"We got him!"
Guyot's grin practically stretched from ear to ear, and his enthusiasm, which was usually infectious, only moved Reynauld to respond with a twitch that did not resemble a valiant attempt at a smile so much as it did him suddenly suffering a stroke.
Guyot was right though. Dismas was under lock and key in one of the holding cells, and in theory today's work was done and the operation a full success. They had gotten their target, and as the leading officer in charge, Reynauld should be celebrating his victory.
But the truth was that instead of receiving back-pats and congratulations from the whole department, Reynauld would much rather have spent the night in someone else's arms.
Guyot had driven the van on their way back from the hotel, and that at least had left Reynauld to slump in the passenger seat, too out of it to do more than watch the city lights speed past them. Once they had arrived, he had been able to hold it together long enough to escort Dismas to the prison, and then he had promptly fled to his office under the pretext of having to write reports.
That had been an hour ago. He hadn't even fired up the computer yet. Instead, he had chosen to wallow in alcohol-fortified self-pity. With his arms crossed on his desk, and his head resting upon them, Reynauld passed the time by watching his office sway gently, as if it were inside a boat that was floating on a relatively calm sea. His right hand had slipped from the wooden surface of his desk, and back then it had seemed like too much of a bother to lift it back up.
Only when somebody knocked at his door did Reynauld look up, but as soon as it turned out to be Guyot, he lowered his head again. And because Guyot was Guyot, he was brimming with energy and joy, the combination as loathsome to Reynauld at this very moment, as sunshine and music were to the hungover. But he was still Reynauld's best friend, and so Reynauld had greeted him with a limp flap of his hand that could mean anything really, but which Guyot interpreted as an invitation to come in and sit down.
"Yeah," Reynauld sighed, because some manner of verbal answer was necessary, lest his friend call the paramedics on him. "We did."
"This don't work on me, ya know?" Guyot said and dipped his head so that he could look Rey in the eyes.
Reynauld, in turn, could verify that that infuriating smile was still in place. He didn't like how Guyot could look through him. Not that he had been putting any kind of effort into pretending that everything was fine and dandy, but still. He guessed that was the price you had to pay for having friends you have known since you both had been in diapers. They cared enough to make you miserable to make you feel better.
The thought struck, wrapping itself around Reynauld's brain like a python, writhing and constricting, and after a moment he wasn't even sure what he'd meant by thinking that. It hurt to think. And because he was hurting enough already, he stopped. Thinking, not being in pain. If Reynauld had been able to something about the latter, he already would have.
"Come on," Guyot cajoled in a sweet, patient voice. "What's wrong?"
Reynauld shook his head, something that required major effort, since it still rested upon his arms. He could hear the sigh float over him like a raincloud.
"Rey?"
"You were right," Reynauld finally replied and nodded. A moment later he couldn't tell whether his head was still moving, or whether his office was accelerating. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and muttered, "This was a terrible idea."
A moment of silence followed. Then,
"Look, I'm sorry ya had to put up with that sleazebag," Guyot began tentatively, but– .
"What?" Reynauld blurted out. He had meant moving, but slowly the meaning of Guyot's words wormed its way through to his brain.
"Remember when I said it couldn't be worse than my last date?" Reynauld said slowly.
"Yeah?" Guyot sounded confused.
Reynauld had a hunch that if he'd been sober this conversation would not be happening, at least not like this.
"Well, was it?" his friend finally asked, when he forgot to continue.
"No." Reynauld remembered the way Dismas' thigh had pressed against his in the bar, how it had felt to hold him close on the ride to the hotel. All the little sounds he'd made when Reynauld had kissed him breathless. "Wasn't the second worst either," he mumbled. "Wasn't bad at all."
"Rey?"
"It was the best date I've ever had." Reynauld looked at Guyot in accusation, as if he were to blame for the unfairness of it all. It had to be the drink. It was to blame for turning him maudlin, and erasing that invaluable filter between his brain and his mouth.
"Oh no," he heard, Guyot sigh, before the warm comforting weight of a hand landed on his shoulder. His friend gave him a little shake that Reynauld did not respond to. "I'm sure Para has something that could cheer you up," Guyot said, making an attempt at levity.
"Fuck off," Reynauld muttered, suddenly on the verge of tears. He was tired, drunk, and his best friend was being an ass, all of which amounted to him feeling like a steaming pile of shit.
"That bad, huh?" Guyot asked, and with a deep breath he wrapped an arm around Reynauld. "C'mere."
Reynauld leaned into the offered embrace like a tree being felled. Guyot caught him, held him, and rubbed large, soothing circles into his back. It felt good. Safe and familiar. Guyot smelled like coffee and industrial detergent and Reynauld didn't know how long he ended up sniffing into his friend's collar while the world wavered between warm and fuzzy, and being a cold hopeless place.
"I'm drunk," Reynauld eventually confessed in a whisper.
"I can tell," Guyot replied, his voice thick with amusement. "Good thing I didn't let you drive."
"I didn't mean to get drunk," Reynauld complained. But Dismas had been company, and he'd lost count of the drinks they'd had. Finally he'd found what he had been looking for, something – someone fun and exciting, and now they were gonna take him away, and he had no one to blame but himself.
"So, just how much did ya drink?" Guyot wanted to know.
"I don't remember," Reynauld answered in a low murmur, slightly embarrassed. He had not felt nearly as drunk in the hotel room, but it had gradually gotten worse, over time. Some of the stronger booze had to be hitting him late.
"Well, that's one too much for sure," Guyot chuckled, and gave Reynauld's arm a sympathetic pat. Why don't ya get some sleep? Things'll look brighter in the morning, I promise ya."
Reynauld didn't want to go back to an empty home. His wife was gone, his kid wasn't there either, and his almost-lover of half a night was behind bars. His eyes began to burn again.
This was why he didn't drink in first place.
It was not the first time he had decided to save himself the train ride home, and Guyot helped him set up with the emergency camping kit that consisted of a therm-a-rest mat, a small blow up pillow, a sheet and some blankets. Guyot even got him a bottle of water, which became just half of one within seconds of meeting Reynauld.
Reynauld brushed his teeth in one of the nearby bathrooms and undressed back in his room, folding his clothes as neatly as he could manage on his desk. Then, he laid down on the mattress.
The air escaped with a noise like a fart, and he groaned, an unhappy little sound, unwitnessed by anything but the floorboards. It was a show of iron self-control when Reynauld got up again to let the mat refill before he twisted the little air vent to screw it shut. Tomorrow he could take a shower downstairs, get a clean uniform, and be as good as new.
Today, he was allowed to be as miserable as he wanted to be. And because he was already on his feet, Reynauld remembered to lock his office. The last thing he wanted was for one of his superiors to encounter him in his briefs, drooling on the floor.
Morning did eventually arrive after a much too short night that Reynauld had thankfully managed to sleep through. With the sun shining through the window everything was literally brighter, just as Guyot had promised, although Reynauld wasn't so sure about whether he felt better or worse. It would take approximately half a galleon coffee for him to find out, so he decided to get an early start on that front.
He dressed and cleaned himself up, then brewed a pot, immediately consumed half of it, and headed downstairs to see who was already in. Guyot wasn't going to arrive until midday, and most of his team were off-duty until much later in the day. After a brief chat with Barristan, Reynauld headed back to his office to catch up on paperwork which he had neglected yesterday.
Once finished, he stretched, and called for Marci to take the reports to the Chief.
"Oh, but he's got a conference outta town," Marci said apologetically. "Neville told me, when I mentioned I thought I'd seen his car earlier. Anyway, I guess that means Mal's in charge."
She would be; and Reynauld had Marci take the folders to her instead.
Her reply came soon enough.
If he'd had a moderately crappy night, Dismas' must have been quite a ways further up on the Scale of Suck. Reynauld wasn't sure why a couple of hours later he tormented himself with personally escorting the prisoner when he could have sent anybody else to do the job.
Maybe it was an inherent streak of masochism, or maybe it was guilt – but either way, he found himself in front of Dismas' cell. Dismas, who actually looked marginally relieved to see him again.
Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Dismas had not been able to rest at all, and Reynauld would have been surprised if he had. The holding cells were meant to make the stay in them as unpleasant as possible, and the regular visits from the forensics team did not make matters any better. Dismas was probably right in that half of what went on in that tract was against the law.
Not that anybody would know from how operations were being run topside.
Mallory was the epitome of professionalism, and Reynauld had to sit through a very uncomfortable hour in which Dismas' defences were one by one pulled down until defeated, he agreed to cooperate.
It took roughly another hour for Reynauld to read and explain all the legal paperwork, and for Dismas to sign all the forms before Reynauld could escort him back to a cell – this time, a more adequate one for long-term detention.
They rounded the corner, but they were not the only ones, and what happened did so too fast for Reynauld to intervene. A surprised gasp was followed by a shout of pain, coffee cups went sailing and Marci stared at them in wide-eyed shock, the tablet still clutched in her hands. Reynauld was spared the torrent of brown liquid, but Dismas caught the brunt of it and he let out a litany of curses while trying to tug the sodden and undoubtedly scalding shirt away from his chest.
"I'm so sorry–"
"Feckin' shite– !"
"I didn't see you– "
"Fuck this cunt piece of a day with a splintering two by four!"
"Marci," Reynauld said, trying to keep his calm. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was a stupid accident. Those happened sometimes.
"I'm so sorry!" Marci stammered, the tablet shaking in her hands so much, she threatened to spill more coffee. "I'm so sorry, Rey."
"What am I, chopped liver?" Dismas muttered darkly.
"Guyot sent me for some coffee; he's interrogating the other guy, and I didn't see you around the corner– ,"
"What other guy?" Dismas asked, but Marci was still stuttering apologies, so Reynauld hushed her and ordered her to get a mop and wipe the floor while he would take care of Dismas.
Reynauld half expected a little puff of dust to rise from how quickly Marci made a dash for it, undoubtedly relieved that he wasn't upset or going to shout at her in the middle of the office and not willing to hang around in case he changed his mind.
"Well, this is great," Dismas bit out through clenched teeth a moment later. "This whole fucking mess is just. Fantastic. You get to be my babysitter and I'm fucked six ways to Sunday if anybody ever finds out I talked."
"Did she burn you?" Reynauld asked, trying to be patient, calm, professional. To channel a little bit of Mallory.
"No," Dismas grunted.
"I mean it. I can take you to the medical wing," Reynauld offered.
"M'fine," Dismas said in a tone that made Reynauld feel slightly uncomfortable because of how familiar it sounded.
So that's what it was like to be on the receiving end of that. "If you say so," Reynauld agreed, not believing it for a second and feeling a twinge of sympathy for Guyot.
"Are you gonna get me out of this, or do I have to smell like cafeteria from now on?" Dismas asked, once more tugging on the clothes he had been given upon his arrival at the PD. Both the shirt and sweatpants were marred by large, brown coffee stains.
"You'll get clean clothes," Reynauld assured him.
"Good."
For a moment, Reynauld thought that Dismas sounded slightly mollified, but apparently he had just been getting ready to throw the next punch.
"I wouldn't want you pigs all over me like strays over a bitch in heat."
"No danger there," Reynauld choked out, once he was done picking his jaw off the floor. What the hell?
"Just you then, huh?" Dismas asked in a mock sweet tone. "You know, you should receive an award for that act.
"Don't." Reynauld bit out. He understood the other man's anger. He did not deserve it, not after going out of his way to make sure Dismas wouldn't look like an illiterate idiot in front of Mallory, but he understood it. That did not mean he was willing to put up with everything Dismas threw his way.
"Why not?" Dismas cocked a brow. "Should be proud o'yerself. Had me fooled, ya know?"
"I'm not– ," Reynauld near-shouted.
"Will you mention it in your report?" Dismas continued, his voice rising in volume too, but his tone had soured, had become spiteful. "What it was like to kiss me? Or how you were hard for me?"
Reynauld's eyes narrowed, but Dismas took no heed. "And today I almost though ya were the Good Cop."
"I very much hope that I am a good cop," Reynauld finally cut him short, stepping in front of Dismas and blocking his further way. From their encounter at Jubert's, Reynauld already knew Dismas wasn't intimidated by thugs larger than he was, but he wasn't some bar-brawling punk and if Dismas wanted some, he could say whatever he wanted to get it right here, right now. If he had the balls.
Anybody who might have passed by in that moment, would be greeted by an interesting sight; a silent standoff between a man in cuffs and ruined clothes, and one officer in slightly rumpled uniform.
Dismas was the first to look away.
Reynauld shook his head, and pushed Dismas in the direction of the nearest showers that also happened to contain his locker. He should follow protocol and take him back to the prison tract, but the faster he got this job done, the faster he could hand off Dismas to somebody else, and take his mounting frustration out on the dummies in the gym rather than on the prisoner next to him.
"Mind the stairs – ," Reynauld barked, one-finger-punching the light switch with more force than it deserved.
"F– !"
Dismas pitched forward and Reynauld reacted instantly, catching him under the arm. Having a kid had honed his reflexes of catching smaller people from busting their skulls on the floor. Dismas counted, because he only came up to Reynauld's nose.
Reynauld expected another tirade, but when he turned to face Dismas, he could see that Dismas' brows had drawn together, and up.
"Why?" Dismas asked the sound of his voice brittle.
"Why what?" Reynauld repeated, confused and unsure of what had just happened.
"If I were you," Dismas explained, as if he were talking to a child, "I would have kicked myself down those stairs."
"Too much paperwork," Reynauld replied before he could think of any better reply.
Dismas blinked and then he failed at fighting off a smile, which resulted in the corners of his mouth being tugged in different directions.
"Rey– ," Dismas said, exasperated.
"Yeah?"
Dismas' brows drew up in surprise. "So that really is your name?"
"It is," Reynauld confirmed.
"You're the guy who arrested me. I don't want to like you," Dismas said, and instantly looked like he would have rather bitten off his own tongue.
"... but you do?" Reynauld dared to ask, and he was met with a pained look.
He had never apologized a to a crook before. (But then he had also never arrested one during foreplay.) Yet this seemed important, somehow.
"I told you, I'm sorry," Reynauld began. "I mean it. And I know it's not much, but I was after a criminal. My job was to catch the Grave Robber. I didn't mean to hurt... you."
A muscle on the side of Dismas' jaw twitched, and he gave Reynauld a curt nod.
"I like you too," Reynauld admitted softly and watched the furrows on Dismas' brow and between his eyes deepen.
Dismas took a deep breath, and it appeared as if he wanted to say something, because his mouth worked, but in the end, couldn't. A couple of tries later, he finally managed to croak, "You're alright. An' a good cop, I guess."
Reynauld sensed that he'd have a crick in his neck if he suffered any more whiplash, but he appreciated the sentiment. This was better than being an outlet for the other man's anger. Much better.
"Thank you."
There. They'd talked. Things had been said. In the low light, Dismas' eyes looked nearly black. Reynauld wished he had something more to add, or that Dismas would make a joke, say something clever. He didn't.
Rey did. "Hey."
Dismas looked up, and the sane part of Reynauld watched with detached terror as he stroked a hand over Dismas cheek, before leaning down and kissing him.
Reynauld realized he might have made a mistake when Dismas' teeth closed on his lip with enough force to hold him in place and do some serious damage if he bit down.
"Ain't you lucky I never hurt a lover," Dismas murmured, and, as if the arrest had never happened, he pulled himself into the kiss, open-mouthed and soothing the sting in Reynauld's lip by sucking on it.
Reynauld wrapped his arms around the smaller man's frame. Why did this have to feel so good? Why did Dismas' rugged looks and snarky remarks rouse something in him that none of his 'respectable' dates ever had? He licked over Dismas' lips, who opened right up and ran his tongue over Reynauld's. Reynauld thought that his chest might burst if that bubble of happiness inside it swelled any more.
Dismas' cuffed hands ran over his stomach, stroking, petting, groping. "See? Told ya 'bout the coffee stains," Dismas mumbled between kisses.
Reynauld's laughter was muffled, and he reached under Dismas' shirt and pulled it over the other man's head. There was no way to get it past the handcuffs and off completely, so Reynauld simply made Dismas lift his arms over his head where they were in no danger of coming close to his belt again. Dismas didn't seem to mind. He held Reynauld's head with both hands and tongue kissed him like there was no tomorrow.
Reynauld grabbed Dismas by the hips, and began to walk them towards the showers. Small steps, one leg between Dismas', it was almost like a slow dance. One that ended once they were on the tiled floor on the other side of the room.
Dismas was alternatively running his hands through Reynauld's hair, and cupping his jaw. The handcuffs barely seemed to hinder him.
Reynauld broke off their kiss only when he shoved down Dismas' sweats and briefs in one go, kneeling to get them down around Dismas' ankles. He felt Dismas' weight as the other man braced himself on his shoulder.
Reynauld thought that as he came up, he caught a flash of disappointment, but then Dismas stepped out of his pants, kicked them off, and wiggled his brows. He was only half-hard, but that changed quickly when Reynauld's hand wrapped around his cock, giving him a few good tugs from base to tip.
"Ah, fuck!"
Dismas' arms tightened around Reynauld's neck. Reynauld could see that his pupils were blown wide, and he leaned in again, claiming Dismas' mouth with his own. His own pants were tight, but he could wait. First he wanted to enjoy Dismas' cock in his hand, the weight and feel of it once it filled out. Its heat, the softness of skin.
He wanted to hear the noises Dismas was making against his lips when Reynauld pulled on him, slow and hard, or how his breathing stopped and picked up again with how he thumbed the sensitive head. Dismas twitched in his hand, and after only a few passes, he was leaking slick.
Reynauld grinned and ignored the growl and the nip of teeth against his neck as he let go of Dismas to run his hands over the other man's backside, kneading his firm buttocks. If this were another time and place, he might have done more than just trace Dismas' crack with his index finger before brushing past it. Or he would have paid more attention to Dismas' balls.
But time was one of the things they were short on, and with only the mildest pangs of regret, Reynauld returned his attention to Dismas' cock, running the backs of his knuckles lightly over its underside.
Dismas nudged Reynauld's nose with his own, to get some attention.
"You too," he panted. "C'mon."
Reynauld could not take off his pants without also losing his belt, and that was actually a whole lot more complicated than it sounded. He just unzipped his fly, tugged his underwear to the side, and pulled out his own prick.
They barely touched like this, the position not allowing for proper contact, and Dismas grunted in frustration. Reynauld picked up one of Dismas' legs, and lifted it so that the crook of the other man's knee was right over that of his elbow. Unbalanced, Dismas pitched backwards, and hit one of the shower knobs. Cold water sprayed them both.
They gasped, then laughed, and then Dismas' low moan was the only sound to be heard for a long time as Reynauld began to grind against him.
"Yeah. Fuck, yes."
Dismas bit the lobe of Reynauld's ear, pulled on it and then mouthed along his neck. Despite his limited options of movement, Dismas was rutting back as much as he could.
The water turned from icy to warm quickly, and their new position allowed Reynauld to stoke them both in tandem. His back and the backs of his thighs were burning, but it was only a mild inconvenience at this point, because Dismas was panting against Reynauld's lips, open-mouthed and with a look of intense concentration on his face. A couple of tugs later and he swallowed, opening his eyes briefly, and then squeezed them shut again, hips bucking wildly.
Reynauld stroked himself faster. He could feel Dismas come and the additional weight as the other man let himself be held up. Reynauld rested his forehead against Dismas' and tightened his hold until the dark bathroom was suddenly lit up by a shower of bright sparks, the water instantly sluicing away any evidence of their tryst.
Dismas let him catch his breath on his own time, his fingers massaging the back of Reynauld's neck. His nose was buried in his cheek, and he drew back slightly as Reynauld came down from his high. Dismas placed a tender, almost shy kiss on his cheek before withdrawing completely.
The position they were in was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Reynauld let go of Dismas' leg, who took a second to find his balance. They didn't look at each other. Reynauld reached over Dismas' shoulder to turn off the water. As soon as it was cut off, so was the magic of the moment.
Dismas was nearly naked and started to shiver while Reynauld's uniform was soaked right down to his socks. They let go of each other, and stepped back. Reynauld undid Dismas' handcuffs long enough for him to dry himself off and get dressed, before he closed them again and changed into a new uniform himself.
All the time, the rush of his own blood in his ears was still the only thing Reynauld could hear, along with a curious ringing. It nicely balanced out the feeling of having swallowed a black hole.
What had he just done? He must be insane. This could have cost him his work, it still could. Anybody could have come down, could have seen–
"Your friend," Dismas said suddenly, interrupting Reynauld's inner meltdown.
"What? Who?" Reynauld stammered, confused. This was not the right time to bring up any of his friends. Merely thinking about how they would react if they knew was enough mortification for a lifetime.
Dismas huffed. "The soulless wannabe maxillofacial surgeon," he explained.
Reynauld had an inkling that Dismas meant Guyot, but no idea why he would want to talk about the other police officer. Still... "Soulless?"
"Yeah. Ain't that what they say about redheads?"
"You don't really believe that," Reynauld said.
"It don't matter what I believe," Dismas said with a slight trace of annoyance. "Thing is, " he added, and Reynauld perceived something in his voice he recognized instantly.
It was urgency.
"He's the one interrogating Louet, ain't he?" Dismas asked. "I was wondrin' if ya'd let me talk ta him. Louet, not yer friend. He's a dick."
"Why?" Reyauld wanted to know, wary of where this was going. He did not rise to the bait. Just by how Dismas' accent thickened, Reynauld could tell that the other man was much more nervous about this request than he was letting on. Probably because it was important to him.
"Cause he might tell me something he won't tell you," Dismas retorted, as if Reynauld was an idiot for not thinking of the possibility.
"I doubt that," Reynauld replied. "Besides, you could just as well mean to silence him."
"Because he sold me out?" Dismas asked with raised brows. The grin he shot Reynauld looked strained, and his tone just missed his usual cocky drawl. "Eh, thought by now ya'd know there's no honour amongst thieves. 'S all water under the bridge."
"We made him an offer," Reynauld said. "The same we did you. Can you blame him?"
"I don't blame 'im," Dismas said, and sighed, shoulders slumping. Sensing that this approach was not going to work, he appeared to briefly war with himself, before he straightened again and looked Reynauld in the eye. "I just wanna talk. And I fucking hate asking for favours, but please. Just let me talk ta 'im. M' in cuffs anyway, and I know you're gonna be listening, might learn somethin' new that way. I just... c'mon Rey. Louet and I, we go way back. Waddya got to lose?"
What did he have to lose? Reynauld weighted his options. Dismas wouldn't be able to attack Louet physically. If he just wanted to grab the opportunity to fling some profanities his way well, that wasn't gonna harm the other prisoner. Anything they said would be on record, and even if they had some code – that could be broken. But this way at least they would find out about its existence, which was still better than nothing.
"I'm pulling you out if that conversation takes a turn I don't like," Reynauld said, after arriving at a conclusion.
"Sounds fair," Dismas sighed, and Reynauld realized that he had not expected to be granted this wish. "Thanks." It sounded like Dismas had developed a sudden toothache.
The awkwardness of what they had done hung heavily over them until Reynauld cleared his throat. They had both finished dressing, and he had stuffed his soaked uniform in a bag to take home at the end of the day. "Let's go, shall we?"
Dismas nodded without saying another word, and trudged along Reynauld as he led them both through the building, back to the interrogation rooms. Either Dismas was too lost in thought, or too tired for his usual witticism, and the walk passed in uncomfortable, although not-quite tense silence.
Until they went by the cafeteria, where he stopped as if rooted to the ground.
"Is that a cattle prod? Why is there a cattle prod next to the coffee machine?" Dismas looked from said item back to Reynauld.
"To keep away forensics and interns," Reynauld sighed. "You should know why, since you already met the former. This way." He tugged on Dismas' arm, and the other man stumbled along, his eyes still glued to the coffee machine.
But if Dismas wanted his chance of talking to Louet, he better hurry up. It wasn't everyday that the Chief was gone and Reynauld was willing to bend the rules... a lot, actually.
Louet had already agreed to work with the police. He was afforded special status in exchange for what information he might have, the extraction of which was Guyot's job. And if they were lucky, the two still had not finished.
They met Guyot halfway to the cells. He had just gotten himself some fresh coffee, and after Reynauld called out, he waited for them to catch up.
"Have you seen Marci?" Guyot asked in greeting. "I told her to get me some coffee, but it seems she forgot."
Reynauld noticed how Dismas tensed next to him, but before he could explain, Guyot remarked,
"Hey, why is your hair all wet?"
Dismas snorted and Reynauld suddenly felt like somebody had upended a bucketful of ice water over him. In his mind, he saw Dismas wrapped around him, soaked clothes clinging to their forms as they rutted in the department showers, where everybody could have walked in on them. Light help him, that had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life, and he'd certainly had a thousand times more luck than brains to get away with it.
He needed a distraction, and fast. As luck would have it, Dismas had provided him with one.
"I was wondering if Dismas could talk to your guy?" Reynauld asked without offering an answer, and tried to convey everything else that he could not say out loud via telepathy.
Thankfully, Guyot's psychic abilities proved to be infallible. "Sure," the redhead replied with a shrug. "Just make sure to chain him out of reach."
Well, that had been easier than anticipated. Reynauld gave Dismas an encouraging nod and smile, while Guyot swept the key card through the lock system which emitted a low buzzing sound. After a second, the red light flashed briefly before turning to green.
"Weird," Guyot said, and raised the coffee cup to take a loud, slurping sip. He sighed in contentment, licking his lips.
Dismas watched him without bothering to conceal his disgust, and Reynauld tapped his foot impatiently.
The light went out, and the doors finally opened.
Louet was still sitting in the same chair, at the very table he had been handcuffed to. He would have appeared to have nodded off, if not for the blood. It pooled around his chair, filled the gaps of the tiled floor, giving off a sweet, thick odour. Somebody had slit Louet's throat with enough force to lay open half his neck, and even stain the walls.