Page 11 of Devil's Hour
Sawyer closed his eyes briefly. “I know you don’t believe it, yet, but you’re so good at this, Royce.”
“I believe we need to get inside the station and focus on the case so I can give the chief a detailed report this afternoon.” Royce killed the engine and reached for the door handle, but Sawyer stopped him before he could get out.
“I wasn’t too pissed to catch the caveman standoff between you and Felix, by the way. If it’s any consolation at all, your dick is bigger. Thicker too.” Sawyer chuckled at Royce’s stunned expression, then got out of the car.
The click of the door closing jolted Royce out of his stupor, and he hastily exited the car. “I don’t believe it,” he called out to Sawyer, who was striding across the parking lot like he hadn’t just dropped that bomb.
Sawyer stopped, turned, and smiled at him. “I guess we can ask Felix to prove it.”
“Notthatpart,” Royce said. “I can’t believe you didn’t shout it out where the Fleabag could hear it too. Makes me want to dial him up and put him on speakerphone.”
Sawyer tipped his head back and laughed heartily, and Royce smiled for the first time since he saw Felix leaning against their car.
Yeah, they were okay.
Royce and Sawyer spent the next sixty minutes working at their desks. Royce glanced up when Sawyer stretched his neck from side to side, then flexed his shoulders and knew they needed a break. Neither of them bitched about the tedious aspects of the job, but there was no doubt they’d rather be in the field instead of staring at a computer monitor.
“Hey,” Royce said, snagging Sawyer’s attention. “Coffee break?”
Sawyer pushed his chair back from his desk. “God, yes,” he dramatically replied as if he were caffeine deprived. Royce knew for a fact he’d consumed four cups already.
With most of the detectives out in the field, the bullpen was quiet, so they were able to speak inside the breakroom without fear of being overheard. Royce could sneak in a quick peck on the lips, too, but he wouldn’t, even if he was dying to taste the caramel in Sawyer’s kiss. He razzed Sawyer mercilessly about his obsession with the creamer but was secretly becoming a big fan himself. Sawyer’s gaze flickered from Royce’s lips to his eyes, and he knew his golden boy was thinking not-so-golden thoughts too.
Sawyer took another sip but not before Royce saw his lips twitch as he fought off a smile. Clearing his throat, Sawyer said, “My search turned up three brief mentions of fires over the past four weeks. The only details provided were the street names and block numbers, so there was no way for me to recognize a pattern beyond the similarities of the neighborhoods. They’re in the poorest communities surrounding the historical districts where the mayor has tried and failed to initiate revitalization efforts.”
“Failed because her idea of revitalization is to push out the minority families who have lived there for generations so they can raze the old homes and build replica Victorian McMansions and make the area whiter,” Royce said, barely containing a sneer. “Oh, did I say that out loud? I meant safer for our families and the tourists who visit our city.”
“I think you unknowingly just rattled off The Purists’ mission statement,” Sawyer said, saluting him with his Duke University coffee mug before taking another drink. “The paper also identified each location as unoccupied, vacant, or abandoned.”
“Those terms are similar but don’t mean the same thing.” Unoccupied had the broadest description but generally meant the owners or occupants weren’t home at the time of the incident. They could’ve been on vacation, out for the evening, or had recently moved. Vacant implied the structure was empty for a longer period, while abandoned was typically used for derelict homes that were left to the elements.
“They’re similar enough that they are frequently interchanged. The reporter might’ve just been trying to change things up, or the usage could be deliberate. We’ll know more once we dig deeper. What did you find out about the carrier, Dusty Donovan?”
“I found two men with the same name, Dustin Donovan, and both go by Dusty. One is forty-eight with a list of petty crimes as long as my arm, and the other is seventy-nine with no criminal record. According to bail bond records, the younger Mr. Donovan lives with the elder, who is listed as his father and employed at SMN.”
Sawyer looked at his watch. “We have a while before our appointment with Skip Goodwin. Do you want to check in with Blue or head over to interview Mr. Donovan?”
“Check in with Blue and go from there. Maybe he can meet us for an early lunch so we can go over what little we do know before meeting with the first person to find the letter.”
Sawyer set his coffee cup down and called Blue. “Hey, big sexy,” Sawyer said once Blue answered. “You’ve been gone for hours. What’s going on?” Sawyer picked up his cup and took a drink while listening to Blue. “Sarge just suggested the same thing. What sounds good to you?” Sawyer asked, then nodded when Blue answered. “Perfect choice, and I know Sergeant Dickhead is a big fan too.”
Royce lightly jabbed Sawyer in the gut, but since he telegraphed his move, Sawyer had enough time to tighten his core to shield the blow. With his hands full, Sawyer’s only way of retaliation was with his legs, which Royce easily dodged when Sawyer tried to kick his shin. Unfortunately, he sloshed coffee all over his shirt in the process.
“Damn it,” Royce groused, narrowing his eyes at Sawyer like he’d been the one to start it.
“We’re going to head out and interview the newspaper carrier and then meet you at Clancy’s.” Just hearing the restaurant name perked Royce up. He pointed to his shirt and signaled to Sawyer he’d be a minute, then headed to the locker room to change again.
He pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the bench in front of his locker on his way to the sink to wash off the stickiness before putting on a clean shirt. Otherwise, it would be like changing your underwear after a wet dream without washing off your sticky dick first.
In the mirror above the sink, Royce’s gaze snagged on the puckered scar on his chest. He ran his finger over it, noting how the tissue had softened and lightened from an angry red to dark pink. He heard the locker room door swing open and recognized Sawyer’s footsteps as he searched for him. Seconds later, the man appeared behind him in the mirror. Sawyer’s eyes immediately went to the exit scar next to his shoulder blade. He lowered his head and kissed the scar before sliding his arms around Royce’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.
“Have you forgotten where we are?” Royce teased.
Sawyer held his gaze in the mirror. “Nope. This just felt more important after the fight we had.” Sawyer looked at the scar a few inches above Royce’s heart. He ran his fingers over it just like Royce had, then rested his palm on his chest over his heart. “I almost lost you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”
Sawyer raised his eyes to meet Royce’s in the mirror again. “That isn’t a promise you can keep,” he whispered. Royce knew he was right. Victor Ruiz never would’ve chosen to leave Sawyer.