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Still, at least I know now.
How could I have missed it though? I guess I have been rather distracted the past few days, once I hooked myself onto Gillian’s scent.
Pulling into the campus police parking lot, I can see Sargent Eames giving me the stink eye through his office shutters.
Hank lifts his belt after stepping out of the car and tipping his hat to some fellow officer’s calling over some words of encouragement for them as we make our way inside.
He motions me inside first, and I stoop to push the little swinging doors separating the police offices from the reception area.
“Pooch is in with Eames,” Hank informs me, my own senses telling me that long before we reach his office door.
“Great god in heaven!” Hank exclaims as we draw closer.
“I think I know which one is Eames’ office,” I remark, covering my mouth.
Eames looks livid. I know he doesn’t like me, but stepping into his office, again, it doesn’t take a detective or professor to read the situation.
Orion, the dog is sleeping on a low couch set against the wall. A wiry, scrappy little thing, he’s curled up in a kind of ball.
There’s a mismatched set of bowls by the couch with some water and kibble. As well as some newspaper on the carpet.
Not such a bad idea with a dog inside. Looks like Eames has a soft spot for small furry animals.
Or rather, he used to.
Without a word, and while Hank covers his mouth with his sleeve, Eames pulls back his office chair to expose the evidence.
The source of the foul odor.
“Jesus god in heaven, Eames!” Hank shouts. “You couldn’t clean that shit up?”
“I wanted Professor Sexton here to see all the trouble we’ve been through, accommodating this… dog,” he growls, and I can’t help but smile.
“You’re blaming Orion?” I ask, peering over at the evidence.
“Looks bigger than the damned dog, Eames,” Hank joins in, seeing the brighter side.
“Sure you didn’t just shit your chair and blame the dog?” he jibes. Breaking out into a choking laugh before exiting the room, gagging into his sleeve.
“I’ll have a new chair sent over,” I console Eames. But his eyes are narrowed, and now we’re alone and he’s been the butt of a joke, he leans in and snarls like a little dog himself, looking up at me.
“There’s something not quite right about you, Sexton. Lucy was right. Something queer about anything you have a hand in. I don’t want anything from you, just take this shitty dog and fuck off out of my office, ya hear?”
I shrug and make a mental note of his association with my ex-stalker. Or what I thought was an ex-stalker.
Moving towards little Orion, I move to scoop him up, which he doesn’t seem to mind and I carry him in the fold of my elbow, glad to leave the office, Eames, and the smell behind.
Hank is already waiting by the car, opening the back door and mentioning Orion can ride there.
“I think he’s empty enough to be trusted,” he jokes.
As I shift to put the little dog in the back, and hear him growl, suddenly awake and taking one look at who’s carrying him he gnashes and snarls, biting at my hand before leaping from my arms and running straight across the road.
Hank looks like he’ll chase the dog, but thinks better of it. The traffic is light and I can see Orion disappearing into the thicket I know eventually leads up to the woods.
“Well, shit,” Hank huffs. “That dog doesn’t seem to like you much, does he?” he asks, putting one hand on his wide hip, tipping his hat back.
“Nor Sargent Eames,” I retort, getting into the cruiser and re-adding the Orion problem to the list of things to be done.
Maybe Gillian will have better luck luring him in than me.
Gillian.
It pains me to have to give her more bad news, about Orion running off again.
“Sure you want to go straight home?” Hank asks. “Medical center’s not far,” he reminds me.
I shake my head.
“I need to pick something up anyway,” I lie and he shrugs. I’d prefer it if Hank didn’t see me and Gillian reunited.
Something tells me neither of us is going to be able to hide how we feel.
“Suit yourself,” he says, heaving himself back into the car.
Almost there, Gillian. Almost there.
Chapter Thirteen
Gillian
Where are you, Xander?
I know he’s coming, I can feel it. But it also feels like I’m sharing his sense of urgency about something.
A sense of worry.
It’s strange, but he really has changed so much in just twenty-four hours. Or maybe I’m really only getting to know him.
But yesterday he was almost absent-minded, engrossed in his work, the stars, and not much else.
Today, he’s laser-focused, in complete control, and extremely protective of me, and after everything that’s happened so far, I have to admit I feel the same way.
