Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
SAWYER
Sawyer was confused.
Actually, Sawyer was a lot of things. Confused, excited, wary, nervous, and a little turned on. But mostly he was confused.
Sawyer could read people easily enough.... Well, people other than Ciaran Brenner.
Fraser—or Fray, as he was called—was clearly trying to push Sawyer and Ciaran into some alone time. He absolutely threw Ciaran under the bus, and Sawyer didn’t miss the way Ciaran was death-staring at Fray.
Ciaran seemed stilted, nervous, and angry. If Sawyer was reading him correctly, it was almost as if Ciaran was interested in Sawyer, but he hated himself for it, and Fray found it hilarious.
Which was what Sawyer found confusing.
If Ciaran was interested, why was he mad about it?
Why was he so angry all the time?
Earlier, when Sawyer was at the pier, Ciaran had come over and initiated conversation. He’d seemed pleasant. Friendly, even.
But then every so often, he’d look at Sawyer as if he wanted to kill him.
Sawyer had never been one to hide his interest in a guy.
Admittedly, he’d been sorely lacking in the action department these past few years, but if a guy looked twice at him in a bar—or hell, even in a supermarket—who Sawyer was certain wanted to scratch a particular itch, he had no qualms about putting his own willingness out there.
He didn’t have time for games. He’d certainly never had time for a relationship, so there was no point in beating around the bush if a particular itch needed scratching.
It was purely transactional.
Sometimes satisfying, mostly disappointing.
But Ciaran felt different.
Was Sawyer interested?
Hell yes. He couldn’t deny it. There was something about Ciaran Brenner that appealed to Sawyer. There was an energy between them, a pent-up sexual energy that Sawyer wanted to explore in ways he couldn’t describe.
Would it be wildly inappropriate for something to happen between them? Yes. Would it be just plain old stupid to pursue something with Ciaran? Also yes.
Was that going to stop him?
Sawyer didn’t think it would. Actually, he was beginning to think nothing would stop him.
That tension between them was pure fuel just waiting for a spark to ignite.
The way Ciaran looked at him, like he wanted to devour him or wanted to hurt him, made Sawyer’s blood run hot. Sawyer was sure that edge of danger, like Ciaran didn’t trust himself to control his emotions around Sawyer, would equal unrivalled passion if Ciaran would let himself give in, and let go.
And god, how Sawyer wanted Ciaran to let go.
The tension between them was strung so tight, it had to break soon.
The fact that he’d had sex dreams about him wasn’t helping.
If Ciaran did take him fishing, would they stay overnight as Fray had suggested?
Sawyer wouldn’t say no to camping out in some hut alone with Ciaran.
Did Sawyer think Ciaran would actually hurt him?
Was that the reason he wanted to get Sawyer alone?
No. Sawyer didn’t think so.
Did Ciaran look at him like he wanted to kill him? Sure. But then other times he looked at him as if he wanted to devour him, and it sent a shiver through Sawyer unlike anything he’d ever felt.
Maybe it had been too long. Maybe it had been a lifetime ago that Sawyer felt any kind of attraction, any kind of feeling.
Even if that feeling was purely sexual desire. Sexual tension. Sexual anything.
It had been far too long.
And maybe Sawyer liked antagonising Ciaran a little.
He was clearly rankled by Sawyer’s presence, so a bit of snark and a smirk aimed at him made it more fun.
He wanted Ciaran to break first.
Sawyer could make his interest known, but it had to be Ciaran who made the first move.
Sawyer being the only cop in town complicated things.
He couldn’t be the one to act first because it could look like coercion.
As in, accept my advances if you want me to look the other way from whatever criminal activity you might be into kind of thing.
Not that he thought Ciaran was doing anything illegal. Not at all. He might have thought that in the beginning. But not now. He didn’t think any of these guys were bad guys.
Was there something going on? Was there something Sawyer didn’t know about that all eight of them were involved in?
Yes.
Sawyer was certain of that.
Was it nefarious? Was it illegal?
Or were they just a bunch of close-knit guys who preferred to live off the grid?
Sawyer could hardly blame them for not wanting anything to do with city life or people in general. Sawyer felt much the same way. There was absolutely nothing wrong with not needing city conveniences. Not needing town or city services when you were self-sufficient enough was fine. Admirable, even.
That being said, not everyone was cut out for small-town living.
Though Tenebrae Cove was hardly even a small town. It was more a village. With a population closer to ten than twenty-two.
Well, nine if Sawyer included the fact that one of them, the guy named Dylan, was “gone.” Not missing, as Ciaran had been so adamantly sure about.
Sawyer couldn’t help but wonder....
He’d told Ciaran he’d dropped any police concern. If the guy wasn’t technically a missing person or a person of interest, there was nothing Sawyer could do.
He’d searched Dylan’s name in the police database, but there was nothing.
No criminal record, no driver’s licence, no anything.
He was, by all accounts, a law-abiding twenty-four-year-old guy. No passport, so he wasn’t leaving the country, no listed phone number under that name and address, no fines, no credit history.
No record of any kind.
Was that uncommon?
Not really.
Not for a guy who lived in a tiny town with no need for a car, or university debts, or anything an otherwise normal twenty-four-year-old might have. Whatever normal meant these days. He had no digital footprint either, but for a kid basically living off the grid that wasn’t so unusual, was it?
So Sawyer let it go.
If Ciaran really needed his help in finding Dylan, he’d come and ask.
Sawyer had to believe that. He wanted Ciaran to trust him.
Maybe if they did go fishing overnight, Ciaran would open up and talk. Sawyer hoped they would go, and he hoped Ciaran might stop being so defensive.
He also hoped they’d do way more than talk.
Sawyer tried not to think about that too much, or in too much explicit detail, because it wasn’t doing him any favours. Especially given the hot-as-fuck sex dream last night and the way Ciaran had looked at him today...,
Plus, this whole fishing night might not even happen. Ciaran certainly hadn’t given any indication of when it could.
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.