by Anya Nowlan
Last Chance Mate: Sawyer
Anya Nowlan
Contents
A Little Taste…
Copyright
Prologue
1. Sawyer
2. Naomi
3. Naomi
4. Sawyer
5. Naomi
6. Sawyer
7. Naomi
8. Sawyer
9. Naomi
10. Sawyer
11. Naomi
12. Sawyer
13. Naomi
14. Sawyer
15. Naomi
16. Sawyer
17. Naomi
18. Sawyer
19. Naomi
20. Sawyer
21. Naomi
22. Sawyer
23. Naomi
24. Sawyer
25. Naomi
26. Sawyer
27. Naomi
28. Sawyer
29. Naomi
30. Sawyer
31. Naomi
32. Naomi
33. Sawyer
34. Naomi
Epilogue
Want More?
About the Author
Thank you for reading!
A Little Taste…
A single heartbeat thudded on the other side of the door, faster than normal, and Sawyer walked over. It was fast, nervous, like a trapped bird’s. He felt an odd desire to soothe her nervousness, despite wanting her nowhere near his damn door.
“This better not be who I think it is,” he called out, standing near his door.
“Please, just hear me out,” a female voice that was familiar to him now said.
It still sounded damn good.
“How did you get inside the building?” Sawyer asked, frowning to himself.
“I told your neighbor I was your girlfriend,” the woman replied, a hint of guilt in her voice.
Sawyer sighed to himself. What was the point of locks when his neighbors just let anyone walk in? He didn’t get any visitors, and now all of a sudden a girlfriend shows up? Then again, he wasn’t friendly enough with his neighbors to expect them to know what kind of visitors he would or wouldn’t have.
“Please,” the voice said, and Sawyer could easily identify the note of desperation in it.
Perhaps it was that all too familiar anguish that made him crack the door open, or perhaps he felt stupid talking to a door… Whatever the reason, he now came face to a face with a stunning blonde, wringing her hands in his hallway.
His wolf perked up at the mere sight of her, even as he tried not to stare at her pretty face. She looked just like she sounded and once again, Sawyer got to wrestle with the urge to make whatever troubles she had go away as fast as he could.
“Thank…” The woman started to say.
“I’m not an investigator anymore, lady,” he cut her off.
The woman blinked at him for a moment, and for just a split second, he felt bad about being so terse. But he reminded himself it was not his job to deal with everyone else’s problems anymore.
“My name is Naomi Moore,” she said, giving him a brief smile and sticking her hand through the open door.
Copyright © 2017 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Last Chance Mate: Sawyer
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover © Jack of Covers
Prologue
Naomi
Fourteen years ago…
“Mom?” Naomi said quietly, cracking open the door to her bedroom.
The hallway was dark, the door to her parents’ bedroom closed. But she was certain she had heard a thump from downstairs. Standing in the doorway, she listened to the sounds of the house, the wood creaking and a curtain moving somewhere near an open window.
And then, there it was again, a sound that didn’t belong. An odd scratching or cracking she couldn’t quite place. An uneasiness started to swell in her gut, but she pushed it aside.
She wasn’t a little girl anymore, afraid of the dark. And it wasn’t like the sound had woken her – she had been tossing and turning for a good hour by that point, caught between telling herself she was in the right and it was her mom that was too strict, and wanting to apologize for being a brat.
She might not have been a child anymore, but she would certainly never be old enough to disrespect her parents.
“Mom?” she tried again, raising her voice just a little bit, afraid she would wake up her father.
When there was still no reply, she stepped closer to the head of the stairs, peering down. A soft glow emanated from the door leading to the kitchen. Mom did always tend to clean when she was stressed.
Sighing, Naomi walked over to the stairs, the carpet soft between her toes. The ends of her pajama bottoms dragged across the floor as she descended the stairs, fingers trailing along the worn handrail.
“Look, I’m sorry about before,” she said when she made it downstairs, turning toward the kitchen. “I know it’s important to…” she started, but her voice disappeared into nothing at the image she came upon.
Her mom lay in a heap in the middle of the kitchen, looking like she had dropped where she stood. Naomi would have thought she had just fainted, or maybe had some sort of seizure… If it weren’t for all the blood.
Eyes wide and heart beating out of her chest, Naomi stood in frozen horror, her eyes moving over her mother’s lifeless body. Her long, blonde hair was matted with crimson. It spread in a pool around her head…
Naomi gagged, her stomach twisting as a lump of bile pushed up her throat. The whole upper part of her mother’s head was unrecognizable. Shards of bone stuck out from under her skin, her entire skull dented inwards.
It was as if someone had squeezed the top of her head, crushing it. When Naomi spotted bits of brain matter on the linoleum floor, she looked away, gripping onto the doorframe as her knees started to wobble.
No, no, no, no… she chanted in her head, squeezing her eyes shut.
This had to be a nightmare. Any moment, she would wake up in her bed. This was just because of the fight. This was just her subconscious, telling her she should just say she was sorry.
But when she opened her eyes again, she was still standing at the entrance of the kitchen, nausea and terror bubbling up in her chest. It was only when she forced herself to look around that she saw a man standing in the corner of the room, staring at her with cold eyes.
Shaking, Naomi took a deep breath, and let out a scream.
This is real. This is real, she repeated in her mind, screaming once more when the stranger stepped closer, his hands covered in blood.
Her father’s footsteps sounded from upstairs, followed by the sound of a door opening.
“Naomi?” he called out, worry in his voice.
“Daddy!” she shouted back, unable to look away from the man stepping over her mother’s body to get to her.
There was something odd and jerky about the way the man moved, and his narrow face was completely emotionless. Thin lips in a straight line, his eyes wide-set and his nose oddly short, he just blinked at her as he made his way toward her.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the man said, a strange cadence to
his words.
“Naomi? What’s wrong?” her father asked, rushing down the stairs in his robe, eyes darting around.
As soon as he spotted the stranger near the kitchen door, he ran in front of Naomi, reaching back to grab her hand. Naomi had always thought his dad a strong, imposing man. But next to the intruder, with his broad, muscular build and air of cold viciousness, her father looked almost helpless.
“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house?” her father demanded, raising his voice. “You okay, sweetie?” he added more quietly, squeezing Naomi’s hand.
She hadn’t noticed when exactly she had started crying, but tears were streaming down her face in full force now, dripping down her chin and soaking the front of her shirt. Shock was slowly being replaced with overwhelming panic, as she sucked in breaths but still felt like there was no air in her lungs.
“Mom,” she was able to get out through her gasps. “Mommy…”
She could spot the moment her dad looked over the stranger’s shoulder, and saw the sickening scene on the kitchen floor. His shoulders slouched suddenly, and his hand dropped away from hers.
“Jack Moore,” the stranger said, staring at her dad. “Where is the snake?”
“What… what did you do to my wife…” Jack muttered, his arms slack at his sides. “What did you do?” he shouted a second later, starting toward the stranger with his fists clenched.
“Daddy, no,” Naomi whispered, reaching for her father, but she only grabbed air.
Jack had already lunged at the man, grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket and shaking him violently. Naomi flattened herself against a wall, her panic too great for her to even form a complete thought.
The stranger looked unaffected by Jack’s attempts to pummel him, narrowing his eyes at her father before sending Jack flying across the room with a sweep of his hand. Eyes wide, Naomi bit back her sobs and ran to her dad, past their horrific and unwelcome guest, groaning on the floor.
Kneeling down, she tugged at him to get up, all the while stealing glances at the stranger.
“Where is the snake?” the man asked again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she yelled. “There’s no snake here!”
“Then where is it?” he demanded, voice rising.
Walking closer, he grabbed one of Jack’s legs, and dragged the man to his side as if her weighed nothing at all. Naomi tried to hold on to her father, but the man easily pulled him away. Dazed, Jack looked up at the man, a hopelessness in his voice when he spoke.
“Please, don’t hurt my daughter,” he said, and for the first time, there was emotion on the stranger’s face.
“You sniveling sack of meat,” he snarled, baring a row of sharp, pointed teeth. “Tell me where it is or I will rip her insides out in front of you.”
Naomi gaped at the man as his eyes turned as red as the blood on his hands. Nothing made sense anymore. Head swimming, she sat on the floor, trying to figure out if she was losing her mind or not. None of it could be real, could it?
“Please,” she begged, looking up at the creature pulling her father up by his throat. “We don’t know what you’re talking about. Please don’t…” she trailed off, turning her attention to her father.
“I love you,” he mouthed, twisting around in the stranger’s grip.
“Enough!” the man bellowed, and Naomi could have sworn she saw long, black veins snake just beneath the stranger’s skin, just for a split second. “Useless…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
Jack was now back on his feet, trying to pry the stranger’s hands off his neck, but failing.
“Run, Naomi,” her father rasped, his slippered feet scuffling off the floor as the stranger lifted him higher.
Something inside Naomi snapped. Pushing herself out of her terrified haze, she pushed herself forward, charging at the stranger with a desperate cry.
“Let him go!” she yelled, but was knocked back before she could even get close, as if a fist had caught her right in the gut.
Skidding on the floor, she hit her back against the edge of the entry room door. Pain flashed up her spine, and she struggled to get back to her feet. When she did, she was left to watch as the stranger held up her father with one hand, and gripped his head with the other.
“Run…” her father urged again, desperate, before his voice turned into a choked sigh.
Wrapping his huge palm around Jack’s skull, the stranger squeezed, until all Naomi could hear was her heart beating against her chest, and the sound of bone crunching. Adrenaline kicked in, flooding over her, sending blood coursing to her limbs as her father’s head was crushed before her.
Now in full survival mode, Naomi turned on her heel and ran straight for the front door. Behind her, a loud thump told her the stranger had dropped her father. Footsteps followed, but she didn’t look back as she unlocked the door in a frenzy and sprinted outside, as fast as she could.
Bare feet scraping across the frozen ground, her muscles pumping, she headed for the closest neighbor, screaming all the way there.
It started with ‘help’, but soon turned intelligible, just shouts of anguish and fear. Lights turned on all over the neighborhood, curtains moving and even some doors opening. Naomi just kept running.
And she never looked back.
One
Sawyer
Sawyer woke up on his couch, fully dressed except for his boots. Mouth dry and feeling a headache coming on, he swung his feet over to the floor, kicking over empty beer bottles. Rubbing his temples, he walked over to the curtains, opening them and pulling them back closed when the bright midday sun shone in his face, nearly blinding him for a moment.
Another sunny day. Great.
Sighing, he put on a pot of coffee and was getting ready for a shower when his phone rang somewhere in the apartment. Frowning, he followed the sound to the hallway, and found his phone in one of his shoes. The notion to toss the ringing contraption along with the footwear came as a pleasant blip in his thoughts, to be discarded out of necessity and what semblance of good manners he had left.
His wolf growled deep inside his chest, hoping the call would bring some excitement. Clamping down his animal side, Sawyer focused on the phone in his palm.
Detective Hill blinked on the screen, and for a second, Sawyer debated not answering it. But his curiosity got the better of him.
“Yeah?” he said, pressing the phone to his ear as he walked back to the kitchen.
“Late night?” the man on the other end asked.
“Why?” Sawyer countered, putting some more life in his voice.
“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Hill replied. “And you sound like you’ve downed a glass of sand.”
“Great detective work,” Sawyer grunted, holding the phone with his shoulder as he rummaged around the cabinets for a clean mug. “You really are good at what you do. You calling for a reason, or what?”
“Grumpy,” Hill clucked his tongue. “Come by the station and I’ll buy you breakfast. Maybe I’ll even dig up some aspirin from the bottom of my drawers.”
Setting his cup down next to the coffee machine, Sawyer filled it, taking in a deep breath. His body was already awake, but his mind was still catching up.
“You’re buying?” he asked. “That means you must really need my help.”
“Hey, you want to actually work for your paycheck or what?” Hill replied.
“Fine,” Sawyer sighed, tipping his cup to his mouth. “I’ll meet you by the food truck out front. Bring your wallet,” he said, before hanging up.
Sawyer found Hill leaning on the food truck, with two hot dogs in hand. The detective was a tall, African American man, fit if only for a little softness around his waist. A known womanizer, he was what girls referred to as ‘cute’. The few times Sawyer had had a drink with the man, Hill had never left alone.
“I told you I was buying,” Hill said, tilting his head at a couple of metal chairs and a table n
ear the truck.
Adjusting his sunglasses, Sawyer noted the folder tucked beneath the man’s arm. Part of him hoped he would get to finish his meal before Hill started talking about whatever case he was working on.
But another part of him couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into a new distraction.
After his coffee and a change of clothes, Sawyer was feeling a lot better than he had when he first woke up. But the hot afternoon sun was still wearing him down, making his shirt stick to his chest and back with sweat.
No rest for the wicked, he thought with a stifled sigh, finding himself in one of those moods where everything, everything annoyed him.
“This better be good,” he sighed, following Hill to sit behind the table.
“Oh, I forgot – you only like to leave your house at night, when the bars are open,” Hill said, arching a brow at him as he handed Sawyer a hot dog.
“And how are you doing? Found wife number three yet?” Sawyer countered.
“Ouch. Low blow,” he laughed. “I think I’ll put finding Mrs. Hill on the back burner for now, especially after the scene I went to last night.”
Pulling out the folder under his arm, Hill placed it on the table, biting into his hot dog as soon as his hands were free. Sawyer just stared at the file for a moment, before setting his food aside.
When it came to cases, he always gave them his full attention. Even if they weren’t technically his cases. Crime scene photos appeared on the first page as he opened the nondescript folder, and he studied them. The body of a man lay on the floor of what looked like a lavish bedroom, with numerous stab wounds to the face and chest.
The amount of violence would have been shocking, if Sawyer hadn’t already seen it all before, and worse. Yet, he wasn’t entirely numb to it. Someone’s life had ended in a brutal way. There was nothing casual about that, no matter how many times you witnessed it.
This wasn’t a case of prey and predator, something that had to be done to survive. This was murder, and murder was never easy or clean.
