If only he’d taken Ryan's advice and attempted a run on the flat to begin with, but, no, he thought he was smart enough, strong enough, to take on Ryan in an uphill race.
Two and a half miles in and he was shocked. His muscles turned to liquid and he prayed to God Ryan would stop before Mason humiliated himself and collapsed in a heap on the running machine as his legs turned to overdone spaghetti.
Heat travelled up his neck to burn across his cheeks.
They’d already spent forty-five minutes going through the paces in the weight room. He hadn’t been so bad at that. His upper-body strength was good. He had weights in his garage, together with a punchbag he used to blow off steam. He’d taken a casual interest in boxing, enjoyed the skill, the rhythm, the control.
But this, this was a piss-take.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. And he hadn’t kept up an exercise regime. He couldn’t have everything and he was too busy with work and socialising.
Pride shot to hell, with the sound of his breathing turned to a strained rasp, Mason reached out and stabbed the incline button until he was once again on a flat. His fingers shook as he punched the console in front of him, so the machine slowed to a walk and eventually, just as he’d started to believe his life was no longer worth living, the treadmill wound down to a stop.
Tempted to collapse onto the railings and just breathe for a moment, he shot another glance at Ryan whose attention was thankfully absorbed by the huge television screen in front of him with music blasting from his Bluetooth EarPods so loud Mason could hear it above his own laboured breathing. The boy was going to burst his eardrums.
Mason sagged, his whole middle turned to mush.
Ryan wouldn't even notice if he had a cardiac arrest. He’d probably keep on running while Mason writhed around on the floor. Dying.
Mason pushed away from the machine and walked, weak-legged, over to the paper towel dispenser, ripped off several pieces, wiped down his dripping face, shoulders, arms, skimmed them over the length of his florid legs.
His stomach gave a painful hitch and he remembered he’d barely had anything to eat that day. Christ, he didn’t even know why he’d come to the gym, except it had seemed like a fucking bonding exercise with Ryan. Or if he’d admit it, a little testosterone trial. One he’d failed badly.
He slipped his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen to open his WhatsApp and stared at a photograph. No words necessary, there was a clear invitation for him to go around for a hot meal and an even hotter girlfriend.
Without hesitation, his stomach took control and sent a surge of desperately required adrenaline to fight its way to the surface and instil enough energy in him to move his steadily stiffening limbs in the right direction.
He lobbed the paper towels into the bin and whipped some more from the roll to wipe drops of sweat from the running machine.
Mason tapped Ryan on the shoulder. Without a pause in his stride, Ryan turned his head to look at him and Mason raised a hand and pointed in the direction of the changing room to indicate that he was off.
Ryan gave him the thumbs up and continued. Damned youngster, not even a hitch in his deep, even breathing. Yet Mason's was still laboured as he gasped for oxygen.
Didn’t Ryan have a life? The nurse he was dating was probably working and the kid just wanted to exercise after a hard mental and emotional day. The realisation hit him. He wasn’t the kind to kick his arse into gear after a gruelling day. It may suit others, but he’d far rather sit back with a bottle of Stella snuggled on the sofa with Fliss.
He dragged his feet through the locker room to the showers, stripped and stepped under the stream of tepid water despite it being turned up to the hottest temperature. It didn’t matter, a grateful groan still surged from his chest as his muscles protested and tightened up instead of relaxing.
Perhaps he could have a bath once he got to Jenna’s house. He was still treading carefully in his relationship with Fliss. Not wishing to spook her, he took it at her pace. The wait for her commitment would be worth it in the end, but she still had so much to deal with and putting pressure on their relationship wouldn’t gain him anything.
He could wait.
She was worth waiting for and he’d be there for her in the coming months once the trial started for Frank Bartwell. Admiration for Fliss’s strength swelled in his chest, but she’d still need support.
He pumped the dispenser and dumped a handful of shampoo and body wash on his head. Where the shower had failed to revive him, the sharp citric aromas hit his senses to give him a well needed kick-start.
Scrubbing at his scalp, he let his mind drift on the possibilities of what tomorrow might bring because they needed a break. Both in the amount of work they had on their spinning plates and in the investigations, which were stuck on stalemate until they got the forensics back. They could all make assumptions. Gordon Lawrence had most likely murdered his family, set fire to Kimble Hall and then offed himself. Selfish bastard. All the forensic evidence in the world could be presented, but no one ever knew what went on in the mind of a disturbed being.
He swiped his hands down his hair and let the water slough from him.
By the time they’d left work, the body count was still off. Someone from that family survived. They just needed to find out who. And why.
Mason stepped from the pathetic shower and grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the peg outside the cubicle. Set to automatic, the shower turned itself off as he scrubbed at his revived skin, surprised at how the physical workout could offset the mental and emotional turmoil of the day.
No matter how tired, the exercise had done him good.
Late it may be, but that was shifts for you. No given time to eat, sleep or have sex. Not necessarily in that order.
He was ready for all three.
32
Monday 20 April 2230 hours
Deep overwhelming sadness weighed heavily on Jenna as she sank down onto the bed and laid her head on the cool of her pillow next to Fleur who’d already bagged her place. A whole family wiped out. She had her opinion, but she’d wait for the forensics. The proof.
She reached out a hand to touch the satin downiness of Domino’s head as he climbed up after her and laid on the bed by her face with no respect for personal space and the little dog he almost lay on.
How did he always understand? Empathy oozed from him as he grumbled low in his chest and closed his eyes to offer her the comfort she needed as the exhaustion of two sixteen-hour days caught up with her and allowed dark emotions to sneak under her guard. Emotions she’d only experienced since her sister was taken, flinging her into the middle of a nightmare. Despite all her experience and knowledge as a police officer, once her heart opened to the reality of true distress, it was difficult not to apply it to other situations.
She curled her fingers deep into Domino’s thick ruff and kneaded his neck, aware he was only with her for the brief time Fliss was in the shower, then he’d be off, deserting Jenna for his one true love. It didn’t matter to her. She’d take her comfort when she could from him. Just as she’d taken the welcome distraction of Fliss’s amazing food and wonderful company and for a full hour they’d shared bad news and good, enough to lift her spirits.
And for now she had Fleur’s company. The sweet little dog with sadness swirling in her eyes.