11 December, 2017 -The looming Christmas almost forgotten

When a gale-force wind rocked his camping hammock at God knows what time in the morning, Hector was asleep in a foetal position. His knees smacked the hard concrete of the new house extension. Plaster met flesh. Sleep went bye-bye and "Motherfuc—" unleashed from his mouth.

He snapped his eyes open just as another powerful gust of wind pushed him close to that wall. He threw out his arms in time to keep his face from kissing that stucco. "What the?" He then turned, spying with his little eyes, a nasty-looking storm brewing offshore.

"Shit!" He scrambled from the hammock, trying to slither out of it as gracefully as he could manage. Instead, his legs tangled in its fold and he fell to the wooden deck with a loud thud. Why was he sleeping out in the veranda on a hammock one might ask? Well, it wasn't because of the heat, which was certain.

When Hector had arrived unannounced the previous night, cradling files and notebooks and declaring, "I'm staying here until I crack the case," naturally, his Ma handed him the hammock and said, "All beds are gone."

Eve hadn't expected her genius son would pitch it out on the veranda, of course. Maybe the lounge room or his dad's study, but definitely not the veranda. So the blame for that moronic idea lay with him—not that one could truly blame him for choosing the outdoors over the freezing tundra the house had turned into. Thanks to two menopausal women occupying it in the middle of a blistering Aussie Summer, the ducted AC had been on full blast at the lowest setting. The chill could have frozen his itty-bitty manly tits off.

Nurse Chaya had been smarter, donning sweaters rather than complaining about the icebox. But Hector hadn't exactly packed for the cold and had done the next best thing, slept outside on a warm summer night. At no point had he expected the sea would also attempt to cryogenically-freeze him.

With sleep now squarely gone, Hector folded the hammock as fast as he could and dragged it behind him as he stole into the house wearing only his boxers. His skin prickled in the chill air, for that darn AC was still running. "These women are crazy!"

He shivered, moving across the dark room towards the thermostat in the kitchen, careful not to stub his toe on any of the furniture and piles of books lying about, or the sofa. In need of warmth, he turned the temperature up to a cosy twenty-two degrees, hoping the kitchen would warm up enough for him to curl up on that short sofa where a dining table they never set up should have been. That's when he caught the time on the wall clock. Almost four. Ma will be up and making a racket soon.

He moved to the cupboards instead, rummaging through the countless half-finished packets of random chips and whatnot, to get to the half-finished pack of ground coffee he remembered seeing the last time he was over. Ma had one of those drip machines he'd been meaning to buy for his place. I may as well get the coffee read ...

As he went through the act of setting up the machine, his spirits lifted at the sudden thought, that today, he could close this case. He was so close, he could feel it. Close to closing the case, to getting that promotion or transfer he deserved, to living that life he dreamed of.

He began humming a tune to a song because he wasn't one to remember the lyrics. He shook his butt from side to side, dancing. "Today is the day!"

Not realising someone was watching him shake his rather delicious little booty in those small, silk boxer shorts. "Today's the day for what?" she asked.

He startled like a teenager, chest to hand, heaving in a dramatic breath to complete the picture. "Jesus! Devi, why are you sneaking up on me like that?"

"Please. I've been here since you did your pathetic little tip-toeing across the floor like a thief in a Pink Panther cartoon." Devi danced her fingers across the length of the room before wheeling her chair out of the corridor. "Cute, by the way." She pointed at his red chilli boxers he'd gotten from Stoive last Christmas—his not-so-secret Secret Santa.

"It's a—I, uh—forgot my PJs." Hector scrambled behind the kitchen island. This woman had seen plenty of male anatomy in her life from what he'd gathered. She had a type too from what he could tell. Buff, manly, built—all things Marvin and Ryan Peck had; all things he didn't.

He regretted not grabbing a T-shirt from his room before Chaya retired for the night. At least he would have covered his torso. His darn nipples were erect from the stupid cold. "I was just gonna—" He shook the empty coffee pot at her. "Why are you up?"

Devi grabbed the empty bottle from her lap and shook it. "Water."

Hector glanced at the bottle but didn't make a move. If he helped her, he'd have to walk up to her, nearly naked.

"Seriously? You're not even going to offer?" Devi asked, seeming to read his mind. "Don't worry, Officer, I won't jump your bones just because you're one tiny piece of cloth away from being naked. You're safe with me." She crossed her fingers and smiled.

"I wasn't—thinking that." He rushed over, snatched her bottle off her hands, and rushed back behind the island. The sooner he filled it up, the sooner she'd go away and he could find where his Ma put his overnight bag. The woman had an inconvenient habit of 'putting things away' they should have left well alone.

Devi sighed behind him as he turned off the faucet.

"What?" He handed the bottle over. "Everything okay? Should I wake up Chaya?"

"I'm fine." Devi waved him off. "Leave the poor thing alone."

"Then? What is it?" He stood in front of Devi, forgetting all about his tiny boxers and bare skin.

"I'm tired."

"Okay. I'll take you to bed." He reached for her wheelchair.

"Take me to bed?" She stilled his hand before he could grab the chair. "I'm not that cheap a date, Inspector Martinez. Think a bottle of water will make me fawn all over you?"

"What? That's not what I—"

"Mean." She laughed, a laugh he loved hearing, but it abruptly ended and her tone changed to serious as she stared at her cast leg. "I know."

"Devi, what is it?" the words flew out of his lips in a whisper.

She stroked an old white scar on his knuckle caused by a fall from a tree. "I'm tired, of all this; of the walls. The feeling that I'm this useless sack of potatoes, sitting in that room day in, day out, with you, your mum, Doctor Chen ... and now the nurse, taking care of me. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of bugging you with my shit ... I want to be done with everything. Maybe it would have been better had I turned up dead on your beach ..."

"Hey, look at me." Hector knelt before her, in that murky room, where the only light streaming in was from the half-moon pre-drawn. Eye to eye, unaware of how intimate the move felt to Devi. He watched her nervously swallow as he took her hands in his and gave them a squeeze. "You can't be thinking that. You can't wish to be dead, not when so many of us are trying to keep you alive and safe. That's not fair. But you've had a harrowing experience that would traumatise anyone. It probably doesn't help that you've barely gotten out."

"You think I have cabin fever?" She asked with a faint smile.

"Sure, let's go with that." Hector squeezed her hand again. "I want you to know something, and I'm going to be honest here."

"Uh-oh."

"Please, don't ..." He looked up to her hoping she'd not make fun of him, instead, found her intense brown eyes studying his face. His stomach did a flip and his neck burned hot. "You were right, in the beginning, to assume this is my first big case. That I am a country cop. The worst crime I've solved is the who-dun-it in the public toilet and it's never a pretty picture—usually it's Gavin, taking it out on me for reporting his shenanigans to his son—"

"His son?"

"The area's Police Chief." Hector flashed her a small smile, trying to ignore the heat that crawled up his jawline and up into his cheeks. Devi was still studying his face. Why? He cleared his throat and stared instead at his own knees, or Devi's feet. Anywhere but her face. "What I'm trying to say is, without you, I would not have a case to work on that could get me out of this shitty little town I call home. Do I wish this had never happened to you? Yes."

"I don't know understand ..." She shook her head, choked up with tears. "I've always lived my life for others ..."

"Maybe that's what you have to stop now. Living for others." Hector dared to raise his gaze as far as her knees. "I wish this hadn't happened to you. I wish you weren't stuck in my tiny little town, stuck with me as the help, but we are close to solving this mystery. You and I. Together." He finally met her gaze. "And you know what I've learned about you in these past weeks?"

"What? That I'm this annoying, melodramatic, pain in the ass author you got saddled with. So annoying someone in my life tried to kill me?"

"Maybe at first." He chuckled nervously. It rendered a small smile from her. "But no. I think you're one of the bravest women I've ever met—except my mum, of course, or she'll kill me. But you're reliving your trauma again and again to help me solve your case, a nobody."

"You're not a nobody." Devi squeezed his hand back.

The move was sudden that it took him by surprise. He stared at the tangle that was their hands and shrugged. "Well, obviously."

Devi smiled.

That one heart-melting single dimple on her left cheek—one hidden behind all the swelling and bruises until now—took his breath away. Literally.

Hector's mind reeled. These things actually happen? He'd always thought movies and books highly romanticised them, made them beautiful but farfetched. However, that one smile, that one dimple, caused his mind to zip around like a balloon losing air, unable to land on a single thought. All he could do was stare at her dazzling smile.

The woman was a siren.

"And you really think I'm brave?" she was asking.

"You're looking good now," he said, highly distracted; craving to see that dimple again. Such was the state of his mind.

"Yeah?" Her eyes danced as they gazed into his. "What about me looks good?"

"Everything." Whether or not he meant to say it, it was the word that slipped from Hector's lips. Everything. And he meant it. He liked everything that was Devi Dhungel. (Surprisingly.)

"Hector, I—" Devi licked her lips.

His gaze shifted to those plump outlines just as she slightly bit one corner of her bottom lip. His heart did a weird flutter. "Yeah ..."

"—thank you. For everything." Her gaze flickered up to his.

Poor Hector could barely figure out what he wanted to say, let alone string a sentence. All he could think about was kissing those very lips. He shook his head as if trying to propel that crazy thought from his mind. "Devi ..."

"Yes?" She leaned a little closer.

Hector eyed her lips again, picturing his lips on hers before he jumped up to his feet. This isn't happening. I'm not going there ... not with Devi. I'm not ... He rubbed his lower back and paced slightly before saying, "I need your help. That's why I came."

"To the kitchen?" Came her question. Both suddenly switched back to their 'normal' snide selves.

"No. I mean, your case." He stood and stared at her. "There are a few things that make little sense, between your account and others, but I'm close to solving it. I can feel it. You're an expert on crime. You have a criminology background; you research the shit out of every book you write; you even go on ride-along—"

"You've been reading up on me."

Guilty as charged, Hector stood still. "Kind of had to ..."

"Did you read the one about me being a man-eater ...?" Devi wheeled herself around with a chuckle. "Well, come on then."

"What? Now?" Hector stared at her wide-eyed. In my boxers?

"Why not? Bring what you have. And don't worry. Those rumours aren't wholly true ... You're perfectly safe with me, for now," Devi said, seeming to read his mind again. The words 'for now' all but whispered. Besides, I don't mind the boxers. They're cute. Kind of reminds me of Charlie, strutting about the house without a care in the world ..."

"Uh ... I ... uh what ..." Hector struggled for words. Again. "You sure? It's like four in the morning."

"What's time got to do with it?" She rolled herself down the long annex that connected the two sides of the house. "You're up"—she turned around, practically eyeing his junk—"I'm up, so let us tango."

Hector could read a lot in the word 'tango', and immediately stared at his own junk—Am I up?—before registering the peel of evil laughter coming from his nemesis.

"Oh, and don't forget to bring your dick-ta-phone, Inspector!" she called back, like a dirty little siren, disappearing from view.

"Dick-ta—?" When the pun registered, it was his turn to roll his eyes, but only partly. Was Devi Dhungel flirting with him? Openly?

Nah! Can't be.

Hector quickly snatched the throw from the sofa and wrapped it around his hips—just in case—then gathered all his notebooks and files from the coffee table and followed the diva into her room.

(...Continued in part b...)