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Eleanor settled the oxygen mask more comfortably over his face, then moved to pour Tate a glass of water.
Chad gestured to the door, and Josh backed out into the corridor, rubbing his arms.
“You not going to take your jacket?”
They both looked back into the room to Shawn curled up in a chair with Josh’s jacket thrown over him. “Nah.”
“Big softie.”
Ally swept past them. “Bigmoronmore like.”
Chapter Nine
Chad slapped his hand to the back of his neck, and massaged the skin, trying to rid himself of his unease. His spine tingled with the same sensation he got when someone walked behind him too closely or appeared in his line of vision unexpectedly.
His skin tightened, and his stomach solidified. Chad kept his eyes fixed on the office window. The DI was sitting at his desk, and Ally stood in front of him, speaking non-stop. It looked like a one-sided conversation, and Chad had read her lips saying his name at least twice.
“Hey.”
Chad didn’t turn to Josh when he answered, “Hey.”
“Are you gonna quit staring at them?”
“Not until I know what they’re talking about.”
“You look like you’re waiting to face a firing squad.”
“I feel like it, too.”
Out of the corner of Chad’s eye, he saw Josh stand up. He approached and held something beneath Chad’s nose. He took a deep breath of coffee into his lungs and lowered his gaze for the first time since Ally had marched into the DI’s office while demanding privacy.
“That smells good.”
Josh nodded, taking Chad’s hand and closing it around the coffee. “It’s the best. I went across the road to get it. No machine bought rubbish for Bardhum’s finest detective constable.”
“I’m hardly Bardhum’s finest.”
“I was talking about me.” Josh grinned. “Drink the coffee, Chad.”
Chad took a sip. He slumped, savoring the taste. “Fuck, that’s good coffee.”
“While I was over there I saw this in the window, and asked if I could take it.” He held the slip of paper out for Chad. “It reminded me of you.”
Chad turned his back on the DI’s office and took the leaflet. “A sickly dog reminded you of me?”
“You like dogs, and you live alone in that creepy house.”
“My house isn’t creepy.”
“It is. It’s like the stuff of nightmares with those creepy crows circling.”
“They’re magpies.”
“Whatever. I thought you could use some company, and that poor ill dog looks like he needs company, too.You’rea match made in heaven.”
Chad ran his fingers over the dog. It may have been mistreated, but he could tell the breed. A Staffordshire bull terrier. Grey, with grey eyes. It was far skinnier than it should’ve been. Its ears were back, not alert and happy, and its face hung with sadness.
Chad’s heart ached in response.
