Page 21 of Unexpected Company
“There’s been another photo left in his house. This time on the kitchen counter while he was in the shower,” Jill Parker says to her partner, Jack. DI Sniper sits up straighter, reaching his hand out to take the page from her. An unexpected wave of anger washes over him as he looks at the polaroid of Blaine, lying on his sofa, wrapped in a purple blanket while his eyes are closed. The glow of the television can be seen to the left of the photo. The stalker was in his house again.
“I don’t understand how he got in. Blaine had the locks changed and there’s an active neighbourhood watch in his area. How has no one seen anything?”
Jill sighs, rubbing a hand through her long blonde hair.
“I don’t know. Forensics found no unknown DNA in the house. No fingerprints or tread marks, nothing to say there was even someone else in the house besides Blaine.”
Jack taps his fingers on his desk.
“We need him to move out. Or have the Captain put a detail on his house.”
Jill shakes her head. “Cap says that’s not in the budget and Blaine is refusing to let the guy scare him out of his home. His best bet now is to hire a bodyguard.”
“I’ll do it,” Jack declares, surprising them both. “I’ll protect him.”
My eyes shoot from the page in front of me, to where Roman is spread out on the floor, his head bent over another one of his mangas while alternating between talking to himself and humming along to the Michael Bublé Christmas CD playing on low. He’s still in his reindeer pajamas despite it being late afternoon.
We ate breakfast together and then I retreated to my desk and he to that spot. In the time since, he’s moved between playing cards, reading, writing something in a notebook, and drinking tea. Oh, and consuming his body weight in biscuits.
I look at the selection of biscuits in front of me, and the cold cup of tea he handed me hours earlier. My stomach clenches with hunger and I pick up a Rich Tea biscuit and eat it, then move through the rest of the selection.
“Taking a break?” Roman asks, moving into a seated position in front of the fire. His fringe falls in front of his face and he flicks his head to move it to the side.
“I think so.” I stand and stretch, moving my neck this way and that to work out the muscles.
Roman climbs onto the sofa, leaning against the arm as he watches me push the chair beneath the desk.
“Do you want to do something together?” he asks, his eyes bright and sparkling. “Play a game, watch a film, or…” he does a ‘come here’ motion with his fingers and I move closer. He drops his voice as though someone may overhear what he has to say. “I read a book about Kama Sutra once. We could try out some of those.” Heat rushes from the tips of my toes to the top of my ears and I cough on my surprise.
“I’m joking!” Roman lifts his hands, then slaps them down on his knees. “Liam says my mouth is going to get me in trouble one day.” The smile on his face drops when he adds, “I’m sorry. I told myself Iwould notflirt with you. But it’s hard when you’re like my perfect type. Besides not being a lumberjack, that is. Ignore me.” He makes a zipping gesture in front of his lips.
“A lumberjack?” I ask when what I really wanted to delve into was me being his perfect type. Maybe outwardly, but does he know how boring I am? And why the fuck did the voice in my head sound like Nico just then?
He chews on the strings of his hoodie.
“It’s a fantasy thing. Like I said, ignore me.”
“Okay. But just so you know, I don’t mind your flirting. It’s been a while since anyone has flirted with me,” I admit, biting back my desire to ask him more about this fantasy and about what other fantasies he has. Maybe we share some of the same.
“Oh. Well. Silly people,” Roman replies. “I was kidding, though. About the Kama Sutra. I’m notthatforward, and I don’t actually know anything about it.” He gets to his feet. “I’m not kidding about the movie or game, if you’re interested.” Roman moves closer to the fire, where he bends towards it and rubs his hands above the dying flame.
“Ooh,” he spins on his heels, his lips set in a beaming smile.
“Want to go in the hot tub?”
My nose wrinkles instinctively at the suggestion.
“Um, no thanks. Hot tubs are bacteria infested pools of human soup.”
He barks out a laugh, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes twinkling with joy.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely serious. You won’t catch me in one of those petri-dishes.”
“Well, that is unexpected. Why did you pick a cottage with a hot tub, then?”
“My agent chose it. I would never get in one,” I reply with adamant certainty.
