Page 65 of Manner of Death
As soon as the door closed, Sawyer shut his eyes and pushed out a long breath, letting the mask slip and revealing the fatigue that had been piling on for the past few days. “I’m sorry.” He met Bashir’s eyes. “I really am. I didn’t—”
Bashir shook his head. “Don’t be. You’re just doing your job.”
Sawyer tensed. “You don’t even know what I’m asking her about or what I have to go on.”
“No, but I trust you. If you’ve got a reason to talk to her, then…” He gestured toward the door.
“Still. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Bashir exhaled. “You know neither of us should be working on this case, right? We’re way too close to it.”
“I shouldn’t,” Sawyer acknowledged. “But this connection to Tami—it could be nothing, so—”
“She’s not the only problem.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows rose.
Bashir explained what he’d figured out while autopsying Detective McKay. When he’d finished, he said, “Maybe I’m just going fucking insane, and maybe I don’t know enough about the rest of the case, so I’ve got tunnel vision. I don’t know.” He rolled his stiff shoulders. “But I can’t help thinking I’m the target. Like… this is all some kind of game to fuck with me.”
On some level, he’d hoped Sawyer would dismiss that theory outright. Tell him he was seeing things that weren’t there. Show him some cards that debunked any possibility that this had anything to do with Bashir.
Instead, Sawyer gnawed his lip and stared at the floor between them.
Bashir tilted his head. “What?”
“I, um…” Sawyer looked at him through his lashes. “You may be right. Honestly, it’s the closest thing we have to a working theory at this point.”
Arching an eyebrow, Bashir prompted, “But…?”
“But…” Sawyer took a deep breath. “If that is what’s happening here, then it doesn’t look good for your assistant.”
Bashir’s stomach dropped so hard and so fast, he genuinely expected to hear a splat on the floor. “What do you mean?”
Sighing, Sawyer leaned against the reception desk. “We found footage of Tami driving Kurt’s car near the location where his body was found. Likely around the time he was murdered.”
“Are you…” Bashir shook his head. “No. There’s no way. There’s just—”
“Bashir.” Sawyer sounded for all the world like he was about to collapse under the weight of his exhaustion. “I don’t like it either. I watched and rewatched it a dozen times because I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s her.”
“It’s… holy fuck.”
“I’m sorry.” Sawyer reached for Bashir’s waist, but Bashir straightened and pulled back. Sawyer froze.
Bashir showed his palms. “We really can’t. We shouldn’t have been before, but now… You know we can’t.”
He wanted Sawyer to stubbornly insist they could make it work. That it wouldn’t compromise the investigation or hurt their credibility.
Please tell me we can, he wanted to beg. Because right now, you’re the only thing that makes sense in my world.
But Sawyer retreated half a step. “You’re right. You’re… I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Damn it.
Sawyer ran a hand through his hair, and Bashir’s fingers tingled with the absence of that cool, soft texture between them.
Fortunately, Sawyer was more professional than he was, and he rallied, pulling himself back into cop mode. Clearing his throat, he gestured past Bashir. “Did you find anything on Kurt’s autopsy?”
Well, that chased away any romantic pining he had going on, didn’t it?