Anyone else picture Alexander Skarsgård as Kincaid? Oh, boy. I'd let him shoot me from 3500 meters.

Set during Dead Beat. Murphy's POV.

The man rushed me from across the mat, closing quicker than anyone that big had a right to, faster than he should have. I grabbed his wrist and shoulder and let momentum work for me as I turned and dropped to both knees. The wizard flew over my head in a nice arc and landed on his back, wheezing.

"You've been slacking, Dresden," I admonished. We had been sparring for nearly an hour and I was wiping the floor with him.

More so than usual, I mean.

"Maybe." He grinned at me, upside-down. "Maybe I'm screwing up on purpose so I can book more one-on-one time with the cute instructor."

I rolled my eyes. The flirty teasing felt a little more pointed when it was the two of us in the empty gym. Past closing time, but I had keys. Most of the lights had been turned out, except the ones right overhead. We had been rolling around on the mats, sweating on each other.

… It was the most action I'd seen in an embarrassingly long time.

"Why isn't Stallings helping you with the women's self-defense class this year, anyway?" Harry took the hand I offered and climbed to his feet. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind playing bad guy every now and then."

"He had that elbow surgery, he's still in rehab for it." I tracked down my bottle of water. "Two more months."

"Will he survive that long without golf?"

"Only time will tell," I said somberly. Harry laughed. He had a nice laugh, a smile that did interesting things to his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw. He had a nice… a lot of things. I shook my head. "Okay, next is that rear attack from the ground—"

"The chokehold or the hair grab—"

"Dealer's choice," I said as I turned away, and we took our positions on the mat, kneeling. He attacked, but not with the caveman-style ponytail grab I expected. He slid a hand through my hair at the nape of my neck and his fingers tightened, and—

To be fair, it was my fault. I should have explained how that particular hold was reserved for the other kind of rolling around on the floor with a good-looking guy. And I don't mean Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. And I hadn't managed to disguise my reaction, as everything I had tensed, pleasantly, and my breath caught in my lungs. Our eyes met in the mirror for a second, more hot than awkward, which somehow made it feel even more awkward.

I slipped the hold, grabbed his wrist, twisting as I forced his shoulder to the floor. He tapped out of the joint lock. "Oof. Undue force, Murph."

"Sorry. That's enough for tonight, anyway. We can pick back up on Thursday." I nodded toward the women's locker room. "I'm gonna go—"

Harry just waved me off, not quite looking at me.

I cleaned up and got dressed in a hurry, out of the skintight yoga pants and tank top and back into the uptight, unapproachable office wear — heels and blouse and pencil skirt, shoulder holster, jacket. Judging from the brief glance I received upon exiting the locker room, I might as well have been dressed head-to-toe in Agent Provocateur. Or dipped in chocolate. Or both.

"Let's go."

He followed me to the door, smelling of soap and that ridiculous leather coat. His hair was still damp from the shower. It was a good look. But a bad idea. We worked together. Worked well together, and of course it made me wonder how well we would, uh… work together.

"You know you don't have to walk me to my car, Dresden. I'm better armed than you."

It was long past closing time for most of the businesses on this block, the street was empty as we crossed to the parking garage, our reflections wavering in the moonlit glass of nearby buildings.

"I parked next to you."

"You don't have to do that, either."

"Maybe it's not a macho thing. Maybe I just like spending time with you." He shrugged. "Or maybe it was the only spot left."

We both glanced at the sketchy garage elevator, then at each other, then turned in sync toward the stairs, and made the climb in silence.

We both hesitated on a landing. While I was debating what to say, he grabbed me, the exact same way as before. This time he shoved me back against the wall, into something equal parts kiss and experiment; looking for the same reaction as before. When he got it, I felt him smile, wolfish and satisfied.

"That's what I thought."

That was all it took. We lunged at each other, dropping gym bags and tearing at clothing, just having at it among the dead leaves and old newspaper. The concrete staircase was sharp-edged and cold, but his hands were warm as we—

I sat bolt upright in bed, breathless.

Moonlight glittered on the water, just outside the open veranda doors of the beachfront villa. A tropical breeze stirred the curtains. It took me a moment to remember where I was.

And who I was with.

"Bad dream, Blondie?" The glow of a laptop screen illuminated the stark features and amused grey eyes of the man in bed next to me, his sandy hair still loose from… earlier.

Jared didn't sleep much. Didn't really seem to get tired, which made for some interesting dates. He wasn't the jealous type, either. He grinned at me like he knew I'd been dreaming about dirty, echo-y parking garage sex with—

"Check it out." He pulled me into the space under his arm, all warm and naked beneath the sheets. He set the laptop down in front of us.

Rolling Blackouts, Severe Weather in Windy City Foil Halloween Plans, read the main headline on the screen, and below it: Tyrannosaurus Wrecks: Vandalism at the Field Museum.

"Looks like your boyfriend is back on his bullshit."

next: fog