Carolina Blues (6 page)

He could see it was a cookie. “I meant, why are you giving it to me?”

“I told you. You looked like you needed one. And . . .” Her eyes met his. “That was nice, what you said to Jane. Nice of you to look out for her.”

He wasn’t nice.

He was closed and uncommunicative and angry most of the time. If she imagined he was nice, she was only going to be disappointed.

“I’m just doing my job,” he said, more harshly than he intended.

But she didn’t back down. Damned if he didn’t like that about her. “Take it anyway. You should never leave a bakery empty-handed.”

He shook his head. “Thanks. But I already got what I came for.”

She searched his gaze. “Information?”

You
, he almost said.
I wanted to see you.

But the admission made him deeply uneasy. Hell, the thought made him deeply uneasy.

So he took the cookie and left, the big, bad police chief running from the quirky writer with the pierced nose and too-perceptive eyes.

T
HE FOLLOWING
M
ONDAY,
Jack borrowed a bucket and supplies from the fire station and hunkered down in the parking lot to wash the department SUV. The sun beat down, heating the hood, leaving water spots on the paint.

“Hell of a way to spend your day off,” Hank observed.

Jack hosed the vehicle’s roof. “You’re one to talk.”

“A man your age should have better things to do.”

An image surfaced of Lauren Patterson, holding out that cookie like Eve with the fucking apple. And that tiny stud in her nose, winking, irresistible . . . She tempted him on more than one level.

He’d like to do her. Hell, he just liked her, her expressive face, her crazy earring, her dark, intelligent eyes.

Tension shivered through him, rippling through his muscles, like he was a sleeper waking to arousal. She made him remember how it felt to be alive.

He ran the dripping sponge over the windshield, dissolving the bloom of salt. He finally had his life under control again. He had himself under control. All the time.
Take a breath, go for a run, hit the heavy bag instead of the bottle
. He wasn’t looking to lose it all again over a woman.

No more emotional highs and lows. No games. No lies.

Hank was still watching him, waiting for a response.

“Take care of your gear and it’ll take care of you,” Jack said evenly.

“Couldn’t find another sucker for the job, huh?”

He dropped his sponge into the bucket of sudsy water. “You volunteering?”

“Hell, no. I’m fifty-eight, boy. I’m too old, too mean, and too tired to volunteer for anything.”

A smile tugged Jack’s mouth. “That why you turned down the chief’s job?”

“Pretty much.” Hank’s face creased in a grin. “Plus I didn’t want to spend my remaining years kissing the town council’s ass.”

“So you became a reserve officer instead.”

“Said I was old. Didn’t say I was smart.” Hank watched Jack pick up the hose, playing water over the hood. “You know, you could have gone to the Soap and Suds.”

The Soap and Suds Car Wash and Beer Barn was half an hour away on the other side of the bridge. Off island. Out of Jack’s jurisdiction. Too far away if the officer on duty—it was Luke today—suddenly needed backup. Not to mention the public relations fail of taking a police vehicle to a drive-through liquor store.

Jack picked up the sponge again. “You didn’t come out here to critique my car-washing technique.”

Hank grunted in acknowledgment. “Heard that low-life scumbag asshole Tillett’s still in town,” he said after a pause.

And there it was. The real reason Hank was out here in this heat instead of inside reading the paper. Travis Tillett, Jane’s ex.

“I ran him through the database,” Jack said. “Vehicle registration checks out. No outstanding warrants.”

“He doesn’t belong here.”

Neither did Jack, according to half the island’s old-timers. He smiled thinly. “If that was enough to lock him up, I’d have to arrest the entire tourist population.”

“Not a bad idea,” Hank said.

Jack didn’t respond.

“He giving Jane any trouble?”

Jack thought of Jane’s veiled look, Lauren’s quick, uncertain glance.

If he bothers you, you let me know.

Why? So you and my dad can discuss my lousy judgment in men? I don’t need that kind of help.

“You could ask her yourself,” he suggested.
Leave me out of it.

“It might have escaped your notice,” Hank said, his drawl thickening, “you being a big-city detective and all, but my daughter and I aren’t exactly what you’d call close.”

“I noticed. I just don’t understand why. Seeing as how you’re so easy to get along with,” Jack added dryly.

A snort of laughter escaped Hank before his face relapsed into its usual gloomy lines. “I should have put in more time at home when she was growing up.”

Jack shifted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He didn’t think Hank was the type to stand around jawing about his
feelings
. But you never could tell. “You can’t change what’s past.”

He was pretty sure the shrink had said that. Something like that anyway.

“She always seemed to be doing okay. Never any trouble, that girl. Not until
he
came sniffing around.”

Jack reached for the hose again to avoid answering. Maybe Jane had been a model daughter before Tillett. Or maybe Hank was kidding himself. In Jack’s experience, you didn’t see what you didn’t want to see.

Look at the way Jack had fucked up his marriage. He’d known Renee wasn’t happy. The signs were all there. Work . . . Well, they’d both always worked too many hours. And the sex had been good, at least until the very end. But there had been plenty of clues, if he’d been willing to see them—the calls she didn’t take, the simmering silences, the snide comments in front of their friends. He’d chosen to ignore them, and that was on him.

He’d never suspected his wife was fucking his partner, though.
Don’t shit where you eat
. And that was on them.

His hand flexed on the sponge. He could still feel the phantom throb of his knuckles where they’d connected with Frank’s jaw. Still remember the impact in his chest, betrayal blooming like blood from a gunshot wound.

He stared down at the sponge, dripping over the hood. He was going over and over the same spot, scrubbing at an invisible stain.

The inside phone rang, jerking at his attention.

Hank straightened from his post against the rail. “I got it.”

When Jack started this job, the one cop in a one-cop town, unanswered calls to the department were forwarded either to his cell phone or to his backup—Hank, if Hank was around, or the dispatcher in the county sheriff’s office. But there were three of them now. Jack had been talking to Nick O’Neal, head of the volunteer firefighters, about developing a coordinated emergency response, police, fire, medical. But that would demand a hell of a lot more sophisticated system than they had now.

Hank came out, his face creased in heavy lines. “That was Grady Real Estate. Somebody busted the air conditioner over at the bakery. Repairman’s saying it’s vandalism.”

Jack went still, his skin tightening.
Lauren
. “Everything else okay?”

“Fine. But Grady wants a police report so he can file an insurance claim.”

“Right.” Jack drew a careful breath.
Don’t overreact
. Vandalism was a common problem on the island, where big vacation homes sat empty half the year. “You want to take it?”

Since you’re so concerned about her ex
. Jane was Hank’s daughter. It was her bakery. Nothing to do with Jack at all.

Was Lauren there?

“She won’t want me,” Hank said gruffly. “Luke’s on duty.”

“He’s on a call.” The Crowleys’ dog, barking again, disturbing the renters next door. Nothing that required much time. But maybe Luke’s absence would give Hank the excuse he needed to go.

Hank’s face set. “So he can handle it on his way back.”

Of course he could.

And in the meantime, Jane was fine. Lauren was fine. It was only vandalism. Nothing dangerous. Not like, say, getting caught in a bank robbery and being held hostage for three days.

The thought made his gut clench.

How was Lauren handling this? She was a crime victim. She might act like she was over it now, but you didn’t walk away from what she’d been through without it affecting you. Jack had been a sniper. He knew.

He dried his hands, reached for his keys. “I’ll check it out.”

*   *   *

T
HE BAKERY WAS
hot as hell. Condensation dripped on the outside of the steel-and-glass refrigerated cases.

Behind the counter, Lauren was dripping, too. Sweat slid down her spine; soaked the band of her bra. She wiped her face with the back of her forearm.

The bakery had nearly emptied, the climbing temperatures inside driving patrons outside to the tables under the trees. Apparently the heat was more bearable outdoors away from the ovens. But the shift meant that she and Thalia were kept running, serving orders, bussing tables, as Jane dealt with the repairman out back.

Lauren scraped the last scoop of ice from the cooler, her mind leaping ahead. They couldn’t make drinks without ice. She glanced toward the kitchen door. If Jane didn’t come back soon, Lauren might have to close, if only to run out and buy more ice.

God, it was hot, a blanketing heat that smothered her in exhaustion.

The silver bells over the entrance jangled. Her stomach tightened like a fist. More than a year after the robbery, she still tensed sometimes at sudden entrances. She looked up, forcing a smile to her lips.

Jack stood in the door of the bakery wearing jeans and a damp white T-shirt, projecting an air of cool authority.

And she just . . . melted. Like the icing on the cupcakes.

Wow. Just . . . Wow. He looked different out of uniform, younger, tougher, more aggressive. Everything that was soft and weak and fluid inside her just flowed toward him, attracted by his power and sense of purpose. As if he could stamp her, mold her, shape her somehow into something stronger and more durable. He had all the confidence she lacked right now. How was she supposed to resist him? Did she even want to?

The jeans rode low on his narrow hips. The T-shirt molded to his heavily muscled chest. Beneath the thin white cotton, she could see the shadow of his body hair. She flushed all over as if she’d been scalded.

He came toward her with that fluid walk she admired so much, all contained power and masculine grace.
Oh, God
. She was abruptly aware that her face was hot and undoubtedly shiny. She probably stank, too.

Most individuals selected partners of comparable attractiveness. At her best, Lauren was, well, interesting-looking. And right now, she was
not
at her best.

Be cool
. “Hi, Jack.”

Those black Italian eyes met hers. “Lauren.”

Save me, she thought, and then chided herself. He wasn’t here for her. “Jane’s in the back with the repairman. You can go out through the kitchen.”

He nodded once, his gaze sharp on her face, like he was waiting for something.

“She, um, she didn’t want to call you. But her landlord said she needed to get a police report so he could file an insurance claim.”

“Okay. Thanks.” But he didn’t move on. “You doing okay?”

His concern made her throat clog. She worked enough moisture into her mouth to swallow. “I’m fine.”

A smile touched his lips. “Because you look like you could use a cookie.”

Something inside her eased and bloomed into a smile.

His eyes warmed. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

Her breath caught. Okay, he didn’t actually say that. She must have misheard him.
Thattagirl
, maybe?

He smiled again, a brief curve to that hard mouth, and walked away, leaving her hot and longing and bewildered.

“Crap,” Thalia said. “Are we out of ice?”

*   *   *

“I
’LL STAY.”
L
AUREN
squeezed Jane’s hand. Despite the sweltering heat inside the bakery, Jane’s fingers felt cold. “At least until Thalia gets back with the ice.”

Jane’s fingers tightened once, convulsively, before she pulled away. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough already. I probably have to close for the rest of the day anyway.”

Lauren pushed back her hair with her wrist. “What about tomorrow?”

Jane sighed. “I don’t know. The temperature will drop enough overnight that I can get some baking done, but there’s no way I can decorate cakes in this heat. And it’s going to be miserable in the shop.”

It was miserable now.

“I’ll be here,” Lauren said staunchly.

“It will be a light day.” Jane pressed her trembling lips together. “If we open at all.”

“I can still help out,” Lauren said. Although she didn’t want to take Jane’s money if there weren’t going to be any customers. “Or just, you know, hang out. If you want company.”
If you need support
.

Jane met her gaze, gray eyes soft and grateful. “Thanks.”

They weren’t friends. But they could be. It had been a long time since Lauren had connected with anyone outside the bubble created by the bank standoff. With someone who needed something from her besides a sound bite or a book.

“No problem,” Lauren said warmly. And it wasn’t. She
wanted
to help. Whether that help would be welcome or not.

“Jane.” She hesitated, trying to figure out her approach. They weren’t therapist and client. And questioning your boss about her potentially vengeful ex was definitely not in the employee handbook. “Do you have any idea who could have done this?”

Jane’s gaze dropped to the counter. She moved a glass a quarter of an inch to one side. “No.”

She was lying
. But confronting her directly would only make her more defensive.

“I’m not judging. I want to help,” Lauren said honestly. Sometimes sharing the truth, even a small, personal truth, created trust between strangers. It had worked before with Ben.
Ben, who was in prison now, so maybe that hadn’t worked out so well for him.

Not a positive thought. Think positive.

Jane’s lips parted, as if she might actually speak. And then her gaze caught on Jack, entering silently from the kitchen, and her lashes swept down again.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I’m fine.”

The breakthrough moment—if that’s what it was—slipped away. Lauren bit her lip in frustration.

Jack prowled closer, his black eyes alert. “Everything okay here?”

Jane raised her chin. “Yes. I was just telling Lauren she should go home.”

His gaze switched to Lauren. “You need a lift?”

She tilted her head. “That depends. Do I have to sit in the back of the patrol car?”

Black laughter leaped in his eyes like flames, sending flickers of warmth through her. “It’s my day off. You promise to be a good girl, you can sit up front. I might even let you play with the siren.”

Her heart thumped. She wanted to play. The flickers kindled and spread, heating her from the inside out.