"Hector! Hector!" Someone screamed for the Inspector's attention as he headed for his cruiser. It was the town's notorious masseuse-slash-seamstress-slash-candle maker, occasionally moonlighting as a reporter whenever his family needed him. Brady Moriarty. As well as half the shopping strip, the Moriarty family owned the small press in the town responsible for all their printing needs, and they'd taken it upon themselves to start a Town Tattler. It seemed to be quite popular too—that was the kind of small-town this was. Insular. Isolated. Particular.

Nosy.

Fucking nosy.

There wasn't a single person in town who didn't know Brady and his insatiable hots for the young heartthrob inspector. It was why, as soon as the thirty-something-year-old spotted the chiselled Inspector leaving the safety of the hospital, he pounced. Apparently, Hector was the only bachelor in town. A likely story. "Hector, wait!"

"Brady." Hector managed a meek smile, beelining for his cruiser as fast as he could, trying to wipe the pesky memory of Brady smashing his lips against Hector's last Town Christmas party—and it had nothing to do with Hector being straight. As far as kisses went, it was entirely the worst kiss Hector had ever had—sloppy, wet, and furry. It had prompted poor Hector to question: Does Brady ever brush his teeth? The furry feel of the guy's mouth still tickled Hector's imagination and Hector once again cursed himself for picking dare that night during a casual truth-or-dare at the town's annual bonfire by the beach.

"Hector!" Brady called again, almost Marilyn Monroeseque as Hector reached his cruiser.

"What can I do for you this morning, Brady?" he asked, exasperated before their conversation had even begun.

Brady flashed a smile as he slipped in between Hector and his cruiser—a smile that showed heavy build-up between yellowed teeth, reminding Hector of the kiss he'd rather not think about. "I heard you have a scoop for me."

"A scoop? Of what? Ice cream?" Hector replied, feeling a strange urgency to hop into his car and drive away. He was not in the mood to give anyone a scoop of any kind. Besides, the way the word 'scoop' had escaped Brady's mouth sounded strangely too dirty.

Besides, Hector had things to do. Important things, like downing a glass of stiff brandy and gaining access to the fastest internet he could find in the damn town. He needed her internet—and he loathed the idea that he may have to grovel at her door to get it. The last time he had seen his mother was at his grandma's funeral, a couple of months ago. His mother was still angry with him regarding his appearance on the day.

"How can you embarrass me like that?" Had been her exact words at his lack of tears. Since that day, Hector had avoided her, but perhaps no more. The prospect sat heavy in his navel. Uncomfortable. If only the station's computers weren't ancient, and their browsers slow and prone to hanging, he wouldn't be ready to head there. But he needed fast results. If Devi was telling the truth, then it wouldn't be long before word got out beyond their town.

'Famous Author (apparently!) Washed Ashore a Backward Country Town.' He could just imagine the headlines. 'Town's Only Cop Cops a Mouthful!'

It was Brady's nasal cackle that brought Hector back.

"Oh, Hector, you are too funny. I heard someone washed up on our shores this morning!" Brady snorted in laughter again, sliding a slimy hand on Hector's shoulder and leaning closer. "Manju tells me she's got quite a mouth on her, this one. Even told Gavin to shove it ... so quick, give it to me. Who is it and how did she get here?" he whispered conspiratorially.

Hector grimaced, reading far too much in the man's words: give it to me. And no, he had no intention of giving anything to anyone, least of all that. Not in this godforsaken town, anyway. No one had ever made his heart run with passion. Never in all his life. In fact, Inspector Hector counted the days till the department saw he had more to offer and transferred him somewhere with more life. He needed adventure. He needed change. He needed—sex. A woman worth the whole damn world.

"Can none of you keep your gob shut for five minutes?" Hector pinched the bridge of his nose. Manju was the worst gossip in town.

"But, it's for the Tattler!" Brady defended.

"The Tattler is a double-sided A4 gossip paper you print. Not the Sydney Morning Herald!" Hector narrowed his eyes. "You're what they call a gossip paper."

"Oh, now now. We print more than that!" Brady arched his tweezed brows up. "Why don't you let me interview you somewhere quiet?"

Hector closed his eyes. "I don't have time for this."

With that, he got into his cruiser.

"Give me something to go on, Hector!" Brady cried through the open window.

Why? Hector would never know. The man could easily waltz into the hospital and talk to the woman herself. Get the scoop straight from the horse's mouth if he was keen.

As Hector rolled back slowly, Brady stood in his way—dramatic, arms thrown out. Hector rolled his eyes before hanging out his window. "She's probably some hack who turned up here on purpose to drum up publicity for her book or something. I wouldn't think much of it."

"Ooh, an author, you say?" Brady moved aside with glee.

Hector pulled out of the small parking lot, mumbling, "I'm saddled with a fucking diva and a town that eats gossip for breakfast. Great!"

At the only traffic light in the town centre, which comprised one road, he turned toward his Ma's house, a lonely giant estate on the far edge of the town, hovering over a cliff like it was the king of the world and about to fall to its watery demise any minute now. Hector wished it would some days—fall, so he wouldn't feel like the entire town's eyes were on him constantly. The Prince of the Town. The rich bachelor and only son of the richest, most reclusive woman they'd ever met. His mother.

If I can get ahead of this scandal, and find out who she is and why she's pretending, then maybe I can get a promotion ... Hector eyed the traffic light with keen interest.

But, Hector, what if the woman is telling the truth? She is a famous writer, and she's ended up in your jurisdiction because last night, someone she knew tried to off her.

Hector nearly slammed the brakes on his car at that intrusive, beguiling thought. What if the woman was telling the truth? And worse yet, what if she was a victim of attempted murder as she claimed? This would be a big step for a small-town cop. No, a yeti-sized step for a small-town cop. Especially if he could solve it.

"It would definitely mean a promotion out of this hell hole!" He blurted. His eyes widened with excitement as he propelled his hand-me-down Toyota Corolla with fading red bonnet forward, putting the tiny town in his rear-view mirror.

Devi Dhungel. Devi Dhungel. He burned the name in his mind.

Who is Devi Dhungel? He had to get to the bottom of that question faster than Brady Moriarty could print the two hundred copies of the town's gossip paper by the morrow.

You better be home, Ma! He scrambled his way there, going way faster than the speed limit around the tiny town of Mystery Cove.