SAWYER
The rain came down in a fine silver mist, too thin to drum against the ground, exactly, but too steady to ignore. Sawyer wore his police-issued raincoat with the hood up, which Ciaran had called “cute,” and he’d also insisted on an umbrella. Sawyer had argued that it wasn’t necessary because his plaster cast was protected enough by his coat, but Ciaran was adamant.
“It’s cold and wet today,” he’d said, his eyebrows knitted in a serious scowl. “If you get pneumonia, what then? Do I need to remind you of the frailties of the human lungs?—”
So Sawyer had worn the coat and held the umbrella because no, he did not want to hear another lecture about his stupid human lungs.
The fact that Ciaran had been wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt was beside the point.
Apparently.
“At least wear jeans and a windbreaker,” Sawyer had argued. “At least try and look like a human in freezing cold weather.”
So, that’s how they both came to be standing out in the rain, waiting for Hadeom to arrive, both of them uncomfortable but dressed appropriately for the weather.
“This is so much fun,” Ciaran said, pulling at the coat sleeve. Rain pearled on the fabric and in his hair, turning the copper colour a dazzling mahogany. “Sleeves are so inconvenient.”
“You look like a dork,” Fray yelled out from his window.
“Hey, Fray,” Sawyer shouted. “Shut the fuck up and leave him alone.”
“I wasn’t talking to Ciaran,” he yelled back with a laugh.
Sawyer grumbled, and, pulling back the sleeve of his raincoat, he produced a middle finger. Of course Fray thought that was hilarious.
“Don’t encourage him,” Ciaran mumbled just as a gust of wind pushed cold mist across the Cove. The water, dark and foreboding, lapped at the pylons.
“The water is getting darker,” Sawyer said. “Like, way darker.”
“Yeah, I think it’s Salem being extra protective. I don’t think he’s doing it deliberately. I think it’s just him.”
“How were they this morning?”
“Good. Aurin didn’t come out of his cave; Salem said he’s fine, and he’s eating those frozen fish fillets.” Ciaran’s nose scrunched up in a way that made Sawyer smile. “But he’s much happier in the little cave. It was a great idea.”
“It was.”
“Hendrix, Kellan, and Dylan are down there with them, in case they need anything, and Otis and Pania are on patrol.”
Sawyer glanced down toward Beau and Hudson’s house. “And our resident gardeners?”
“They’ll come up when Hadeom gets here, just like we planned. It’s all good, Sawyer. We’ll be fine.”
“I want to know how they intend on fixing the metal bars,” Sawyer wondered out loud. “They’re built into the concrete.”
Before Ciaran could reply, a low vibration rolled through the clouds.
Both men looked up.
At first the helicopter was only a pulse inside the low clouds—a distant chopping sound muffled by rain. Then a searchlight tore through the mist overhead, bleaching the clouds white like a probe.
Sawyer shielded his eyes.
The helicopter descended slowly, emerging from the clouds like some enormous iron insect. Rotor wash blasted rainwater across the Cove in violent spirals, and the aircraft touched down with expert finesse.
For a moment, the engine kept roaring while figures moved behind the side door. Then the hatch slid open, and Hadeom stepped out with the confidence of a man who owned wherever he happened to be.
Tall, wearing a long navy pea coat, his black hair slick as oil, Hadeom moved with irritating calm while rain lashed sideways around him. Behind him came four members of his repair team,who then began hauling long steel cases marked with yellow hazard stripes out of the helicopter.
