Senseless (The James Paxton Mysteries Book 1) by Andrea Jutson

Author:Andrea Jutson [Jutson, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Williams & Whiting
Published: 2018-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter SIXTEEN

PAXTON STOWED THE Wither Hills, his favourite sav blanc, in the wine rack, before stashing away the eggs and the milk and the bacon and all the other assorted bumf he’d carted back from shopping. He was hoping to avoid a repeat of last week, which had seen half his supplies chucked out in the rubbish, considering how little he’d seen of his house during the week. All things going well, he was aiming to share half the Wither Hills with Lena, in celebration of a job well done. Or at least to take the edge off one cocked up … Colin was best left to chill. He’d be better dealt with tomorrow, when his defences had softened a bit. Another day to soak in the fear. Then they’d hang him out to dry.

The longer he played with the puzzle, the more he could see of the picture. A drug dealer. Somehow desperate for money. The man who lends it to him when his own father won’t give more. A nurse, who works in a hospital, with access to drugs … Yes! And a young blonde, who seems to enjoy the odd bit of recreation. It was paint by numbers, and all he was missing was a few of the digits.

Paxton went into his bedroom and stripped to change into his work uniform. Cheap black pants, black shirt with an alcoholic logo, which though hot as hell in summer, managed to look stupid all year round. Especially with his Midlands in winter complexion, which his colouring returned to by default within seconds of tanning. Once, during a blackout at the bar, Adam had suggested distracting the punters by using Paxton’s face as a dartboard. ‘Face it, mate, it’s the only thing still visible.’ Paint a couple of rings round his eyes and he could have stood in for a panda.

Still, Lena seemed to like it.

No matter how bleak the week, that was the bright spot in it. How had a gorgeous chick like that ever gone for the likes of him?

Whenever he searched for the answer, he gave it up as hopeless. Years of trying to explain himself, meeting looks that were blank or disdainful, the hasty excuses, or worse, excited invitations back to the flat, to tell the future … Most blokes would have foreseen a pair of knickers on the floor, and a fling with a moderately tall dark stranger. But, to his own sorrow, Paxton wasn’t one of them. Just his luck to be shy as well as psychic. On paper he was as creative as you liked, but in the flesh he was just too damn honest, and tongue-tied. And cursed, with a grandmother who’d told him never to use his gifts for his own gain. Hard to get too excited with his gran’s visage at the front of his mind, crisp and shrivelled as an overdone roast. Even after she was dead. Particularly after she was dead.

You reap what you sow, just mind you that.

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