He drank a bottle of water and stood in front of his laptop still set up on his breakfast bar from earlier and logged into his personal email. It was just as blank as it always was except for the junk. He opened his local meeting app only to find zero interest clicks on his profile. He stared at the images of him in his uniform, smiling around his cup of coffee, and for the millionth time wondered if he should change it. Maybe he shouldn’t tell anyone he was a cop until after maybe the third date.
Feeling mentally wary but his body still too wired to sleep, he changed out of his uniform into a heavy sweatsuit, deciding to grab Pixie and go for a run. Thankfully, he only had two days left of checking in on the pup, but he’d admit he rather enjoyed her company. Mason set an easy pace as the late-night silence settled over him and the brisk nip in the air filled his lungs with each quick inhale. It was an amazing high, and he could already feel his mind drifting to a calm place.
He rounded the corner on Glenwood Avenue, deciding to avoid any potential danger tonight while he had Pixie. He could start doing intel and asking around to his sources again on Monday.
“You’re out awfully late, Mason,” a sexy English accent whispered in his ear, sounding as if it was coming from directly inside of his brain.
“Fuck!” Mason hollered, jumping five feet backward as if someone had magically appeared in front of him. He flailed like a moron and fell into some low bushes along the sidewalk. He was so grateful the streets were deserted, and it was only Pixie that’d seen him go down like a drunk failing a sobriety test. Her cocked head and blank stare were enough to still make him feel ridiculous.
Mason crawled out of the bushes, sitting back on his haunches with Pixie nuzzling against his side. “Damnit, Free. What the fuck?”
“Sorry.” Free chuckled. “I tried to say it quietly. I was simply updating the software on your earpiece and saw you were out.”
“At almost four in the morning,” Mason gritted out, brushing his scraped palms.
“Hey. Are you alright?” a male voice asked as two strong hands gripped Mason’s biceps, helping him to his feet. Pixie sniffed and brushed against the stranger’s thigh as if she knew he wasn’t a threat. “Did you see what happened? Did someone push you?”
“No, no, no. I’m fine. I just tripped.” Mason was staring down at his now filthy sweatpants, dusting them off best he could. He glanced up and got a good look at his Good Samaritan, intending to extend his thanks when his breath hitched on a set of kind but sad eyes.
It was him.
As if they recognized each other at the same time, a slight smile graced his face before it fell way too quickly. “Officer Mason. Sorry. I um… I—”
He remembered my name.
“I wasn’t doing anything. I was just across the street slee—I mean, sitting on that bench over there when I heard someone scream,” he stuttered, already inching away like he’d made a mistake. “I just came to see if anyone needed help.”
Doesn’t sound like the traits of a criminal. Mason instinctually stepped forward. “No, really. It’s fine, I mean I’m fine. I tripped.” He held up Pixie’s leash. “She wouldn’t let anyone creep up on me.”
The guy smiled again, but it never quite reached his eyes. He had the look of a man that was bone-tired and down. This tall blond had a story, and it must be an unfortunate one that had caused him to end up here… sleeping on a bench in a struggling neighborhood in Atlanta.
“So ask him what’s a nice man like him doing out so late on a Friday night?” Free said in Mason’s ear, causing him to jump again as if he had Tourette’s.
“Knock it off,” Mason hissed.
Free’s laugh was like a goddamn gnat in his ear. “Um, you do know the person in front of you cannot hear me or even see that you are wearing a comms device… soooo, it just looks like you are a bit barmy and talking to your imaginary friend.”
Mason groaned.
The guy held out one long, leather-clad arm and touched Mason’s shoulder, staring down at him, dare he say affectionately. “You sure you didn’t hit your head or anything?”
Mason stared transfixed like an inexperienced idiot. He couldn’t understand how this young man’s touch heated him to his core, yet he stood before Mason trembling from the cool temperature that’d slipped into the fifties tonight. His teeth chattered noisily, and it seemed that neither of them wanted to mention the obvious. There was definitely some attraction going on, but the guy was homeless, or at minimum a drifter, and Mason was an officer of the law. How would any of this look?
“Thanks for helping me,” Mason said.
“Don’t be scared… ask him for his number,” Free urged.
Mason closed his eyes wishing he knew his smartwatch well enough to mute it, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night; I had a long shift.” Mason reluctantly backed away. “I better get Pixie home.” As if she had something so pressing to do. It was a lame excuse, but it was all he had.
“Of course.” The guy nodded, his melancholy gaze roaming over Mason’s face before understanding seemed to settle in. He started to turn away, as if he knew the score. As if he knew Mason wasn’t about to ask him for his name and number or if he’d like to chat over an early breakfast. “I get it.”
Mason gave a stiff nod, then clicked his teeth at Pixie to get going. The dog whined as the young man began to walk in the opposite direction of the bench he’d been on. Drifting someplace else. Something wasn’t sitting right with Mason as he watched the guy leave with his shoulders slumped and his head down.
“Thank you again for your help,” Mason called out abruptly, and his voice seemed far too loud in the absolute silence. “I’m Ellis, by the way. You don’t have to call me Officer Mason.”
This time his crooked smile made his eyes dance from where he stood under the streetlight. “I’m Jesse,” he said simply and continued walking.
Jesse
Jesse sat in the compact cubicle waiting for the heavy reinforced door to clang open and his best friend to shuffle inside wearing a horrific orange jumpsuit like the two inmates that came in before him. A lady on the opposite side of the wall was sobbing at whomever she visited with. From Jesse’s vantage point he couldn’t see her, but he could see the man was misty-eyed, and he had his arm outstretched touching the glass, perhaps wishing it was her.
I gotta get out of here. This jail stuff ain’t for me. The sound of steel aggressively meeting steel echoed painfully in his ears, and the smell that assaulted him was a mixture of disinfectant and desperation. Jesse had cleaned up the best he could in a tiny sink at the food mart convenience store restroom, vowing to never again take a steaming shower for granted. He was so tired from the lack of sleep, and his fingertips were so cold he was beginning to think they’d soon snap and fall off.
Jesse searched around him, not liking all the cameras and watchful guards. It took ten minutes to get through security, and he was especially worried about having to leave his bags outside by the front door. He was positive all of his belongings would be gone before he returned. But he needed to hear Worm’s plan, and then he was out of there. The doors opened again, and a busty, female guard pointed to Jesse’s window. Worm winked at the woman, and to Jesse’s amazement, she actually winked back.