Oliver loved the Child Protection Unit. He really did. But he’d forgotten just how fucking exhilarating it was to play the game of ‘whodunit.’ Nine times out of ten, his departmentknewwho’d abused the child. They gathered the evidence retrospectively in abuse cases, building the investigation backwards instead of chasing the evidence all the way to the suspect. And he thought—for the briefest of moments—just how gratifying chasing drugs smugglers must be.
Oliver sighedas he slung his backpack down in the hallway that evening. It was already dark by the time he returned home, and he hadn’t even packed for his trip to London. Stepping into his bedroom, he eyed the suitcase with a guilty expression. Hehatedpacking, so instead he took a shower, applied a banana scented hair mask, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned his bedroom, cleaned the kitchen, evicted the enormous spider under his sink, swept and mopped the hallway, swept and mopped the kitchen, dusted behind the television, plungered his slightly clogged shower tray, and put on a load of washing. Heevenrearranged the fridge, which was something he’d never done in his twenty-nine years of life.
The cleaning frenzy only stopped when he heard his phone ringing. He gave a small smile as a picture of Lucas—asleep—popped up on his home screen. Granted, it was notexactlyan appropriate photograph to hold on his work mobile—given that he still hadn’t bought another personal phone—but HR could pry it from his cold, dead hands for all he cared. It was the only photograph he had of the alpha where he didn’t look mildly—or moderately—grumpy.
“Hey,” he said, phone in one hand, tub of frozen cottage pie in the other.
“Hello,” Lucas replied, soulful sounding music playing in the background.
“You’re home?”
“Just about,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “Someone threw themselves on the train line again, so the city centre’s absolutely grid locked.”
“Oh shit. Fatal?”
“Very much so. A female in her mid twenties.”
“How awful. Wouldn’t want to be the BTP right now.”
“Me neither.”
A comfortable silence fell over the phone line as Oliver slid the tub back into the fridge and closed the door. The fridge clunked and creaked as the ancient pipes struggled, and he thought for one terrifying moment that it was going to explode. Thankfully, it settled back down.
“What’re you doing?” Lucas asked.
Oliver glared at the fridge before slowly turning to walk into his bedroom. “Cleaning. And hoping my fridge doesn’t blow up.”
“Have you packed?”
Oliver huffed and sunk onto his bed. “Would you believe me if I said I have?”
“No.”
“Well then, I shall tell you no lies.”
Lucas chuckled, and Oliver was sure he could hear the clink of ice cubes against glass. “Bad day?” He asked.
The alpha inhaled, then exhaled low and slow. “Draining. I’d almost forgotten how miserable it is here.”
That caught Oliver off guard.“What do you mean?”
“Scotland Yard. Working in West Newton… it’s made me realise how soulless it is here.”
“Oh shit,” Oliver replied, pressing a finger between his eyebrows. “But I thought you loved the job?”
“I did. I still do to some degree but…”
“But?”
“But I think… I want to give up Special Branch, when all this is over. Go back to a department with an office and a consistent shift pattern.”
A wide grin spread across Oliver’s lips. “Do you really? The high flying globe trotter wants a desk job?”
“I do.”
“You know Blake’s taking an extended leave of absence, right?”
“Yes.”
