Ciaran laughed again, then looked at the very blank report titled Tenebrae Cove Residents that Sawyer was still yet to write. “Your boss won’t be happy if you don’t send him something.”
Sawyer sighed and, taking the keyboard, spoke out loud as he typed. “Ciaran Brenner. Age on diving licence: twenty-nine. Actual age indeterminate?” Sawyer looked up at Ciaran then, and he just shrugged and nodded. Sawyer chuckled as he continued. “Sexiest man alive. Blood type: blue. Distinguishing features: hot-as-fuck tattoo on right forearm and copper-coloured eyes. Special talents include: toxins that burn, self-lubing tentacles, the ability to locate my prostate with exquisite precision, and?—”
Ciaran burst out laughing.
“What?” Sawyer asked, grinning. “Too much information?”
“Send it. I dare you.”
“God no,” Sawyer said, highlighting the whole paragraph and promptly deleting it.
Then he typed out something else...
Something else he felt but wasn’t sure he should voice it...
No hiding, right?
I,Douglas Sawyer, hereby tender my resignation, effective immediately.
He paused,the cursor blinking at him as if daring him, challenging him...
“Sawyer,” Ciaran murmured. “No.”
He looked up at him and saw only concern on his face. Sawyer let out a long breath and, leaving the words on the screen, pushed the keyboard away again. “Maybe I need to.”
“But is that what you want?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. If being here as just a cop was all I was doing, then no. But knowing Hadeom sent me here to gather intel on you? I can’t be a part of that. I won’t have any part of that.”
Ciaran frowned, and he didn’t need to say how bad he felt because Sawyer could feel it.
“But maybe staying a cop and fabricating some mediocre bullshit will help me keep him happy,” Sawyer rationalised. “I can keep him at arm’s length that way. If I resign now, he’d think it was suspicious, right?”
Ciaran nodded. “Probably, yes.” Then he shrugged. “Or he could turn up himself to see what the hell’s going on. Or send another cop who will definitely rat us all out.”
Sawyer growled at that. “Who would find themselves at the bottom of the Cove with some unfortunate concrete boots on.”
Ciaran barked out a surprise laugh. “Detective Sergeant! Did you just threaten homicide?”
If someone threatened you first, then yes...
“Not at all. I simply threatened them with some questionable fashion choices.”
Ciaran laughed again, the sound making Sawyer happy. “Since when are cement boots a fashion choice?”
“I was just kidding,” Sawyer said, though neither of them believed it.
Then Ciaran nodded to the screen again. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. Resign, or be a cop forever. The choice is yours.”
Sawyer took the mouse and hovered over the Send button for a long few seconds. But then he deleted that too.
When he looked up at Ciaran, he found him smiling at him.
“I will have to send him something,” Sawyer said, though the idea of revealing any details about the residents of Tenebrae made him feel ill. “Maybe I should tell him to focus on old Mr Brown. That might keep him busy for a while. I mean, the man is a hundred and two years old, lives totally off grid, no driver’s licence, and his cheque book should be in museum of defunct financial institutions of the twentieth century.”
Ciaran chuckled, took Sawyer’s face in his hands, and kissed him. “I probably wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” Sawyer asked. Then his smile faded... Oh god. “Is he.... Who is Mr Brown, exactly?”
