3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Samuel

What the fuck was I thinking?

A week has passed already, and I haven't done anything but mull over this question without finding an answer.

Okay, I didn't intend this kind of help when I first offered, but the second time I can't blame misunderstanding. I did offer to help him.

How can I, a policeman, offer to break the law to help someone I don't even know—or anyone, for that matter?

What the hell pushed me to help him?

What the fuck was I thinking?

I probably wasn't. And when I don't think things through, these are the results. I freeze, I'm kidnapped, or apparently, I agree to break the law.

I push away the reminder of my failure, the one I can't get over, and pick up the phone to call one of my mates at the station. Before calling for help, I need to know if Rory is legit, and if I can trust Henry at the station to check without trouble. I need to know he wasn't the one that caused the accident because of some reckless behaviour, and most of all, I need to know that Rory and John were really an item.

It would be silly of me to trust someone I don't know just because of a pain similar to mine and a few tears.

"Hey, man," I say, when the line engages and Henry's voice on the other end greets me.

"Samuel, how are you?"

"Getting there. Slow but steady."

"When are you back here? We need to go out for drinks."

"Let me get over the painkillers' help and then you have a date."

He laughs and I join in, trying to leave whatever is worrying me out of the call for now.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

A policeman is always a policeman.

"Yeah, I need a favour. Can you do some checks on a guy? I'll send you the name by text and his phone number. I need full checks."

"Anything I need to worry about?"

"Nah, it's all good. Just making sure he is who he claims to be."

"I'll make sure to leave no stone unturned."

"Thanks, Henry. I owe you one."

"Keep safe, and get well soon."

"Will do. And Henry, thanks again."

As soon as I end the call, I text him the details, then start the car, ready to drive home.

The second call won't be as easy as this one, and I need to relax a bit before calling the only person who can help me. He's going to push all my buttons and make me regret the call, but even so, he'll help me, because he owes me.

As soon as I'm comfortable on my sofa, I search for his number.

"What can I do for you?" he says as soon as the call engages.

Aidan is a fucking machine. No words or movement happen if it's not calculated a thousand times before he acts.

"I need to find someone," I say, but then think better of it when his answer is as sharp as always.

"I thought you were the police." No change in his tone. Yep, a machine.

"Haha. Very funny."

"So, who's this someone you're looking for?"

"Actually, I'm not sure how many people I need to find," I say, my cheeks hit with embarrassment at having to ask him. Also, for being unable to ask for what I want, and for losing face with someone I'm not sure I like. He's too cold, too calculating. Not a person I would feel comfortable giving my back to. But yet, everyone else seems to respect and like him—like may be too big a word though, so maybe they appreciate what he does.

"Do you even know what you're looking for?" He chuckles, but it doesn't sound like he found what I said funny. He gives me the chills.

"My bad. I'm looking for people who have received organs from one person."

"You know that family members can exchange letters with these people." He says that, but he sounds like he knows the person I'm petitioning for is not part of the donor family.

"I'm aware."

"Can I trust you know this person well enough to bet your career on them?"

Fuck, he always knows where to punch to make it hurt.

"I'm having checks done on him."

"I could have done that for you as well." The way he says it makes it clear he'll do them anyway. With whatever power he has backing him up, he can reach deeper than I'll ever be able to. I'm grateful in some ways, and furious in others. I don't like that he's allowed to play above the law, but it'd be hypocritical to say anything, as I'm doing the same thing right now.

"No need," I say anyway, just to piss him off, but when he chuckles as if knowing my intent, I'm the one who gets riled up.

"It's always a pleasant experience dealing with you." I put all the sarcasm I can muster in my words.

"Yes," he says, but his tone is as flat as ever, then he continues without missing a beat. "Send me everything you have, and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I say to him, and it comes from my heart.

I need Aidan to find them so Rory can deal with the loss. Something I haven't been able to do. I push the thought away because I don't want to deal with it right now—or ever.

"There is one condition."

Of course there is. He doesn't do anything for nothing.

"I'll give you the names, one at a time, but if whoever you're asking this information for shares who he is and why he's looking for them, I'll keep the rest of them to myself and not even your brothers in blue will find them."

"I'll make sure of that."

"I'll call you." And then the line goes silent as he ends the call.

What a piece of dark ice. I've met all sorts of people in my line of work, but no one has ever been as mysterious as Aidan. It's like there's nothing inside him. As if darkness has made itself at home inside of him, leaving nothing but emptiness and coldness.

I need to call Rory, but can I truly trust him not to tell these people who he was to the donor? Not to tell them his story? Can I trust him not to bother them, by meeting them over and over so he can stay close to his dead lover?

If he knows he won't learn about the other recipients if he fails with the first one, maybe it will act as a deterrent against breaking the rules.

I'll decide what to do with the info when Aidan shares the first name with me. There's no point in thinking about it now.

A knock at the door pulls me away from those thoughts—my stupidity and need to do good, to right a wrong.

When am I going to learn that no matter what I do, the hole I have in my heart is never going to close?

Never. My brain is quick to reply.

Thank you, brain.

I open the door with a polite smile, hoping for one of my friends to be behind it so I can stop mulling over something I can't solve, and try to get out of this funk that has taken over my life.

I miss my fucking job. Being busy all day, thinking about cases, was a good way of avoiding things I was willing to forget, but couldn't.

"Hey, mate." Jason's smiling face on the other side of the door pulls a similar response out of me.

I like the man; he's solid and real. Sometimes I think it's strange that, despite being proper and rich, he gets along with us so well. But behind all that money, he's down to earth.

The only problem is that he's a good-looking man, and he doesn't have any problem using it to his advantage. His blond hair is styled to perfection, longish at the top and short on the sides, a chiselled, strong jaw, high cheekbones, and sea-blue eyes.

"Hey," I say, moving to one side so he can enter the apartment.

"How's the physio going?" he asks, stepping in and walking towards the living room, and stopping near the sofa.

"It's going."

He glances at me as if to make sure I'm okay. Not sure what he sees on my face, but he returns to the task of taking his jacket off without comment.

"Do you want a beer?" he asks, while walking to the fridge, and I smile at the way he makes me feel like I'm the guest in my own house.

He's been here so many times that he doesn't need a tour to find what he needs.

"No thanks," I say. "Still taking the painkillers."

He cheers in my direction after he opens the can, and before taking a long sip.

Something is going on with him.

"Don't look at me like that. It's been a long week," he says, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts.

"It's only Tuesday," I reply, amused.

"Told you. It's been a long week." His face is serious, but I spot the glint of mischievousness in his eyes. If anyone would try to guess his age, they'd never say thirty-five. He looks and acts ten years younger, and can get away with it.

"Yep, you said that."

"I had to work on the weekend, and with what's happening in the company, I'll be working this weekend, too." His face speaks to how happy he is about it.

"If I say I kind of envy you, are you going to kick my ass?"

"I'll do something different to your ass if you prefer?"

We look at each other for like, a second, and then react to his comment at the same time.

"Fuck, no!"

And then we're both laughing like bobbleheads.

"I love you man, but yuck." I wink at him to soften the blow, and he pats my back maybe a little too hard. Yep, alpha males here.

"What's troubling you?" Jason asks, after another swig of his beer. He tries to be casual, but he fails.

I'm not fooled by his behaviour, sure something has given away my inner turmoil.

"I can't stop helping others."

"That's a good thing, man. There should be more people like you."

I'm kind of touched by his words, and at the same time, weirded out by how in touch he is with his inner self—even showing openness doesn't bother him one bit.

"I have more of a filter when I have the chance to sleep. Right now, not so much."

I open my mouth to ask the question everyone has been pondering for months, but he beats me to it.

"No questions allowed," he says, before sniggering at my disappointed face.

He's too good for a simple mind like mine. Easy to understand why he's one of the top dogs in his company at just thirty-five. I bet he could have his own company, and thrive, but he seems content to make money for others.

"Okay, I won't ask, but one of these days, you'll have to open up."

"Nothing to open. That's why I don't have answers for you all."

I pull an I-don't-believe-you face, that has him doubling over and laughing his ass off.

"Don't do that, man. It's weird."

What an idiot.

"Are you staying for dinner? I can call the others," I say, to change the subject.

"No, I have a work thing I can't miss." He doesn't seem too keen on it, but he'll never miss anything work related.

"Don't work too much, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll try," he says, then smacks his forehead before talking again. "You'll be on your own today. Martin is AWOL with Keegan, and Travis is working."

It's not ideal, as I'll be inside my head all night, but there's no one else I can call.

"I think I can survive on my own." Maybe.

"I know, I know," he says, bringing his arm up in surrender, waving the can like it's a white flag.

"Idiot." But I can't stop my lips from curving up.

"Yeah, yeah. No one will believe you anyway," he says, while pretending to brush non-existent dust from his immaculate white shirt.

"I thought you were leaving."

"I'm going," he says, before turning to the rubbish bin and throwing the can in like the best NBA player. Then he runs around the table cheering, as if he won a title.

He walks to the door, and after a curtsy, he leaves.

"Helping people can't be that bad. You're very good at it. The world needs more people like you," he murmurs before closing the door.

That's why we keep him around. Because when you need him, he's there.

I stare at the closed door for a while, before deciding to make myself a sandwich and finally get that shower.

My problem will still be there tomorrow, but I'll be in a better place mentally after a long night of sleep.