Page 2 of The Sinner’s Son (Sawyer and Royce: Felonies and Fatherhood #2)
“What?” Royce cupped Sawyer’s neck and kissed his temple. “You set me up with your phrasing. Overstuffed? You lobbed that right over home plate and expected me to swing and miss? No way.”
Sawyer tilted his head back and looked to the heavens for help through the moon roof.
Royce laughed and pulled him into a tight hug that turned into a tender kiss. “Never change,” Sawyer said. “Not a single damn thing about yourself.”
“Because I make you happy?” Royce asked.
“The happiest.”
Royce gripped Sawyer’s tie to keep him in place. “And I stuff you like no one else ever has or ever will?”
Sawyer tilted his head to the side as if scrolling through memories of past lovers or considering future ones, until Royce growled his disapproval.
“You’re the stuff my dreams are made of, and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone—past, present, or future.
I love you, Ro. Having a baby with you just amplifies that emotion a thousand times.
If I nearly stroke out from hearing her little heartbeat, what will it be like when we hold her for the first time? I might expire on the spot.”
Royce chuckled warmly and stroked his knuckles over Sawyer’s cheek.
“You won’t. God, our Lil Plum is so lucky to have two dads who adore her so much already.
” He pulled back and groaned as if just realizing something.
“She’s going to spend her entire life trying to escape our suffocating affection. ”
Sawyer barked out a laugh and flopped back in his seat. “Do you know what’s worse than a helicopter mom?”
Royce pursed his lips and exhaled. “No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“Detective dads,” Sawyer said, then added, “Two of them.”
Royce pointed to Sawyer and to himself. “One. Two. I can do simple math.”
Sawyer playfully shoved his shoulder. “She’s going to leave for college and never come back.”
“We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t board a Greyhound bus when she’s fifteen,” Royce countered. “Or pull a Fred Flintstone and beat it out of here in her Little Tikes car with her chubby toddler feet. Do you know they make a pink princess cozy coupe? I damn near bought it last week.”
Sawyer placed a hand on his stomach. “I think I have indigestion for real now.”
“Christ, when did we become such joy killers?” Royce asked.
“When we discovered we were having Lil Plum. We’re so excited that it terrifies us.”
Royce looked at him with a crooked smile. “Are we going to change her nickname to a new fruit after every doctor’s visit?”
Sawyer shrugged. “Maybe.”
“What size will she be at sixteen weeks?” Royce asked.
“Avocado.”
Royce laughed. “Yeah, she’s getting a new nickname each month.”
“Pumpkin is the last fruit, and I might call her that for the rest of my life.”
“Awww.” Royce reached for his hand. “Maybe we shouldn’t fret about her trying to escape us before she’s drawn her first breath.”
“Agreed. We’re going to have an amazing support system to help guide us when we get too overprotective,” Sawyer said.
“Kels will smack some sense into us for sure.” Royce pressed a quick kiss against Sawyer’s lips.
“No one has spotted us, so it’s not too late to sneak home and play hooky.
” Something must’ve caught Royce’s attention because he looked out the windshield and groaned.
“Your oversized golden retriever is headed our way.”
Sawyer turned to find Detective Topher Carnegie advancing toward their SUV with a purposeful stride.
Royce had given the younger detective the nickname because of his tawny coloring and his charming personality traits that aligned with the popular dog breed.
Royce had meant the moniker as a compliment, but Sawyer doubted Topher would like the comparison.
He opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle before the cold case detective could reach him. “What’s up, Toph?”
“Hey. I’m just on my way out to meet Julian for lunch. Thought I’d warn you that Alec Bishop is blowing up the precinct’s phones looking for you.”
Sawyer bit back a groan as his good mood shriveled up and died. “Just great,” he said, though his acerbic tone implied the news was anything but.
And to think, Sawyer had been just another one of Alec’s true-crime fanboys a few short months ago when they’d met at a crime convention in Denver.
He’d been intrigued by the story of a man who’d discovered his estranged father was a serial killer and turned him into the FBI.
Sawyer had been excited to meet Alec and was flattered when the media’s latest darling was familiar with his solved cold cases.
Then came the stunning news that Alec believed his father, Andrew Bishop, killed more women than the FBI had credited to him.
Alec had laid out sound logic and shown admirable determination to bring closure to those families.
He wanted police departments around the country to partner with him to solve the cases, starting with Sawyer and the SPD since his family had lived in Savannah between 1995 and 1997.
Deciding to capitalize on his notoriety, Alec secured significant financial backing to fund the investigations.
Everything had seemed too good to pass up, which was why Commissioner Rigby overruled all of Mendoza’s concerns and paved the way for their partnership.
And that’s when Alec’s energy had drastically shifted from determined to obnoxious.
The message-bombing was just the latest reason Sawyer regretted the decision to take part in Alec’s investigative podcast. He’d been smart not to share his cell phone number with the man, but he was running out of reasons to withhold it since their partnership would begin in earnest the following week.
Sawyer could already see he’d need to set hard boundaries and enforce them diligently.
“This guy is going to be a problem,” Royce said as he rounded the hood and joined their conversation.
“Not for long,” Sawyer promised.
His cold case squad had dedicated a lot of time and effort to getting much of the legwork done before Alec arrived.
They’d successfully eliminated two out of the five potential victims just by retesting evidence against Andrew’s DNA.
While those cases remained unsolved, they knew Andrew wasn’t their killer and had viable results to test against future suspects.
Alec had come in clutch with the funding as soon as the principal participants inked the contracts.
“Gotta run,” Topher said. “I don’t want to keep Julian waiting.”
“I’ll let you know what I learn from Alec,” Sawyer told him.
Topher pivoted to walk backward. “Hopefully that he’s changed his mind. Julian is already angling for an introduction. I thought we’d be married longer than a year before he got bored with me.”
“Ha! Julian is mad about you,” Royce told him. “That creepy dude is no threat to you.”
“Thanks, Ro.”
“ Creepy dude ?” Sawyer asked once Topher had turned back around and disappeared into the parking lot.
“I just don’t like that Bishop guy. He gets my hackles up.”
Sawyer angled his head and studied Royce. “Is this going to be a problem for us?”
“No. My husband is crazy about me.”
“Hell yes, he is.” Sawyer squared his shoulders and faced the building. “I better go see what Alec is fired up about now.”
Both the CCU and the Explorer Academy were in the basement, so they headed down together.
“See you at the open house tonight,” Royce said once they stepped off the elevator.
“I can’t wait to meet your new cadets.”
The CCU bullpen was empty when Sawyer entered the room, and he thanked his lucky stars for a few quiet moments to transition from an ecstatic, expecting dad to an analytical detective.
But of course, his desk phone rang before his ass landed in his chair.
The sound felt intrusive and downright ominous, which made Sawyer scoff and shake his head.
Personification worked great in fictional literature, but that kind of thinking didn’t work well in police work.
Phrases like whispering winds pulled Sawyer into a story and made him feel part of the scene, but he sure as hell wouldn’t use that terminology in a police report.
It wasn’t the middle of the night, so why was he assigning negative emotions to a ringing phone?
Because Sawyer had learned Alec Bishop was looking for him.
He mentally braced himself and answered the call.
“This is Detective Key.” But by this time, the call had already rolled over to his voicemail.
Sawyer set the receiver in the cradle and wiggled his mouse to wake his computer.
He’d give the caller a minute to leave a message before retrieving it.
He had several emails in his inbox and even more messages in the department’s instant-messaging system.
Sawyer quickly scanned them and realized Topher had not exaggerated Alec’s persistence.
He leaned back in his chair, scrubbed a hand over his face, and resisted the urge to shout “Fuck!”
Sawyer stretched his neck muscles as if he were about to go a few rounds with a prizefighter and cycled through a cleansing breath.
Most of his emails and IMs instructed him to call Alec, though they varied widely in tone and urgency.
Then Sawyer moved to his voicemail inbox and played back the five messages, deleting the four from Alec and listening intently to the most recent one, which came from his forensic lab contact.