“Yeah, okay, I think we need to establish some house rules,” Sawyer said. “No getting on the kitchen counter or the table.”
The cat didn’t give one single fuck, apparently.
Sawyer would’ve been pissed if he didn’t think the company would be good for him.
Sure, he loved being by himself, preferred his own company even, but having a cat around—an independent creature which also preferred its own company—probably wasn’t a bad thing.
Especially if Sawyer expected to be here for the full five years.
Which he did.
Even with the weirdness, and the group of eight mysterious men who called themselves a consortium, and the weird dream about the octopus eyes, and with a certain Ciaran Brenner he couldn’t stop thinking about. Or his divine body, or his copper-coloured eyes...
Nope, no, no. Don’t even go there,Sawyer told himself.
Not going there.
Now mad at himself, he showered and got dressed for work, opened the police station, and rebooted up his slow computer. It was a cold day outside, drizzling rain and a biting wind, and it wasn’t even winter yet. Sawyer was used to Hobart weather, so he was no stranger to cold and windy, but this felt different. Like the cold and low clouds were as much a part of this town as the pier and the jetty.
He was grateful for his warm office and the fact that his coffee machine was just through the door. He actually liked that his small apartment was part of the station. Everything was close and convenient. Cosy.
He was cosy here.
It was now a respectable time to call Ricky Carpenter’s cousin, so he did exactly that. Unsurprisingly, it went to voicemail, and he left a message.
“Hello, Ginny. My name is Detective Sergeant Douglas Sawyer. I’m hoping you can help me. I need to get in touch with Ricky Carpenter. If you could please give me a call back...”
He didn’t expect her to, but he was still disappointed when, an hour later, she hadn’t.
So he sent her a text message, repeating his earlier request.
He didn’t expect her to reply, but he could at least see whether or not she’d read the text.
Wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt—maybe she was at work—he decided a stroll up to the café and store was in order.
It also didn’t hurt to go past Ciaran’s antiques store either. See if he was in.
He wasn’t.
The Closed sign was on the door, and the store was dark.
He was disappointed for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.
The café was warm, but there was no one behind the counter, so he walked through to the convenience store.
Otis was behind that counter with another guy Sawyer hadn’t seen before. He was dainty, if that was a word he could use to describe a man. He had golden-blond hair, pale hazel eyes, and the faintest freckles on his cheeks and nose that looked almost like glitter.
Well, okay. Daintyandpretty.
“Detective Sergeant Sawyer,” Otis said. His grin was sly this morning.
Sawyer kind of got the feeling Otis had called him by name for the other guy’s benefit so he’d know who Sawyer was. It clearly worked, because the pretty, dainty man turned and eyeballed him from head to foot and back up again, an amused smirk on his pretty, dainty face.
What the hell?
“Morning,” Sawyer said to them both.
“Morning,” the other guy said, coming over, his voice matching his looks.
