Sawyer woke up on his couch, fully dressed except for his boots. Mouth dry and feeling a headache coming on, he swung his feet over to the floor, kicking over empty beer bottles. Rubbing his temples, he walked over to the curtains, opening them and pulling them back closed when the bright midday sun shone in his face, nearly blinding him for a moment.

Another sunny day. Great.

Sighing, he put on a pot of coffee and was getting ready for a shower when his phone rang somewhere in the apartment. Frowning, he followed the sound to the hallway, and found his phone in one of his shoes. The notion to toss the ringing contraption along with the footwear came as a pleasant blip in his thoughts, to be discarded out of necessity and what semblance of good manners he had left.

His wolf growled deep inside his chest, hoping the call would bring some excitement. Clamping down his animal side, Sawyer focused on the phone in his palm.

Detective Hill blinked on the screen, and for a second, Sawyer debated not answering it. But his curiosity got the better of him.

“Yeah?” he said, pressing the phone to his ear as he walked back to the kitchen.

“Late night?” the man on the other end asked.

“Why?” Sawyer countered, putting some more life in his voice.

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Hill replied. “And you sound like you’ve downed a glass of sand.”

“Great detective work,” Sawyer grunted, holding the phone with his shoulder as he rummaged around the cabinets for a clean mug. “You really are good at what you do. You calling for a reason, or what?”

“Grumpy,” Hill clucked his tongue. “Come by the station and I’ll buy you breakfast. Maybe I’ll even dig up some aspirin from the bottom of my drawers.”

Setting his cup down next to the coffee machine, Sawyer filled it, taking in a deep breath. His body was already awake, but his mind was still catching up.

“You’re buying?” he asked. “That means you must really need my help.”

“Hey, you want to actually work for your paycheck or what?” Hill replied.

“Fine,” Sawyer sighed, tipping his cup to his mouth. “I’ll meet you by the food truck out front. Bring your wallet,” he said, before hanging up.

* * *

Sawyer found Hill leaning on the food truck, with two hot dogs in hand. The detective was a tall, African American man, fit if only for a little softness around his waist. A known womanizer, he was what girls referred to as ‘cute’. The few times Sawyer had had a drink with the man, Hill had never left alone.

“I told you I was buying,” Hill said, tilting his head at a couple of metal chairs and a table near the truck.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Sawyer noted the folder tucked beneath the man’s arm. Part of him hoped he would get to finish his meal before Hill started talking about whatever case he was working on.

But another part of him couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into a new distraction.

After his coffee and a change of clothes, Sawyer was feeling a lot better than he had when he first woke up. But the hot afternoon sun was still wearing him down, making his shirt stick to his chest and back with sweat.

No rest for the wicked, he thought with a stifled sigh, finding himself in one of those moods where everything, everything annoyed him.

“This better be good,” he sighed, following Hill to sit behind the table.

“Oh, I forgot – you only like to leave your house at night, when the bars are open,” Hill said, arching a brow at him as he handed Sawyer a hot dog.

“And how are you doing? Found wife number three yet?” Sawyer countered.

“Ouch. Low blow,” he laughed. “I think I’ll put finding Mrs. Hill on the back burner for now, especially after the scene I went to last night.”

Pulling out the folder under his arm, Hill placed it on the table, biting into his hot dog as soon as his hands were free. Sawyer just stared at the file for a moment, before setting his food aside.

When it came to cases, he always gave them his full attention. Even if they weren’t technically his cases. Crime scene photos appeared on the first page as he opened the nondescript folder, and he studied them. The body of a man lay on the floor of what looked like a lavish bedroom, with numerous stab wounds to the face and chest.

The amount of violence would have been shocking, if Sawyer hadn’t already seen it all before, and worse. Yet, he wasn’t entirely numb to it. Someone’s life had ended in a brutal way. There was nothing casual about that, no matter how many times you witnessed it.

This wasn’t a case of prey and predator, something that had to be done to survive. This was murder, and murder was never easy or clean.

But as Sawyer flipped through the photos, something niggled at him. Blood-covered as it was, there was something familiar about the victim.

“The wife did it,” Hill chimed in between bites of his food. “She called an ambulance, and confessed on the scene.”

Sawyer let the folder drop back onto the table.

“And you called me out of bed for what then exactly?” he asked, cocking a brow at Hill, who was busy wiping mustard off his chin.

“Ah, so you were out last night,” the man remarked. “As if the way you look didn’t give it away,” he added, eyeing Sawyer.

“Look, if you dragged me down here to interrogate me…” Sawyer started, standing up from the chair.

“Okay, okay,” Hill threw up his hands. “The lady said it was self-defense. That her husband just went crazy and attacked her.”

“Then why is he the one that has enough holes in him to kill him three times over?” Sawyer replied, sitting back down.

“My thoughts exactly,” Hill nodded. “But as far as we can tell, there’s no motive for murder. The guy had an ironclad prenup, so she isn’t getting a dime of his money. And everyone we spoke to told us the Clements were a perfect couple. As happy as could be.” Hill shrugged. “I thought maybe you could put some fresh eyes on it.”

“Fuck,” Sawyer cursed, leaning back in his chair. “I knew the guy looked familiar.”

That got Hill’s attention. He even put down his hot dog.

“Care to fill me in, here?” he asked.

“The wife, skinny redhead? Lips like she got stung by a bee?” Sawyer asked in return.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Hill nodded.

Sawyer had a familiar sinking feeling in his gut. The kind he got when he knew that he was about to get too deep into something he would have rather stayed out of. But if he was one thing, it was honest.

“She hired me six months back, just before I closed up shop. Wanted me to tail her husband. Thought he was having an affair with the nanny,” Sawyer replied.

“And was he?”

“No.” Sawyer pursed his lips, putting a damper on Hill’s eagerness. “He was having one with the pool boy, instead.”

“Damn,” Hill said, letting out a low whistle. “I imagine Mrs. Clement wasn’t too thrilled to find that out.”

“Broke a vase in my office,” Sawyer replied. “The nice one, too.”

And instead of divorcing her husband, went home and started plotting the guy’s murder, it seems.

“So that’s why you got out of the PI business? Angry wives kept ruining your furnishings?” Hill asked.

“Something like that,” Sawyer shrugged.

Hill had finally paid for a meal for once, but that didn’t mean Sawyer was going to have some kind of heart-to-heart with the man. No good ever came from dredging up the past.

“I assume you have some proof of all this?” Hill asked, sliding the file folder back his way.

“I’ll e-mail you the surveillance photos I took,” Sawyer said, nodding.

“Well, thanks for the motive then,” Hill replied. “You’re free to go back to whatever it is you do all day.”

“You mean hoping you don’t call me?” Sawyer asked, drawing a laugh from Hill.

“Don’t front. I know I’m your favorite detective. I’m also the only one that still talks to your surly ass, so there…”

Sawyer had to suppress a smile. The detective was an alright guy, really. In another life, they might have even been friends. But Sawyer didn’t have friends anymore, nor did he want any.

He stood up, content to let the meal and the conversation end as had been agreed upon. Couldn’t stand around semi-decent people for too long. Even if they were the likes of Hill.

I deserve to be alone.