Before long, his mind drifted to Blake. To his broad chest, damp hair, powerful arms… the way his face softened when he spoke to Val or patted George.
It was actually quite maddening just how attractive he was when he dropped the icy facade, and as Pember pressed his palms to the tiled wall, he realised he was hard. Like,hard,hard.
He let out a squeak.
Thanks to the turbo-boosted suppressants he hadn’t had so much as a stirring down there outside of estrus in months. Even his heats were dulled to little more than an itchy, feverish inconvenience. Yet now, with just one glimpse of his half-naked neighbour, he was daydreaming about his pecs and stupidly pullable hair.
Get a grip, pal.
Twisting the valve towards the coldest setting, he doused himself in freezing water then stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his shoulders, he flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
A car engine revved outside, making him sit up and pad to the front window. It was Blake, in his black SUV with the fancy lights and two exhausts. Not that Pember had been snooping whilst sorting out the recycling… absolutely not.
He watched as the car pulled off the driveway and sped in the direction of the police station.
No wonder the guy is never home to receive his post.
Sighing, Pember slumped back onto the bed, lit a pine-scented candle to mourn the loss of his dignity and waited for the sun to rise.
Hanging up his coat, Pember watched as Wallace bustled around the lab with a stack of Petri dishes balanced precariously between his hands. Duncan loitered in the corner, coffee cup clutched to his chest and bed hair sticking up at all angles. Maya, on the other hand, rushed towards him with an excited twinkle in her deep brown eyes.
“They’ve found a body,” she said, gripping his shoulders and shaking him.
Pember swallowed. “Th-they have?”
She nodded rapidly. “They think it’s a murder. Major Crime are down there now.”
Pember glanced at Duncan, who shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Can you tell she’s a fan of true crime?”
Pember huffed, turning back to Maya. “But that’s… bad, right?” Because her broad smile gave him the impression it was agoodthing.
Maya nodded again. “Oh, yes. Absolutely terrible. Awful. But exciting. Not every day we get a murder.”
“Sounds like work,” Duncan muttered, rolling his shoulders with an audiblecrack.
Pember blinked and sucked his bottom lip. “So, like, amurdermurder?”
Maya cocked an eyebrow. “Well… yes. Amurdermurder. Not a metaphorical one. Some alpha’s been hacked up above a chippy. Blood everywhere, apparently.”
Whether it was his sleep deprived brain dulling his emotions, or the contradictory reactions from his colleagues, Pember almost felt as though he were in a topsy-turvy dream.
Clearing his throat, he dropped his satchel onto the desk. “Which chippy?”
“The Cod Father,” Wallace piped up, sliding a briefcase out from within a locked cabinet. “And you, young Pember, are going to be my stooge for the day.” He handed Pember a forensic camera from the rack. “May, Duncan, load up the van with extras of everything and we’ll meet you at the scene. Hopefully this has all just been a big misunderstanding.”
The two nodded and began bustling around the office, collecting extra swab kits, evidence bags, knife tubes, chemicals and the like. Wallace nodded as he stepped back, eyes running up and down Pember’s frame.
“Hm. Hmm?” he hummed, pulling a long high-vis coat from the locker. “Here,” he said, handing it to Pember. It had Crime Scene Investigator embroidered in black lettering across the back, and Pember suddenly felt very excited indeed.
“So,” Wallace said as Pember hurried behind with a camera around his neck, rucksack on his back and the heavy briefcase clutched in both hands. He tripped and stumbled across the uneven tarmac, and was already out of breath by the time they reached the van at the other end of the car park. “This is what we refer to as ‘the golden hour.’”
Pember puffed out his cheeks, sliding open the side door and carefully placing everything inside. “Right,” he said, thinking back to the training materials he’d been sent in the post. He’d had to hide it all, of course, to stop his mum from finding out.
Wallace nodded, helping him slide the van door shut. “It’s the period immediately following an incident report, with the goal being to preserve life, secure evidence and minimise evidence being lost or destroyed. Remember it, because you’ll probably be quizzed on your actions if you’re ever called to court.” Wallace threw Pember the keys. “Can you drive? I need to go through the paperwork.”
Pember nodded as they both climbed into the van.
“But,” Wallace continued, “I think it’s safe to assume that preserving life has gone out the window. The report that came in this morning states that the victim had been badly mutilated. A knife, they reckon.”
