Sagittarius Saves Libra (Signs of Love)

Owen opened his mouth and clapped it shut again. “God help me,” he murmured. “Mary, stay.” And he gestured Jason to follow.

The closet was . . . not made for two. Certainly not when one of those two was Sergeant Owen Stirling Sir. Owen folded himself inside, ducking his head from the low inner ceiling, and Jason crammed himself into the remaining wedge of space. Shelves crowded in on three sides, and a few edges pressed at Jason’s lower back and under his arse.

Barely an inch separated them—in fact those folded arms bumped Jason’s chest—and that rich wall of heat from before upgraded to volcanic levels. Aftershave quickly overwhelmed the scent of paper and dust.

Jason breathed in deeply. Bergamot and . . . lavender?

Definitely some lavender in there. Much nicer than his own—and he liked his own. He should find out what it was—

But maybe not now.

At the semi-exasperated look on Owen’s face, Jason stopped breathing so obviously through his nose and grinned.

“Um. Right.” Jason reached for the door and jerked it shut.

It was much darker without the light of the room pouring in. The little lightbulb over their heads cast a warm glow over the shelves, but with Owen’s head bent forward their faces were shadowed. A strange thrill zapped through Jason, like the time he’d broken curfew to climb the school roof. Naughty. Exhilarating. Secrecy did that.

The rhythm of their quietly huffing breaths was broken by Owen. “Who are you really?”

Jason winced. “Carl’s twin.”

“That much I figured out, sweetheart.”

“Ha. Right. I’m Jason. Jason Lyall. Please don’t throw me in jail?”

Arms unfolded and a warm palm squeezed his shoulder. “Calm. Impersonation isn’t actually an offence. Unless you’re impersonating an officer, and Carl is no officer.”

“You’re right about that!” In fact, very shortly, he’d be having a few words with his brother.

Fingers shifted over his damp shoulder and dropped away, and Jason shivered.

Secrecy was . . . a lot to handle.

Time to get out of here before he sweated himself into a puddle. Why wouldn’t this bit of wood move?

“I have more questions,” Owen stated.

Was his name not enough? Jason fiddled with the door. “Is there a trick to this?”

“No idea. Never been in a position where I’ve had to ask.” They were a series of bumping limbs as Owen tried to release them. “We’re shut in.”

“Shut in? What kind of construction is this?”

“A stationery cupboard.”

Sheepishly, Jason rubbed his nape.

“Mary,” Owen said through the door, “get Jane.” A small bark followed.

Silence fell thickly and Jason grabbed at straws to break it. “So. Mary. Who thought that up?”

“Me.”

He’d expected a laugh. Some amused commentary on how such a name had come about. Because it wasn’t common, was it? To name a dog with a ubiquitous woman’s name? Owen was staring right at him, seemingly awaiting his response. Jason nodded soberly. “Oh. Actually, it’s about time dogs had more respectful names. Nothing worse than a dog with a name like Paw-casso.”

“It’s short for Mary Puppins.”

“Have I told you how much I like your uniform? The buttons. The pretty insignia. The whole thing.” He stroked the fabric over Owen’s chest in an attempt to pacify, then remembered the no manhandling rule and continued the motion an inch from his blazer. “Very smart. Very dry.”

Owen shook his head. His expression had, over the course of the interrogation, steadily shifted right on the scale of disbelief, and Jason wasn’t sure it could slide any more.

Light poured into the closet. Halleluiah. Saved.

Blinking, Jason twisted toward Jane, who was taking the two of them in with a snorty laugh. “I don’t even want to know what this is about.”

Jason stepped out and Owen emerged after him, gulping in freedom.

“Thank you, Jane,” Owen said, then checked his watch and turned to Jason. “The store opens soon.”

Jason watched Jane retreat and then slid his gaze back up to Owen’s. “You’re letting me go? You won’t tell anybody?”

“Let’s resume this chat later.”

“Like, here, or . . .?”

“My place. Or yours. As you wish.”

How would that conversation go? A stern warning and a timeframe before Owen spilled the beans?

Jason bobbed his head, throat tight. “Yours. Definitely yours.” He wasn’t sure what Carl had lying around that might get him into trouble. More trouble. He paused and looked up into dark eyes. “Er, would this be an inopportune time to ask for a ride back later?”

“Inopportune?” There was a smirk there. A definite smirk. Maybe his word-choices had contributed to the cop’s suspicion? He’d thought he’d been working his vowels just right. But accent wasn’t everything, was it?

“I’ll swing by the store and pick you up. But before you go, you need to remove your clothes.”

Chapter Four

“My . . . My clothes?” Jason gaped at Owen, who raised a brow, and then shook his head firmly.

“You’re soaked, and shivering.” He sauntered off and returned with a duffel bag. “I always keep spares for the gym.”