“Sorry about that,” Wallace said, shaking his head. “They’re the Major Crime donkeys. They go out with the detectives to help with warrants and arrests. They aren’t managed by the control room like the other uniformed officers, which makes them a pain in my chuffing arse.”
Just then, the other door opened and the two people from the lab stepped in.
“Ah, here they are,” Wallace said, waving them in.
Having removed their masks and jackets, Pember could finally see their faces. One was a skinny man, with mousy brown hair and a small mole on his chin. A beta, judging by his neutral scent. The other was a very small female, with dark skin and acheerful expression. The female was quite obviously an omega like him.
The girl leant forwards, clasping his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Maya, this is Duncan,” she said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder
Maya had a wonderfully warm scent, one that Pember found deeply comforting.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, trying to return the handshake with equal confidence. “Pember McArthur.”
“Oooh, you’re the lad who got spiked by that Colletta guy last year, right?” Duncan said, tapping his chin. “We ran the tox on your blood. Ketamine laced with love dust? Nasty little combo. Thought I recognised the name; uncommon in these parts—Welsh, right?”
Pember’s throat went dry at the mention of Patrick Coletta, the alpha who’d spiked his drink the year before. It’d been one of the scariest nights of his life, and he thanked whatever God was listening that Oliver had picked up the phone when he called.
Maya’s head snapped towards Duncan, her pretty, dark eyes turning heated. “Duncan,” she growled, raising a hand. “Read—” She slapped him hard on the arm. “—the—” Slap. “—fucking—” Another slap. “—room! For God’s sake.”
“Sorry!” Duncan replied, throwing up an arm to shield himself from the blows. “Sorry! Just trying to find common ground. Talk about something relatable to break the ice.”
Maya’s mouth hung open as she slapped him again. “Like date rape? Relatable like fucking date rape? Jesus Christ, Dunny, you idiot.”
Despite the unwelcome revelation, Pember’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “It’s okay,” he said, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle from his clothing. “It didn’t even occur to me that it’d be you guys who did my toxicology. But yeah. Massive prick.”
Maya nodded, a sudden sadness cooling her expression. “All those kids… Poor babies. I just wanna take ’em all home.”
Quiet fell over the four of them as the kettle boiled, date rape and child abuse apparently making terrible topics for small talk. When the button clicked, Wallace withdrew four mugs from the wonky kitchen cabinet.
“What’ll it be, Pember?”
“O-oh. Coffee, milk, two sugars, please.” His gaze flitted to Duncan, who was standing sheepishly in the corner of the kitchen. “Anglo-Saxon, by the way. My name. It’s Anglo-Saxon. Irish surname.”
Duncan nodded, looking grateful for the opening. “Cool. Mine’s Scottish Gaelic or something. I don’t know. I talk shit when I’m nervous. Was that obvious? Maybe it was obvious.”
Maya shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Still an idiot,” she said, before covering a yawn with her hand. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
Wallace shot her an amused look. “Jerry keep you up all night, did he, May?”
Maya waved the comment away, turning to Pember. “Jerry’s my diabetic cat. These two love to tease me about it.”
“It’s not because he’s diabetic,” Duncan said, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s because you’re up every hour playing nurse. Just put the poor bugger out of his misery.”
Maya tutted. “Just becauseyou’venever loved anything in your life.”
Duncan grinned, hands forming a hooking motion like he was reeling in a fish. “Oof, we’ve got a bite.”
Maya shook her head, taking a long drink of coffee. “Oh, by the way, Wallace, Major Crime are coming over this morning. The sergeant wants to go over the results from the armed robbery.”
Wallace cocked an eyebrow. “DS Vaughan?”
Maya shook her head. “DS Smith. Used to be in Child Protection. The good-looking bloke with the funny eyes.”
Wallace hummed. “Why?”
Maya shrugged. “No idea. Something about that alpha junkie who turned up dead last week. Hey, Pem, do you like Indian food? I bring pakoras every Tuesday, sometimes bhaji’s. My parents have a shop in town.”
Pember grinned, absolutely delighted to discover that he was stepping intothatkind of workplace—where people made things for their colleagues. He’d loved baking cakes for his lab-mates at university but had to hide everything under his bed so his mum wouldn’t ruin them.
