hands. Even if they’ve got badges. The greater good always comes with a price tag.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw and was surprised to find more than a five-o’clock shadow there. Shaving hadn’t exactly been high on my priority list lately. She assumed I’d been investigating. Reasonable given the circumstances. But she didn’t know my dirty little secret. No one did. I might be healing on the outside. I might put on my uniform and show up at the station every day. But on the inside, there was nothing left. Not even a desire to find the man responsible for this. “What do you expect my department to do if Duncan Hugo comes back here looking to shoot holes in a few more of its citizens? Look the other way?” I drawled. The feds shared a look. “I expect you to keep us apprised of any local happenings that might tie in to our case,” Idler said firmly. “We’ve got a few more resources at our disposal than your department. And no personal agendas.” I felt a flicker