Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1) by Jessica Lynch

Author:Jessica Lynch [Lynch, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-18T06:00:00+00:00

15

Mason rubbed his jaw, stifling a yawn. Stubble pricked the tips of his fingers. It had been a long night. Once the sheriff gave him the all clear to go off duty, he'd have to make sure he shaved before he went to see Tess again.

The sun was up by the time his rounds brought him back to the station house. He was feeling it. In the years that he'd been a deputy, Mason worked his fair share of overnight patrols but never so many shifts back to back. His eyes were dry, itchy, like he got sand in them. The yawns kept coming. He fought to hold them back. The sheriff had ordered him to take short breaks for rest. He was the idiot who kept cutting them even shorter.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee slapped him awake as he dragged himself into the station. It was empty, though that didn't mean he was the only one there. Station coffee couldn't brew itself; somebody had to be nearby. After helping himself to a styrofoam cup of the stuff, only pausing to splash some milk in to cool it down, he went off in search of whoever was on duty with him so early.

Bang.

Crash.

The slow, steady whine of a dying beep.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Mason’s lips curved around the rim of his cup. Caitlin. Of course. He should have known. The woman was like a robot. She'd been going nonstop since they found Jack Sullivan’s body, living on coffee and a steely determination to solve the outsider’s murder in record time.

He thought about it for a second, realized that her cussing while on duty meant she was real riled up, and went to prepare a second cup of coffee. Mood she was in, he might need a peace offering. Then, a cup in each hand, he crossed the station.

The main station house was a wide open floor, with two desks, a handful of visitor’s chairs, a battered old fridge, and a tray table next to it that held the department’s microwave and coffee pot. Hamlet’s single holding cell was toward the back. Off to the right, there were two doors. One was the bathroom. The other, a closed-in office that the sheriff rarely used.

It was that room where Caitlin had brought Tess to do her interviews on Sunday. And it was that room where Caitlin’s angry cry had just come from.

He knocked with his elbow, then carefully let himself in.

“Morning, Sheriff. I brought you some coffee.”

She already had an empty styrofoam cup on her desk. He placed his offering next to it in time to dodge Caitlin’s arm as she reared back and swung her open palm right at the side of her ancient desktop monitor.

Thwack!

Shaking out her stinging palm, she growled at the monitor. At least the beeping stopped.

“Feel better?”

“Damn it, Mase, the stupid internet went out again. Blasted cables were up all morning but the second the e-mail I was waiting for comes in, internet goes out. It's messing with me on purpose.

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