Sam had considered getting her number from Georgie and calling her, but decided against it in case she thought he was trying to bribe her.
He’d settled with following her boat to ensure she got safely back to town.
Sam threw back the sheet, wandering downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. The light as he opened the fridge illuminated the room and his gaze caught on the copies of the journals Brandon had given him. He hadn’t read them yet. There’d been some final unpacking to do, and the writing was small and scratchy, so it would take a concerted effort to read it. He hadn’t had the energy.
After pouring a glass of water, he picked up Lilian’s journal and held it up to the light of the fridge.
Nope. He might not be able to sleep, but trying to decipher her words would be more than his brain could handle tonight.
He replaced it on the bench and went over to the sliding glass door, which led out to his patio and overlooked the canal. The house across from him was dark and next to it were empty blocks. The moon lit up the land, but the only movement was the ripple of the water.
Peaceful. A balm after the busy days in the army.
Sherlock would be discharged from the rehabilitation centre in two days. Sam would call again tomorrow and invite him to Retribution Bay. He would feel better having Sherlock nearby, where he could monitor him and make sure he was taking care of himself, not sinking further into despair. Plus, the lure of searching for treasure would intrigue him. Sherlock always loved a good puzzle.
They’d kept him longer because of his depression, but the doctor couldn’t do anything else. They needed his bed.
Maybe he should fly down and drag Sherlock’s sorry arse up here. Brandon would help him if Sam told him about it.
But should he break his promise to Sherlock?
The question did nothing to calm his mind. What he needed to do was go for a walk. He’d yet to explore the town properly.
Sam returned to his bedroom, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and laced up his sneakers. Grabbing his keys from by the door, he was out of the house in minutes. He stood on the road for a second and then headed left, towards town.
Only a few streetlights lit the way, but it didn’t matter because the moon was bright enough. He inhaled deeply. The night was cooler than he’d expected with a light wind, but it just made him walk faster.
He reached the main street and took the first road which led off it, heading further into town.
This was ridiculous. He should be in bed, not walking the streets at midnight like a creepy person. He walked past the PAWS office where only a security light shone at the entrance. All the other houses along the street were dark, their residents in bed long ago.
Just like he should be.
Still he walked, houses on one side of the street, scrub on the other marking the end of town. Rob had mentioned dingoes occasionally ventured into town looking for food.
Sam cast a wary eye over the bush, searching for movement, and saw none. Hopefully he was big enough to scare away any animal that might be out there.
With that slightly uneasy thought nestled in his mind, he turned right down the next street. Houses lined both sides now, cars and bikes in the driveways. Up ahead, a porch light flicked on and a woman stepped out, the light picking up the rich red of her hair.
Sam slowed. Could it be Penelope? He had no idea where she lived, but there couldn’t be too many people in town with hair that colour.
As he watched, she strode down the path towards the street and headed in his direction. Sam moved forward under a streetlight, not wanting to startle her, and her steps slowed as she spotted him.
“What are you doing here?” she called.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He moved out of the glare of the light and approached her.
“Me neither.”
“It was a pretty intense day,” Sam said, turning around to walk with her back the way he’d come.
“It’s not just that.”
He waited for her to explain and when she didn’t, he said, “I’m a good listener.” Suddenly, he wanted to hear her thoughts and concerns. He wanted to understand what made her tick.
“I can’t. You’re someone I deal with at work.”
“So it’s work stuff?”
