Two eyebrows rose. “Fines?”
A discomforting jump in his belly. “Isn’t that what you wanted to see me about?”
“No.”
“Okay . . . then, what?”
Owen opened his door. “Come on inside.”
Jason’s heart ricocheted against his rib cage as he splashed after Owen into the old sixties concrete block that housed all the legal authority in Earnest Point. At a wave from Owen, the woman behind the reception desk buzzed open a door; Jason followed hesitantly through into a workroom dominated by four large desks, two occupied—an older man who nodded tightly at them as they passed then continued his phone call, and a woman around Owen’s age, currently at leisure in front of a frozen computer screen.
“Hey, Jane.”
Jane cracked a smile at Owen. “What’s the status on IT support?”
“The storms blocked Silvia’s road—she says she won’t make it today.” Owen grinned and tapped the desk beside Jane’s mug. “But the coffee machine’s still working.”
She chuffed and returned her attention to a well-worn copy of Crossword Puzzle Omnibus.
Owen peered over the edge. “Still stuck on five down?
“What’s with this? It’s impossible.”
“They’re never impossible when you know the words.”
“Impossible. By the way, we had a storm streaker this morning. Tweeted about it.”
Owen checked his phone. “6 a.m.—Exposure. Duck pond. Gentleman in the nude claiming to be able to make it storm. #investigating.”
A loud bark came from behind them and a wet golden lab raced forward, towing a harried young man—twenty tops—after it. “Mary!”
Owen laughed and dropped to his knees, meeting a series of excited licks. Mary wagged her tail, then caught Jason’s quiet step backwards and started to bark again. Jason backed up to the desk, pulse jumping, and half leapt onto it, arse knocking something over as he tried.
“Mary, quit it. It’s just Carl. You know Carl, he’s in here every other week.”
Jason grimaced and tried laughing off his reflexive panic. “I stink of storm. Probably smell like a power cut about to happen.” He shot a grin at Owen. “You’d better get your coffee, quick.”
Mary’s barking continued.
“She’s never like this.” Owen frowned and cocked his head at Jason again. “Except with suspects.”
Suspects?
“She’s triggered by suspicious behaviour. Lies.”
Jason gulped.
The shyly smiling man Mary had dragged in took hold of her and clipped on the leash. “Sorry, Uncle Owen.”
Owen patted Mary’s head and took his inquisitive gaze off Jason for a moment. He clapped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “You’re all right, Alex. Thanks for dog-sitting.”
“Yep, um, I also had an accident with the food you bought? I put it on the roof of my car while I was settling her in and . . . there’s dog food all over the highway. I’ll replace it, promise.”
Owen scruffed up his nephew’s hair, more amused than annoyed.
“Rightio, come on you lot.” Jane rapped on the desk. “Starts with an A. ‘Slowly’.”
Before Owen could fix his dark, shiver-inducing look on him again, Jason leaned back towards Jane. “Can I see?”
Jane blinked. “You into crosswords now, Carl? Or are you procrastinating? You must be in big trouble this time.” She handed him the book as Alex turned toward the exit, sans Mary. “Have a stab at it, but I’m not gonna butter him up for you. Again. Capiche?”
Jason jerked his gaze away and plucked up a pen. Big trouble?
What hadn’t Carl told him?
Owen was a hot prickle at his back, watching him fill in the little crossword boxes. A-D-A-G-I-O. “And then three across—”
“D-O-G-G-E-D!” She cheered. “Oi, Owen. Be nice to him this time, you know how long I’ve been stuck on that.”
Those prickles shifted, at his side now, like Owen was capturing a mug shot of his profile.
Heat lanced up Jason’s throat. He wasn’t sure he was made for whatever kind of interrogation this would be.
He shoved a hand through his hair and met folded arms and dark eyes. “Let’s get this over with. Where do you want me?”
Owen’s eyes flashed, eliciting a short sharp shiver that Jason couldn’t quite categorise.
Owen took a quick step back. “Over”—he pointed across the room—“the back chair.”
“Over the back chair,” Jason repeated, nodding.
Jane spat out a mouthful of coffee.
Owen shut his eyes and rubbed that jaw of his. It was already starting to sprout stubble.
“Over at the back chair,” Jason tried again with a small grin for the slip up. He had so much on his mind, nerves tangled for the day to come . . . he just wasn’t thinking straight.
Mary gave another bark, and Jason quite happily leaped to his feet and marched for said chair. It sat in a corner along with another, a sad looking pot plant, and a narrow door open onto a supply closet, all cordoned off by shoulder-height screens.
He sank into the smaller chair of the two, trying for nonchalance. The back was too short for it to be graceful though, and getting low enough to lounge the top half of his torso put his still rather damp crotch on full display at the chair’s edge. Nope, he needed to sit up again—