Rattling Chains
Page 25
Alex shivered at the chill. It was hard to see much with the only light coming from a single bare bulb swinging from a cord above their heads. “It smells rank in here, Higgs, I think there’s something growing on the wall too. Nobody should be working in here.” From the back of the room somewhere, behind racks of metal shelving piled with dusty boxes, came the sounds of brushing and the flash of a head torch.
Higgs called out a hello and the sounds paused. Footsteps echoed in the hollow concrete space as the owner of the broom strolled over and faced them down, hands on his hips.
“What now, you fucking sadist?”
That wasn’t quite the opening remark Alex was expecting. Blinded by the head torch on the speaker’s head, which shone directly at his face, Alex held a hand up to his eyes and squinted.
“Good to know that his people skills are so well honed, Higgs.”
Higgs sighed. “Detective Trethuan, I’d like you to meet Inspector Alex Courtney.”
“Oh, sorry, sir—I don’t get many visitors down here.” The voice that responded was deep and soft, if a little defensive and not particularly repentant.
Alex shook his head. “Really? You surprise me. Switch that fucking torch off and come over here where we can see you.”
The owner of the voice did as he had been asked and approached obediently.
“Name?” Alex still couldn’t see anything—lots of little round glowing spots floated in front of his eyes.
“Trethuan, Sir. D.C. Conor Trethuan.” The young detective stood up a bit straighter.
Alex could just about make out that he was wearing filthy shapeless overalls, gauntlets and a cap. It was impossible to tell what he looked like in the dim light. Alex hissed in frustration. “Get yourself cleaned up and report to my office in an hour. Higgs—tell him where it is.” He spun on his heel. “Oh, and if Sergeant Smith gives you any grief, just mention that you know about the picture.”
Alex headed back to the stairs intending to give Sergeant Satan a piece of his mind on the way past. It was absolutely disgraceful that Detective Trethuan had been made to work in such conditions and there was bound to be some kind of health and safety legislation against barring the door from the outside. Alex resolved that even if the detective proved not to be suitable for the team, he would endeavor to find him an alternative post. Sergeant Smith had conveniently made himself scarce and Alex wasn’t surprised, though he was a little disappointed. The man was a bully and a coward, there was no way he was going to be around to face up to a direct confrontation with Alex, no matter what he thought of him.
Alex returned to his office and settled down to clearing the backlog of email, official memos, voicemails and junk mail that had accumulated in precarious piles on his desk and in the scarily overstuffed inbox on his computer. He managed to maintain his focus even though he was eager to see if Conor Trethuan had the right look and attitude to take part in his plan. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, though—what were the chances that Conor would fulfill all the criteria Alex was looking for? Higgs had seemed pretty convinced and Alex trusted his sergeant, but although Higgs had many and varied talents, he was not known for his skill in spotting hot young men.
Exactly an hour later there was a firm knock at his door. As the door swung open, Alex looked up from his Mount Everest of paper, noting that his visitor was prompt. His heart stopped and his mouth went dry. He clenched his jaw to stop it from dropping. Detective Trethuan wasn’t just good-looking, he was beautiful. Drop dead fucking gorgeous. Maybe a shade over six feet, he was slim but not skinny. Hair that bordered on black was pulled back in a short tail, but a strand had escaped the ties and fell across a sculpted cheekbone. Eyes the color of emeralds glinted from beneath long dark lashes. Soft lips promised…
Alex shook himself out of a semi-dream state. Something stopped the young man in front of him from looking feminine, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe the pale skin shaded with stubble? The young detective was wearing faded jeans that hugged him nicely in all the right places, held up by a tanned leather belt. His shirt was light blue cotton, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Alex caught himself imagining what it would be like to slip that belt from its loops, wrap it around Detective Trethuan’s wrists and do things that would make him beg for mercy. He hoped that none of what he was thinking was reflected on his face.
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About the Author
T. Strange didn’t want to learn how to read, but literacy prevailed and she hasn't stopped reading—or writing—since. She’s been published since 2013, and she writes M/M romance in multiple genres, including paranormal and BDSM. T.'s other interests include cross stitching, gardening, watching terrible horror movies, playing video games, and finding injured pigeons to rescue. Originally from White Rock, BC, she lives on the Canadian prairies, where she shares her home with her wife, cats, guinea pigs and other creatures of all shapes and sizes. She’s very easy to bribe with free food and drinks—especially wine.
T. Strange loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com