Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

The sun was beginning to set as Sawyer dragged himself through the front door, the weight of exhaustion and frustration settling deep into his bones. It had been another long ass day, doing nothing but chasing dead ends.

Feet dragging, he made his way to the kitchen at the back of the house. His body protested every movement as he slipped off his holster and set his pistol, badge, and phone on the counter. He needed a stiff drink and about twelve hours of sleep.

Yanking open the door of the fridge, he drew in a deep breath as a refreshing blast of cool air washed over him. He snagged a bottle of beer, popped the top, then drank deeply. The cold liquid instantly soothed his frazzled nerves, and he leaned against the counter near the sink.

He couldn’t help but shake his head at the sight that greeted him. Outside, Brynlee stood in the backyard on her side of the duplex. She was barefoot, her arms stretched heavenward, eyes closed. She didn’t move. She just stood there for what felt like forever, frozen like some pagan goddess in the midst of a sacrificial ritual.

Brynlee never ceased to baffle him. Still, he couldn’t ignore the odd sense of balance her presence brought to his life—even if it was wrapped in crystals, essential oils, and a bunch of other shit he really didn’t understand.

Grabbing his beer, he walked outside, letting the screen door slam behind him. He paused for a moment, just watching her. He knew she had heard him, but she refused to acknowledge his presence, maintaining her serene pose.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and exasperation.

Brynlee opened one eye and glanced at him before closing it again. "Grounding myself," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sawyer snorted. "Grounding yourself? You do know this is a backyard in a suburban duplex, right? Not some mystical forest."

Brynlee lowered her arms and turned to face him, a sickly sweet smile dancing on her lips. "And you do know that grounding can be done anywhere, right? Even in a suburban backyard."

He took a swig of his beer and shook his head. “You’re such a hippie."

“Maybe if you tried it once in a while you wouldn’t be so grumpy all the time.”

“Is that why I’m grumpy? And here I thought it was because someone is killing women and leaving them out in the public eye.”

Brynlee winced slightly. “I’m sorry. I heard about Lindsey as soon as I got to the salon this morning.”

Sawyer waved off her apology, knowing he was extra tense because of the recent cases. “It’s fine.”

“Still…” She made a little face. “You doing okay?”

He lifted a brow her way. “You getting soft on me, Layne?”

She cracked a smile that slipped right through his ribs and pierced his heart. “Never.”

Sawyer cleared his throat. “Enjoy your...”—he gestured toward her with the beer bottle—“whatever that is.”

He turned to leave Brynlee to her grounding ritual when he spotted Scooter lounging on the patio table, looking smug and content.

"Your cat is a menace," he grumbled, sliding a glare at Brynlee.

She glanced at Scooter and then back at Sawyer, unfazed. “He’s not a menace. He just likes his freedom. And he’s smart. No matter what I do, he keeps breaking out of the animal door."

Sawyer's irritation flared once more. "Then fix the door so he can't escape."

Brynlee rolled her eyes. “You think I haven’t tried?"

“Fine.” Sawyer made a split-second decision. If she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—take care of it, then he would. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode back to his side of the duplex. He grabbed what he needed and retraced his steps, determined to put an end to Scooter's escapades.

Returning to the backyard, he bypassed Brynlee and walked right through the back door and into the kitchen that mirrored his—with a few minor exceptions. Her house smelled fantastic.

“What is that?” He almost bumped into Brynlee as he turned around.

“What is what?” Her brows drew together in an aggravated frown. “And what the hell makes you think you can just walk in here?—”

“It smells delicious.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him, looking taken aback. “I made soup.”

“Clearly.” He moved toward the slow cooker and peered through the lid, spotted with condensation. “What kind?”

She stared at him for a moment before he raised his brows, prompting her to answer. “Um… ham and potato.”

He nodded. “Good, I’m starving. You can pay me in soup.”

“Pay you—What?” Brynlee followed him as he turned back toward the door and set the toolbox at his feet. “What are you doing?”

"Fixing the problem,” he replied curtly, not bothering to look back.

"Sawyer, I can?—"

"No, you can't, or it would already be fixed," he interrupted, kneeling down in front of the small door. “Just let me handle it."

With a beleaguered sigh she dropped into a chair next to the table. He could feel her eyes on him as he worked, but she didn’t say a thing. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he bit it back, focusing on the task at hand. Fixing something, working with his hands, was a welcome distraction from the grim events of the past twenty-four hours.

Sawyer removed the plastic swinging door that hung limply on its hinges. Almost immediately the cat bolted through the open space, startling Sawyer and nearly knocking him on his ass.

He glared as the cat sauntered past him. “You’re welcome, you furry little asshole.”

Scooter tossed him a look ripe with disdain from where he sat near one of Brynlee’s potted plants, his tail flicking lazily. Brynlee sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, still barefoot and slightly bemused by the whole situation.

"You're really something, you know that?" she said with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, well, I can't have your cat causing chaos all over the neighborhood," Sawyer muttered.

He leaned in to examine the frame, noticing the scratches and bite marks Scooter had left in his attempts to break free. "Persistent little guy, isn't he?" Sawyer said, more to himself than to Brynlee.

"He's determined, I'll give him that," Brynlee replied, watching him with interest.

Scooter gave a low meow, as if he knew they were talking about him, and Sawyer rolled his eyes. "You better appreciate this, you little shit.”

He reinforced the frame, making sure there were no gaps or weak points, then layered a small square of wood over the space. He tightened the screws with a final twist, then stood to inspect his handiwork.

"That should do it," he said as he gathered his tools and replaced them in his bag. "Scooter won't be breaking out of here anytime soon."

A smile curved Brynlee’s mouth, though he wasn’t entirely certain if it was born out of amusement or appreciation. "You didn't have to do that, you know.”

He lifted a brow her way. “I did if I want to keep my sanity.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. She was definitely laughing at him. He rolled his eyes and moved past her, opening cupboards until he found what he was looking for.

“Need something?”

He ignored her as he removed the lid of the slow cooker and ladled a healthy portion of soup into the bowl. His stomach growled as the savory scent wafted up to his nostrils.

He opened a drawer in front of him, looking for a spoon, but found a drawer stuff with junk.

“To your right,” came Brynlee’s voice, saturated with mirth.

He moved to the drawer she’d indicated, pulled out a spoon, and scooped up a large serving of the soup. It exploded over his taste buds, and he closed his eyes in appreciation.

He swallowed then turned her way. “This is damn good.”

“Glad you like it.”

He cleared his throat as he gathered up his tools and headed for the door. Since his hands were full, Brynlee opened the door for him, stepping aside to let him pass.

He tipped his head at the cat. “If you have anymore issues with Satan over there, let me know.”

Brynlee couldn’t hold back her laugh this time. “You’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

Yeah, he knew that was a lie. He stepped outside, but the sound of her voice had him pausing once more.

“Sawyer?"

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?"

"Thanks for your help. Really."

He winked, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Anytime, sun goddess.”

As he walked back to his side of the duplex, Sawyer felt a little lighter than he had when he’d gotten home. Maybe Brynlee's grounding ritual had some merit after all. At the very least, it had given him a momentary escape from the darkness that had been clouding his mind.

Fixing an animal door wasn't going to solve his problems or bring justice to Lindsey's killer, but it was something he could control, something he could fix. For now, that was enough.