Hamish

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AS AKASH INTENDED TO spend the day with a friend, Hamish opted to grab a cab to the office. Staying in his flat doing nothing didn’t sit well with him at all; better to get work done. Even with physical therapy, he figured it would be another week before he could drive without risking a crash.

He’d left his apartment before the sun came up and while Akash still slept. They’d been cooped up together for a week, and the easy way they’d found a daily routine probably should’ve concerned him. It didn’t.

The annoying voice in the back of his mind told him it might be a sign of how good they could be as a couple. Hamish refused to think on it while Akash floundered in an emotionally vulnerable state. When things with the bakery settled and his shoulder had healed, he’d ask him out for a date and another and another.

Then we’ll see. I’m not rushing into anything.

“Are you supposed to be at work?” Wyatt stuck his head into Hamish’s office at seven in the morning. “Didn’t the docs tell you to take it easy?”

“I’ve done nothing for a week.” Hamish gestured toward several of the stacks of paper on his desk. “This strains my mind, not my muscles.”

“Doc clear you for coffee?” Wyatt dropped into the chair across from Hamish and stretched his long legs out.

“As if I’d stop drinking coffee because a doctor fucking told me to.” Hamish would go to his grave with a mug of the stuff clutched tightly in his hand. “You buying?”

“Me?” Wyatt leant forward to get a closer glance at one of the invoices. “Did they actually invoice every single thing they ate?”

“Jokers, the lot of them.” Hamish had made the mistake of lecturing everyone in the office on not itemising their expense reports while travelling. He now had lines and lines of overly detailed statements by way of revenge. “I’m regretting my decision to try to work today.”

“Where’s your British stiff upper lip?”

Hamish grabbed a pen and flung it at Wyatt, who batted it away. “Was there a purpose to your visit?”

“Coffee.”

“Love some.”

Coffee did nothing to improve Hamish’s disinterest in the tedious part of his job. He forced himself through three quarters of the stacks before throwing in the towel. The files weren’t going anywhere. As long as bills and salaries got paid, the rest could wait.

Before Hamish had time to search for a distraction, one arrived in the form of two pale, blond teenagers. Alice and Alex fidgeted awkwardly for a few minutes before shuffling into his office with a bemused Wyatt behind them. He promised to bring “weird British tea shit” and left the three of them alone in the room.

“We haven’t seen you two in a few days. You all right?” Hamish prompted after a prolonged silence where it became apparent the two wouldn’t speak first. “Did you need help?”

“Can you kill someone?”

“Alex,” Alice interrupted her brother sharply. “We don’t want to kill anyone.”

Alex slumped into his chair with a glare at his twin. “Maybe.”

Hamish waited for them to settle down. “We don’t usually assassinate people.”

“Probably get paid better if we did.” Wyatt returned, causing both of the twins to jump. He set the tray down on the table and took a seat when Hamish waved him toward one. “Can you pay?”

“Earp.” Hamish knew from his conversations with Akash that the twins often struggled to know when someone was teasing them. He didn’t want them getting the wrong idea. “We absolutely do not assassinate people; I doubt that’s what you’re looking for either. How can I help?”

The two exchanged glances, nudging one another. Hamish decided it was best to allow them to tell it in their own time. He made a sharp gesture to Wyatt to ensure he didn’t try prodding them to speak; it would only serve to discourage rather than encourage.

It took almost thirty minutes for the twins to explain in what they believed to be a detailed manner what they wanted. They appeared convinced the arson investigation wouldn’t find anything. Their concern had caused a massive amount of anxiety of their belief that their stepdad would get away with hiring a friend to set the blaze.

They had no proof.

Hamish tried to assure them if their stepdad had been responsible, then he would be punished for it. The look they sent him spoke of a lengthy history of similar assurances eventually coming to nothing. In the end, he promised to do anything in his power to help.

They slurped their tea quickly, and raced out of the office like the hounds of hell were on their heels. Wyatt’s eyes flicked from the now empty chairs over to Hamish. He lifted his eyebrows with an obvious question.

“We’re not shooting him.” Hamish refused to admit how tempting it was, given what he knew about the man. “I’ll give Marc a call to see how the investigation is going.”

“Because they asked?”

Hamish swirled the small amount of tea left in his cup, watching a chunk of biscuit going around in a circle. “Do you have any idea how much courage it took two autistics to walk into a place they’ve never been and ask me for help?”

“A great deal, I’m sure, but we’re still not private investigators or Miami Vice.” Wyatt grabbed one of the leftover biscuits and tossed it into his mouth. “Seriously, Hamster, what’s the point?”

Hamish rubbed his forehead and prayed for strength. “The point, you irritating Yankee arsehole, is they’re scared, and if I can help, I will.”

“Good.” Wyatt snagged another cookie with a grin. “If they want work while the bakery is out of commission, send them over to Aled. He could use a few extra hands in his garden. He’s good at being quiet.”

“I’ll never understand why he chose to marry you.” Hamish dodged the chunk of biscuit thrown at him. “Will you quit throwing shit at my head? My office is littered with all the crap you fling at me constantly.”