"Yeah." He wouldn't have been able to live with just anybody. There was no way. In fact, he couldn't think of anyone besides Elijah he trusted enough to share a home with. "It's nice to have someone to bounce things off of. For example, he tells me I'm an idiot for writing you that ticket."

"You told him?"

"It came up."

She laughed.

"Sad thing is that he's the one known for being a goody two shoes," Jackson said. "His dad was a bada.s.s police detective and he has his heart set on living up to his standard. Thinks he can save the world."

"And here you are, saving the island from my lead foot. It's a start, I guess."

"Belle." He shifted on the mattress, sighing. "I wasn't trying to be a d.i.c.k. I'd just come from a bad accident when I wrote you that ticket. A driver was killed because she ran a red light, and when I pulled you over, I thought of you being hurt like that. Maybe I overreacted, but it was because I wanted you to be safe."

She held his gaze, her dark eyes clear. "I never complained, did I? You can call me Princess all you want, but I'm not used to getting special treatment and I don't expect it."

He groaned, capturing her wrist and pulling her close. "What if I want to give you special treatment? I've got all kinds of ideas on how I could make that ticket up to you..."

Her breath streamed against his face, his collarbones. "Well, maybe I'll accept, just this once. What are your ideas?"

Life was okay under Harding's command, for about a week. Then he dropped a nuclear bomb on the platoon specifically, on Jackson.

He did it quietly, without fanfare or explanation. One day everything was normal, and the next Jackson reported for roll call and saw Sanders among the other officers.

What the f.u.c.k?

He looked to Elijah out of habit, half hoping the other man would tell him he was seeing things that he'd gone bat s.h.i.t crazy.

Insanity would've been better than working with Sanders. But Elijah looked just as confused and p.i.s.sed to see Sanders here.

It was obvious that everyone else had noticed, too. While they all waited for the shift sergeant to start roll call, officers looked back and forth between Jackson and Sanders, their gazes questioning and curious. Almost as if they were waiting for one of them to say or do something.

As if they were a live audience watching the filming of a G.o.dd.a.m.n soap opera.

The only one who didn't stare at Jackson was Sanders. Until roll call was over, anyway. On his way out of the room, Sanders shot Jackson a look that bored right through his vest, causing bile to rise up in his throat.

His pulse rang in his ears, and he bit down hard on nothing. He went straight to the lieutenant's office. The interim lieutenant's office. Aldred wouldn't have let Sanders show his lousy face on their shift.

What the f.u.c.k was going on?

He asked Harding, albeit with more respectful phrasing, after knocking and being granted permission to enter.

"He's part of the platoon now," Harding said, not bothering to look up from his computer monitor. He might as well have been announcing that the sky was blue or the gra.s.s was green. There was something in his tone that suggested Jackson was a dumba.s.s for even asking.

"Why?" The bitter taste of adrenaline began to creep into Jackson's mouth.

Harding finally looked up. "He requested a transfer. Has a newborn and said this schedule would be easier for him. We lost Fisker a month ago when she moved, and we've been short a patrol officer since until now."

That made zero f.u.c.king sense. All the beat cops worked swing shifts. You couldn't escape the s.h.i.tty hours by transferring to another platoon.

"I responded to a domestic at his residence a couple weeks ago. His wife called in he'd been beating her. I had to arrest him."

"I know all about it." Harding's expression darkened, the lines around his mouth deepening as he stared across his desk at Jackson.

The look he gave him suggested that Jackson had done something wrong that he was somehow the guilty one.

"Then surely you can see that transferring him to this platoon is bound to cause problems." He pushed the envelope. If getting on the interim lieutenant's bad side was what it took to avoid working with Sanders, then so be it.

"His wife dropped the charges. Or hasn't anyone told you?"

Jackson swallowed, trying unsuccessfully to clear the bitter taste from his mouth. "I know she dropped them, but that doesn't change what he did."

"It changes everything, and you know it. Whatever problems you and Sanders have are personal between the two of you. I don't want them spilling over into your work. Do you understand that?"

Something inside Jackson snapped, undermining whatever amount of respect he'd had for Harding.

"Absolutely," he said, his voice cold.

Harding grunted. A dismissal.

Jackson left the office without telling Harding to go f.u.c.k himself. It felt like a momentous accomplishment.

Jesus. When were they going to get Aldred back?

"What's up, man?" Jackson almost walked into Elijah. He hadn't even realized he'd been waiting for him.

Jackson told him once they got outside.

"d.a.m.n." Elijah shook his head. "Never knew Harding was like that."

In that moment, Jackson felt grateful. Grateful to have Elijah to vent to and grateful for Elijah's binarily-skewed moral compa.s.s that let him see so many things in terms of right and wrong, good and bad. Not everyone would be as bothered by Sanders some would see the matter as strictly personal. Something to be ignored, as victims like Kate Sanders so often were.

"Me neither," Jackson said. "Don't think I've ever spoken a word to the man, and I could tell he didn't want me in his office as soon as I walked in."

"a.s.shat."

Jackson nodded.

"Aldred wouldn't have let that piece of s.h.i.t transfer over to our platoon," Elijah said. "Hopefully she'll send his a.s.s back where he came from."

Maybe, but even if she did, that'd be weeks or months away.

"I don't get why he transferred anyway," Elijah said, "unless it was just to be a d.i.c.k."

"Neither do I." Jackson's gut knotted a little tighter. "But I don't think it's a coincidence. I've got a feeling he's gonna pull some stupid s.h.i.t."

"Either that, or he wants to make sure you're both working the same shifts so you can't respond if his wife makes any more 911 calls."

CHAPTER 15.

"Just put it in your purse," Mariah said. "You never know when you might need it."

Belle gazed down at the object in her hand. It looked like a tube of lipstick, except it was a little too big to be believable. "What if I forget what it is and give myself a face full of pepper spray while trying to touch up my make-up?"

Mariah rolled her eyes. "It doesn't roll on. You have to uncap it and press down on it a certain way. Let me show you."

Mariah gave Belle a tutorial on how to use the pepper spray disguised as lip stick. "It was either this or a stun gun. I figured this'd be better because the spray is dyed and leaves a stain. So if you ever have to spray someone, they'll be marked. That'll make it easier for the police to identify your attacker. Speaking of cops..."

Mariah gave the pepper spray back to Belle and leaned back on the couch, the picture of leisurely curiosity. When Belle didn't respond right away, she arched a brow.

Belle had already told her that she and Jackson were seeing each other. She just hadn't gone into any detail yet.

"How's it going so far with you and Jackson?" Mariah prodded. "You're so tight-lipped about it, I feel like a hostage interrogator every time I bring it up."

Belle bit down on her inner lip. "It's going well. It's just that talking about it kind of feels like jinxing myself."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "After the way things blew up with me and You Know Who, I feel self-conscious talking about relationships. I guess I'm afraid whatever I say will come back to bite me in the a.s.s later if things don't work out. I gushed to everyone about the engagement... Then when it was off, I wanted to go into the Witness Protection Program. It was so freaking embarra.s.sing."

Mariah frowned. "I get it. But you know, talking to me isn't like talking to anyone else. Anything you say stays between us, and if anyone ever betrays you like that loser did, you know I'll be the first to tell you you're better off without them."

Belle nodded. "We've been on a few dates. They were ... great, if I'm being honest. Better than anything I ever had with You Know Who. Just simple stuff the beach, and dinner."

"He hasn't pressured you for s.e.x, has he?"

Heat crept into Belle's cheeks. "Not at all."

"Just making sure he didn't make any presumptions. You know, with your history... Some guys think a one-time green light gives them a lifetime free pa.s.s."

"Jackson's not like that. It was like you said he wanted to pursue something more serious than what we had years ago."

"Good."

"And although he didn't pressure me..." The heat in Belle's cheeks increased, sparking a feeling of satisfaction. "We have slept together."

Mariah's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "I thought you said you weren't ready for s.e.x?"

"I said I wasn't ready for anything casual. We've both agreed to pursue a relationship, so..." She shrugged.

"Ha! I knew you couldn't resist him."

Belle tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't. "He is pretty irresistible. And I don't mean just his looks or his uniform. He seems to be just as nice of a guy as I remember, if not more so."

"You always had a soft spot for him. I'm glad he didn't turn out to be a disappointment."

"Well, it's still early days..." She couldn't stop herself from tacking the disclaimer on. It was a defensive mechanism, a souvenir of her relationship with Kyle.

Deep down, though, she didn't think Jackson would disappoint her. At least not with the flair and thoroughness that Kyle had. At his core, Jackson was a good guy. That was more than she could say for her ex-fiance.

"Hey. You don't have to worry about saving face with me, remember?"

Belle let herself smile. "Sorry, it's a reflex. I'm not sure what I'm more embarra.s.sed about: how it all ended or that I dated him at all."

"He was a real douche. But hey, live and learn, right?"

"I could've done without a hands-on lesson on what a douche he turned out to be, but yeah, sure."

Belle deliberately changed the topic, asking Mariah about work.

As an ER nurse, she usually had a string of colorful stories up her sleeve when she and Belle got together. Belle would rather hear those stories no matter what kind of bodily fluids they might involve than harp about her ex.

"Oh, you mean I haven't told you about the patient who tried to pa.s.s off a Pomeranian bite as a shark bite?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Of course not." Mariah grinned.

"Why would anyone do that, let alone think they could fool anyone?"

"The dog belongs to the patient, and she loves it to death. Apparently. Her husband, on the other hand, says the dog is the bane of his existence. It bit her on the arm while she was trying to give it a bath, and she hid the wound from her husband for three days. Then it got infected..."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah. She'd gone to the beach a few days before, and she told him she'd been bitten by a baby shark." Mariah shrugged. "He was the one who brought her into the ER, so she had to stick with the story. Of course, it didn't take much effort for the doctor to get the truth out of her. When he told her it looked like a canine bite, she started crying."

"What did her husband do?"

"I'm not sure if he was even surprised, to tell the truth. I mean, a baby shark bite?"

Belle giggled, and Mariah did the same.

"Some days," she said, "I love my job. The entertainment value is priceless I couldn't make this s.h.i.t up if I tried."

"People are weird."

"I know. Listen, I know you changed the subject on purpose, but about you and Jackson do you want to come to dinner at my place this weekend?"

Belle sat up straighter. "Do you want us to?"