Third Solstice by Fox Harper

Author:Fox, Harper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, paranormal, gay romance, mm romance, contemporary romance, christmas romance, tyack frayne
Publisher: Harper Fox

Chapter Six

He left a message, barely aware of what he was saying. Get out of the town centre. Take Tamsie back to the police station. I’ll be there soon. Then, after a dry-throated three-second wait—Lee, for God’s sake. Why aren’t you answering?

There was only one way to find that out. Gideon had almost worn out the rubber track on the police-gym treadmill, had jogged over untold miles of Bodmin moorland, in his efforts not just to get back to his usual form after his injury but to surpass that old standard. He’d discovered and accepted his mortality in his Trelowarren hospital bed, but had decided then and there that he was going to be the best damn mortal the Cornish police force had ever seen. He’d known that one day he would need to run, without fatigue or pause for breath. To run and run...

He covered the barren ground in less than a minute. Back on Tolver Road, he had to ease his pace: frightened revellers, parents with kids, lanterns and banners trailing, were making their way uphill away from the blaze. He wove a path amongst them, barely aware of how he dodged them or gently put them aside. He had one thought, one goal only.

No. He was a copper as well as a husband and a dad. He rounded the corner into Chybucca Square and saw that his duty lay everywhere, scattered about him in flaring rags. Two fire trucks were parked outside the bank, bringing that blaze under control, but the stiff sea breeze was feeding every torch that had been dropped or thrown. Gideon caught sight of a couple of uniformed constables running from one fire to the next, trying to stamp out the brands and only getting their trousers singed for their pains. “Hoi,” he yelled, pulling his ID. “Never mind that. Go into the open shops and get their fire extinguishers. The chippy over there will have a couple.”

He waited until they’d run to obey him, then he darted across the flame-lit green. Most of the troublemakers had vanished at the sound of the sirens, but a little group of them—too drunk or high for caution—were still at work, gleefully chucking torches through the broken windows of the photographer’s shop and helping themselves to the equipment on display. He waited until he was right in the middle of the shrieking, laughing mob before letting loose his law-enforcement bellow. “Police!” Before they could react, he reached in amongst the bodies and accurately collared the ringleader. He used the lad and his own bulk to corner the gang in the shop doorway. “How do you like it?” he demanded, as one pale face and then another fixed on his. “How do you like being stuck in a burning bloody building?” He shook the kid he was holding like a rat. “Wow, Saul Priddy, is that you? Didn’t I arrest you just last year for a spot of B and E in Liskeard? This has got to be parole violation of the century.

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