He’d said he needed to take care of things first. Or make some calls, or whatever.
That could take an hour, or it could take a week, for all Sawyer knew....
The door to the police station opened, startling Sawyer. He sat upright in his chair and closed his computer screen as Ciaran came in.
“Oh, did I come at a bad time?”
“No, no,” Sawyer said. “Was just a million miles away. What can I do for you?”
“The fishing trip,” he said, making it sound more like a question. “It may have to be tomorrow, or the day after. Tobin’s expected back soon.”
Hmm. Sawyer’s interest was piqued. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure,” he said, shoving his hands into his back jeans pockets. “I’ll just have inventory. That kind of thing.”
“Oh. Of course.” Sawyer wasn’t sure he believed that was the reason. Something was definitely going on. “Any word on your friend that’s not missing? Dylan—was that his name?”
Ciaran’s eyes hardened, and while Sawyer didn’t like the defensiveness, the flash of anger made his belly tighten. “He’s not missing.”
“That’s what I said.”
Ciaran’s eyes lasered in on Sawyer’s, his nostrils flaring, and a thrill ran through Sawyer.
Oh yeah. He liked this way too much.
The pull he felt toward Ciaran should have alarmed him, but it didn’t. He loved it.
He couldn’t help but smile, and he shrugged, trying to play it off as though he didn’t care. “So the fishing trip. Fraser mentioned a hut. Do I need to take anything? Because I don’t even have a sleeping bag. I could take that blanket,” he said, nodding to the folded bedding on the cot in the jail cell. “What kind of food should I bring? Sausages, eggs? Beer? I’ll need to go see Otis, check what the store has. Oh, and bait, I guess. Just what kind of fish are in the river?”
Ciaran slow-blinked and swallowed hard. A few emotions flickered across his face before he schooled it. “That was a lot of questions. Which should I answer first?”
Sawyer grinned, loving his reaction, loving this banter. “Take your pick.”
“Leave the food to me. I’ll take care of it. Do you have any allergies?”
“No. Well, I’m allergic to being lied to.”
His nostrils flared again. “Food allergies?”
This was too much fun. “None. And the bedding? I can just bring the blanket. I’m assuming there’ll be a campfire, right? I mean, I love the cold, but....”
“The hut has bedding.”
“Oh, cool.” Sawyer just couldn’t help himself. “Thought we might have had to share.”
Ciaran took a deep breath, and his hands were now fists at his sides. He closed his eyes as if trying to compose himself, then shivered visibly, and when he opened them again, something was different.
His pupils dilated or changed shape before going back to normal. It was over so fast, barely a blink, that Sawyer wasn’t sure he didn’t imagine it. He probably would have thought he imagined it, or thought it was the lighting playing tricks on him, if he hadn’t seen that other guy’s eyes change on the pier that night in Hobart. Or the tattoo in his dreams.
Sawyer wasn’t smiling now.
They stood there, staring at each other. Not a word was spoken, and Sawyer was sure neither of them even breathed.
The familiar sound of a boat coming into the cove made them both turn. It broke whatever the hell kind of trance he’d been in, but before Sawyer could think of what to say, Ciaran turned on his heel and walked out.
Not just walked—fled. Like he couldn’t leave fast enough.
Sawyer almost sagged with relief, like someone had cocked the pressure valve, and he could breathe again.
