I sat in a cell at the crowded bar at 6 pm sharp that Friday, staying for Detective Rowley to show up.
I didn't know how exactly he would find me, but there is a tablet and pen sitting on the rustic table in front of me. I am sure, grounded on what he does for a living, that he should be suitable to make a deduction.
After a many twinkles of watching the door, I sit up straighter as a altitudinous man walks in. Dark, messy hair, jeans, black t-shirt and a jacket. His eyes overlook the room, and when they find me, his face breaks into a small, sportful boo.
I guess that is him. Detective Dylan is, I can admit, ruggedly handsome.
I made a conscious trouble not to run my eyes down his muscular body as he made his way over to my table, sliding into the cell across from me. And he has to be
