Title: In Blood We Trust
Author: Elodie Colt
Genre: Suspenseful Dystopian Romance
Release Date: April 2017
I took a gulp of air, bracing myself for what was about to come. Sheryl knocked on the door and I ran my hands over my dress in an attempt to smooth out the fabric. My need for food nearly made me sick. I hoped my stomach stayed quiet.
Patrick and Davis lifted their heads simultaneously as we entered.
"Patrick," Sheryl greeted him, her voice growing even sweeter as she addressed the newcomer. "Lieutenant Davis."
I stood next to Sheryl but deliberately stopped a foot behind her. Davis looked at Sheryl, but to my surprise, his gaze never went lower than her face despite the amazing view she provided at chest height. He gave her a short nod in greeting, neither overly friendly nor unfriendly. I bit my lower lip. He didn't seem like a social kind of guy. Was that a good thing or not?
"Ah, yes," Patrick said, adjusting the knot of his tie before standing up. "Lieutenant Davis, let me introduce you to my best."
Davis raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised that Patrick was referring to two women, and it was only then that his gaze finally fell upon me.
His eyes zoomed in on my face, his stare penetrating me. I automatically held my breath. Then, he raked my body head to toe with one quick but thorough glance. Fast. So fast, I nearly missed it.
My heart did a crazy little jump. Was he checking me out? Why would he do that when a sexy goddess like Sheryl was standing next to me? I suddenly felt very naked, as though he'd just stripped me down to nothing but my underwear with his intense, unwavering stare.
Davis elegantly rose from his chair. He was so intimidating—respect and power pouring from him in waves—I had the urge to avert my eyes, but they appeared to be glued to his. My headache from before was suddenly forgotten.
He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between us in a few strides. He towered over me when he stood that close, claiming my comfort zone, his strong neck on my eye level. I refused the urge to step back. Or was it an impulse to step forward? Confusing.
"Sergeant Jordan Lively," Patrick introduced me, oblivious to the wordless conversation that the Lieutenant and I were having, although I wasn't sure what exactly our silent exchange was about. Standing that close, I could make out the color of his eyes that continued to bore into me. Deep blue with shades of turquoise that reminded me of the sea's hue. I remembered seeing that color printed on the old postcards of a tropical island paradise, that had been swallowed by a tsunami decades ago. I think it had been called “Hawaii” or something exotic like that.
Simply stunning. Beautiful, drown-worthy, and absolutely unique.
His eyes flitted back and forth between mine, until resting on a particular spot. I could see the question on his face. Everyone asked the same when they met me the first time: Why was there a misshaped little speck of gray next to my left pupil whereas the rest of the eye was a regular green like the right one? I usually gave my standard excuse: Genetic. No one knew the real truth besides me.
As if on cue, Davis' gaze landed on my scarf, most likely wondering why I was even wearing one. Understandable. It was far too hot in here. I was probably the only person in this part of the country who even owned scarves.
"A pleasure to meet you." His voice skimmed my senses, an underlying tone I couldn't quiet decipher swinging with it. The way the word "pleasure" left his mouth sent funny vibrations through my belly. It took me a second to realize that he'd extended his hand to shake mine. I grasped his, and I swear I felt a thumb softly caress my skin before he pulled away.
"It's an honor," I managed to say before lifting my chin a little higher. I didn't want him to think he'd intimidated me. He stepped sideways to greet Sheryl long before his slicing gaze left mine.
"And Detective Sheryl Frayman," Patrick informed.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Davis," Sheryl greeted him in a strong voice, emanating way more confidence.
"Thanks. Nice to meet you."
Polite. Nothing more. Was I imagining it? I threw a sideways glance at Sheryl, expecting to find disappointment on her face, but instead she smiled after Davis' eyes found mine again.
My heart rate increased, pounding through my eardrums. Damn, it was hot in here. The air conditioning must have conked out again.
"What are you specialized in?" Davis asked, perching on the office desk, and crossing his ankles. Sheryl folded her hands in front of her but didn't answer. Apparently, the question was meant for me.
"Murder and rape," I answered. No point in sugar-coating that. I swear I saw his nostrils flare a tiny bit. Yeah. The question wasn't exactly one people used to reply with "Really? What a great thing to do!".
"Why?" he asked. That was a question I couldn't possibly answer honestly. It would be a, let's say, extremely heavy topic to discuss during an initial meeting.
"Because it's so much fun," I blurted sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. I regretted my words as soon as they were out of my mouth. What had gotten into me? Must have been the low blood sugar. Sheryl's head shot in my direction and I could feel her what-the-fuck-are-you-doing glare on me. I glared back, shrugging. What was an appropriate answer here?
"Jordan!" Patrick exclaimed in shock, but Davis didn't seem to bother. His expression hadn't changed in the slightest, still deeply lost in analyzing me. His stare made the air around me even more stifling.
He smacked his lips, the movement attracting my attention. "You're one of the best in what you're doing. That only comes with a proper amount of devotion," he stated, continuing to study me carefully.
We were getting in dangerous terrain. I needed a way out, so I prompted, "You mean the satisfaction I feel when I finally put the bastard behind bars?" In all honesty, I felt immense satisfaction when I took one of them down during an exchange of fire. It was exhilarating. But that wouldn't be the appropriate thing to say if I wanted to stay professional. I always tried to hide my dark side as best as I could.
"Sergeant Lively apprehended over thirty criminals on her own last year," Patrick threw in, doing his best to cast a positive light on me.
Davis nodded in acknowledgment, though he seemed distracted. I transferred my weight to my other foot. God, my heels were killing me. And you couldn't even open a window when you were stuck on the hundredth-something floor!
Patrick and Davis lifted their heads simultaneously as we entered.
"Patrick," Sheryl greeted him, her voice growing even sweeter as she addressed the newcomer. "Lieutenant Davis."
I stood next to Sheryl but deliberately stopped a foot behind her. Davis looked at Sheryl, but to my surprise, his gaze never went lower than her face despite the amazing view she provided at chest height. He gave her a short nod in greeting, neither overly friendly nor unfriendly. I bit my lower lip. He didn't seem like a social kind of guy. Was that a good thing or not?
"Ah, yes," Patrick said, adjusting the knot of his tie before standing up. "Lieutenant Davis, let me introduce you to my best."
Davis raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised that Patrick was referring to two women, and it was only then that his gaze finally fell upon me.
His eyes zoomed in on my face, his stare penetrating me. I automatically held my breath. Then, he raked my body head to toe with one quick but thorough glance. Fast. So fast, I nearly missed it.
My heart did a crazy little jump. Was he checking me out? Why would he do that when a sexy goddess like Sheryl was standing next to me? I suddenly felt very naked, as though he'd just stripped me down to nothing but my underwear with his intense, unwavering stare.
Davis elegantly rose from his chair. He was so intimidating—respect and power pouring from him in waves—I had the urge to avert my eyes, but they appeared to be glued to his. My headache from before was suddenly forgotten.
He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between us in a few strides. He towered over me when he stood that close, claiming my comfort zone, his strong neck on my eye level. I refused the urge to step back. Or was it an impulse to step forward? Confusing.
"Sergeant Jordan Lively," Patrick introduced me, oblivious to the wordless conversation that the Lieutenant and I were having, although I wasn't sure what exactly our silent exchange was about. Standing that close, I could make out the color of his eyes that continued to bore into me. Deep blue with shades of turquoise that reminded me of the sea's hue. I remembered seeing that color printed on the old postcards of a tropical island paradise, that had been swallowed by a tsunami decades ago. I think it had been called “Hawaii” or something exotic like that.
Simply stunning. Beautiful, drown-worthy, and absolutely unique.
His eyes flitted back and forth between mine, until resting on a particular spot. I could see the question on his face. Everyone asked the same when they met me the first time: Why was there a misshaped little speck of gray next to my left pupil whereas the rest of the eye was a regular green like the right one? I usually gave my standard excuse: Genetic. No one knew the real truth besides me.
As if on cue, Davis' gaze landed on my scarf, most likely wondering why I was even wearing one. Understandable. It was far too hot in here. I was probably the only person in this part of the country who even owned scarves.
"A pleasure to meet you." His voice skimmed my senses, an underlying tone I couldn't quiet decipher swinging with it. The way the word "pleasure" left his mouth sent funny vibrations through my belly. It took me a second to realize that he'd extended his hand to shake mine. I grasped his, and I swear I felt a thumb softly caress my skin before he pulled away.
"It's an honor," I managed to say before lifting my chin a little higher. I didn't want him to think he'd intimidated me. He stepped sideways to greet Sheryl long before his slicing gaze left mine.
"And Detective Sheryl Frayman," Patrick informed.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Davis," Sheryl greeted him in a strong voice, emanating way more confidence.
"Thanks. Nice to meet you."
Polite. Nothing more. Was I imagining it? I threw a sideways glance at Sheryl, expecting to find disappointment on her face, but instead she smiled after Davis' eyes found mine again.
My heart rate increased, pounding through my eardrums. Damn, it was hot in here. The air conditioning must have conked out again.
"What are you specialized in?" Davis asked, perching on the office desk, and crossing his ankles. Sheryl folded her hands in front of her but didn't answer. Apparently, the question was meant for me.
"Murder and rape," I answered. No point in sugar-coating that. I swear I saw his nostrils flare a tiny bit. Yeah. The question wasn't exactly one people used to reply with "Really? What a great thing to do!".
"Why?" he asked. That was a question I couldn't possibly answer honestly. It would be a, let's say, extremely heavy topic to discuss during an initial meeting.
"Because it's so much fun," I blurted sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. I regretted my words as soon as they were out of my mouth. What had gotten into me? Must have been the low blood sugar. Sheryl's head shot in my direction and I could feel her what-the-fuck-are-you-doing glare on me. I glared back, shrugging. What was an appropriate answer here?
"Jordan!" Patrick exclaimed in shock, but Davis didn't seem to bother. His expression hadn't changed in the slightest, still deeply lost in analyzing me. His stare made the air around me even more stifling.
He smacked his lips, the movement attracting my attention. "You're one of the best in what you're doing. That only comes with a proper amount of devotion," he stated, continuing to study me carefully.
We were getting in dangerous terrain. I needed a way out, so I prompted, "You mean the satisfaction I feel when I finally put the bastard behind bars?" In all honesty, I felt immense satisfaction when I took one of them down during an exchange of fire. It was exhilarating. But that wouldn't be the appropriate thing to say if I wanted to stay professional. I always tried to hide my dark side as best as I could.
"Sergeant Lively apprehended over thirty criminals on her own last year," Patrick threw in, doing his best to cast a positive light on me.
Davis nodded in acknowledgment, though he seemed distracted. I transferred my weight to my other foot. God, my heels were killing me. And you couldn't even open a window when you were stuck on the hundredth-something floor!
Elodie lives in the outskirts of Vienna, Austria, with her longtime boyfriend. She is not a native English speaker, but that doesn’t keep her from putting her fantasies on paper in that beautiful language. Never trained as a professional writer, she started writing as a hobby, which quickly grew into an obsession.
Elodie has an unhealthy addiction to chocolate cookies – which is why she forces herself to go to the gym twice a week – has a weakness for electronic music, and in her spare time she can be found exploring movie databases for the latest DVD releases.
Additionally, she’s busy with reading and writing and gets easily lost in Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy, Sci-Fi, and Erotica. In her own works, she likes to create rich dystopian stories which consist of bold heroines, sexy guys, and hot romances.
Her biggest idol is the British author, Stephanie Hudson, author of the epic saga “Afterlife”. Elodie secretly hopes to get the chance to meet with Stephanie one day, and talk to her about how she created the greatest story ever written.
The only thing she hates about writing is that she loses all the precious time she could spend reading the hundreds of books that are still on her to-read list.
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