Blake’s dark brows pinched together, but he did as he asked.
Pember tapped his chin as he looked at the photograph of the arm. It wasn’t completely clear, but as far as he could tell there were half a dozen deep, albeit tiny, puncture wounds that peppered the muscle tissue. Messy, bruised and not at all like those he’d seen on the cadavers of heroin addicts.
“There’s no sign of repeated scarring, which might suggest it was his first time injecting,” he said, Blake’s breath tickling his cheek. A bolt of tension shot through his spine, and he quickly found himself backing away from the monitor. “B-but the pathologist report would tell you more I’m sure.”
Wallace let out a loud laugh. “Good luck with that. The lead time for full post-mortem reports is three months.”
When Pember’s gaze moved to Blake again, he was surprised to see a bemused smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “Thank you,” Blake said, rising to his feet. Lily followed, brushing over the wrinkles in her skirt. “Wallace, please send me the preliminary PM report by the end of play today, as well as any additional notes taken by your team.”
Wallace nodded, stroking his beard. “What’re you thinking here, Blake? Is there something in this?”
The alpha shrugged, opening the computer room door and holding it ajar for Lily. “Unlikely, but it’s one I’d like to keep my eye on.”
With that, the detectives slipped out of the room, leaving Pember, Maya and Wallace hovering awkwardly around the computer.
Wallace sighed. “See what I mean? Total disregard for anything else we might have going on.”
Pember nodded, eyes sliding to Maya. “Sorry about that. My mouth ran away with me.”
She snorted, gripped both his shoulders and shook him. “I think you’re going to get on just fine, my funny little friend.”
CHAPTER 6
STRAWBERRY BONBONS
Pember
Two evenings later,Pember found himself in the supermarket staring down at the sweet potatoes. He was in an odd mood. On the one hand, he was unbelievably relieved that he’d survived his first few days without fucking up too badly. His colleagues were nice—the ones from the lab, at least—and he found he was fairly comfortable around all of the machines and equipment. However, the responsibility of the job was already weighing him down.
People’s lives, their trauma, their pain, their sadness… he was reducing it all to just samples, and swabs, and smears on a microscope slide. It was nothing like his old job, where none of the science had people tied to it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the omega who’d been sexually assaulted, and how scared he must have been. Maya kept telling him to put up a wall, but the bricks were wobbly and the mortar was crumbling.
It didn’t help that he was exhausted, like,bone achinglyexhausted. He’d been on edge for days, and the bad dreams had been waking him continuously night after night. So, as he stoodin the middle of the supermarket, hands gripping the trolley, he realised that he needed to get his little house in order,fast. Make it somewhere to shut out the world after a long day.
Society would tell him that he needed a nest, like every omega to ever exist. He understood the science behind it—the slow release of oxytocin, serotonin and dopamine when one was surrounded by all the things they liked. The effect was, in theory, even greater if the omega shared that nest with a mate, but the thought alone made him cringe. The problem was that he had no idea where to begin.
Trudging around the shop, he filled the trolley with as much fresh produce as he could manage, along with several blankets, pillows, candles and air fresheners, because the place still had a musty smell from the previous tenant. Once he started he couldn’t stop, as rumbling excitement took root in his belly. Before he knew it he’d placed a strawberry plant, a basket for Bailey and a rug with a sausage dog on it into the trolley.
Standing at the till with all of his new things, he actually looked forward to returning to his empty little house. Even more so when the kind taxi driver helped him carry everything to the front door.
“Thank you!” he called as the car pulled away.
Bailey hopped up from the mat by the back door, licked his hands and neck as he bent down to bury his face in her floppy ears. “Missed you,” he mumbled, patting her bum before going inside.
Humming, he watered the strawberry plant and placed it on the back patio. It was his first purchase for the garden, and as he ran his eyes over the messy back lawn, he couldn’t help but picture all the other things he might plant. He’d always wanted a herb garden. Maybe a pear tree too. He shivered and gripped the front of his T-shirt at the thought of having his own mini-grove. Like a farmer. Or a druid.
His elderly neighbour was talking loudly on the phone, and there was a clicking sound coming from the shed at the end of her lot. He’d never met her—not officially, at least—but he’d seen her pottering around at the end of the garden when he spied out his bedroom window.
Then there was the bird. Cherry. That’s what he assumed the parrot was called, because his neighbour shouted it continuously most evenings.
Pember chuckled to himself as he changed into a pair of brown harem pants, a green long-sleeved T-shirt and flip-flops. He actually felt like a druid. His hair was getting scruffy on the top, so he pulled it back from his forehead and slid a bobby pin into its dark waves.
Returning to the kitchen, he put away the groceries—leaving out an onion, carrots and celery—before wiping down the oak wood worktops. They’d been scratched to hell by the previous tenant, so he’d sanded and oiled them all the previous couple of nights. They looked pretty good, so he’d treated himself to a decent chopping board and knife and was oddly excited to use them.
The thought of chopping, and peeling, andcookingfor himself without his mother looking over his shoulder… He squealed a little at the thought.
Beef stew. That was what he felt like eating that evening, so, pulling out the knife, he pretended he was a ninja and began chopping the vegetables. He hummed to himself as he braised the beef, stirred the sauce and sipped on a mug full of the prosecco that Oliver had bought him as a house-warming present. Sighing with contentment, he popped the pot into the oven and turned to look out the kitchen window. His wolf rumbled in the back of his mind, but when he reached for it, it was gone.
