"I've started seeing this guy. We've only been on a couple dates, and I don't know if it's going anywhere, but I've been bragging to him about my chicken piccata. I'm planning to make it for him this weekend and it'd be fun if you and Jackson came over too. Like a double-date."

"I can ask. I'm not exactly sure what his work schedule is this weekend, but I know he's on day shift right now, so an evening might work."

"Great. I want to see you two together."

"So long as you don't bring up anything embarra.s.sing. Like You Know Who."

"He doesn't know?"

"No. The fact that I was engaged and got dumped by my cheating fiance isn't exactly a conversation topic I'm eager to bring up, believe it or not." The thought of sharing that pathetic facet of her past with Jackson almost made the Witness Protection Program seem appealing again.

"I won't say anything about it. You have my word."

Around noon on Sat.u.r.day, Jackson pulled into Tempest Cafe's cramped parking lot. The only open s.p.a.ce was beside cruiser number 506 Elijah's ride. He took it, parking his identically painted Dodge Charger beside it.

The sun beat down on the back of his neck as he approached the building.

"Meeting someone," he told the hostess after stepping inside.

Elijah was waiting in a corner booth, and Jackson joined him.

"Don't get enough of me at home, huh?" He settled into one side of the booth, peeling off his sun gla.s.ses. Elijah had texted him half an hour ago and asked him to meet him at Tempest for lunch.

Elijah set down his sweet tea, apparently unamused. "I heard something today you ought to know."

"What?"

They were interrupted by a waitress. Not Ashley, thank G.o.d she would've hung around forever, making it impossible for them to talk. In contrast, this woman seemed busy and unfazed by their presence. After taking their orders, she disappeared.

Elijah maintained his grip on his gla.s.s, looking down at it and frowning as if they'd forgotten to put sugar in his tea.

"Sanders is spreading a rumor that you've been sleeping with his wife."

"What?" Jackson's blood pressure skyrocketed so quickly that he half expected the top of his skull to blow off.

"It's f.u.c.ked up, I know."

For what seemed like an eternity, he didn't know what to say. His gut tied itself in knots, and suddenly, the scents of frying food that wafted from the kitchen were repulsive.

"What the f.u.c.k?" he eventually got out. "Since when?"

"Delgado tipped me off this morning. Apparently Sanders has been feeding the platoon his bulls.h.i.t all week, ever since he transferred."

"So this is how he figures he can discredit me," he eventually said, his temples throbbing. "By making it look like his wife and I are having an affair behind his back and conspiring against him."

"It's a bulls.h.i.t plan. Completely transparent."

"Yeah, and it's bulls.h.i.t that he's not waiting on a court date right now, too." Jackson gave an irritated jerk of his head, trying and failing to shake the ache from his skull.

For all their oaths and responsibilities, police officers were as bad as sitcom housewives when it came to gossip. Rumors grew legs and spread through the department like roaches. The idea of Jackson f.u.c.king Sanders' wife was about as juicy as it got.

"Guess I know why Harding was such a d.i.c.k the other day." Personal that was what Harding had called the conflict between Jackson and Sanders. Well, now it made perfect f.u.c.king sense. "f.u.c.k."

If Harding believed Sanders' lies, who else might?

"He's making it out like he transferred over to our platoon to keep an eye on you."

Jackson opened his mouth, and Elijah shook his head.

"I know it's f.u.c.king absurd. I'm just telling you what he's saying."

The waitress brought their sandwiches, and Jackson forced himself to shovel his down. It tasted like wet cement. Elijah's revelation had sucked any possibility of enjoying anything right out of his day.

Jackson knocked on Belle's door at a quarter after seven on Sat.u.r.day evening, right on time. She hurried to answer it, her long earrings swinging and brushing her neck. She already had her sandals on and had just dabbed perfume above her collarbones and on the insides of her wrists. On her way to the door, she grabbed her purse and the bottle of wine she'd chosen as a hostess gift.

"Hey," she said, taking in the sight of Jackson standing on her doorstep dressed in a b.u.t.toned charcoal shirt and bone-grey pants ironed with precise creases. "Wow, you look great."

He'd rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms in that way she a.s.sumed men did to drive women crazy with l.u.s.t. It was especially appealing on him, showcasing his muscle and the ink that spiraled all the way to his left wrist.

"Not half as good as you." He met her eyes, then allowed his gaze to slide slowly down.

She'd worn her favorite dress a green sheath with golden sandals and matching earrings. She always felt good when she wore it, and his attention was fuel to that fire. Reluctantly, she turned away from him to lock her front door's deadbolt.

They crossed the parking lot together and she was so preoccupied with admiring how good he looked that she didn't notice the tension in the air until they got into his car.

He was unusually quiet, and other than the look of l.u.s.t he'd given her, he'd shown none of the usual signs that he was glad to see her. His face was an impa.s.sive mask, and she could see the faintest of lines around his mouth as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

CHAPTER 16.

"Still have my head stuck in the work day is all," Jackson said. "Had to hurry home to get ready after my shift ended, then I came straight here."

"I wish you'd said something I could've asked Mariah to set a later dinner time."

"It's not a problem." His gaze flickered away from the road and toward Belle. "If I'm going to hurry anywhere, it might as well be to see you."

That sparked a burst of pleasure, and she smiled.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and a little of the tension in the air seemed to dissipate. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low but flipping through the channels until it landed on an alternative rock station.

In under ten minutes, they arrived at Mariah's apartment.

The stucco building was only a few years old, and Mariah had an end unit. Moss green shutters framed the windows, and the building's foundation was surrounded with lush flower beds that bloomed three out of four seasons, kept up with by the maintenance staff.

"Nice place," Jackson said, shutting off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

"She pulls a lot of overtime in the ER." Belle unbuckled too, then stepped out onto the curb.

"What's she do there she a nurse?"

"Uh-huh. I forgot you didn't know."

"Haven't seen her since you were in college."

It seemed so long ago, in that moment. But when they were alone together, it almost felt as if no time had pa.s.sed at all since they'd spent those sultry days on the beach and that one, hot night in his bedroom.

"She hasn't changed much, in terms of personality. Still loves the beach, shopping and those goofy doc.u.mentaries."

They stood on Mariah's stoop together, and Belle rapped on the door. While they waited, she untucked the bottle of pinot grigio from beneath her arm.

"Hey!" Mariah flung the door open after looking out through the peep hole, surely and flashed them a brilliant smile. "Wow, you both look great. Jackson, it's good to see you after so long. How many years has it been five?"

"Six." He stepped inside, just behind Belle, touching his fingers to the small of her back.

A little shiver raced up and down Belle's spine, and she was hyper-aware of him behind her as Mariah caught her in a quick hug.

"Thanks a bunch," Mariah said when Belle gave her the wine. "This'll go perfect with my chicken piccata. Now, let me introduce you to Wyatt..."

Wyatt turned out to be a tall, slim, dark-haired guy who looked to be around thirty.

"Where did you two meet?" Mariah hadn't said much about him yet, but Belle was used to that Mariah usually waited until she was sure she liked a guy, and then started gushing. Belle thought of it as the point of no return.

"We work together at the hospital," Wyatt said, shaking Belle's hand and then Jackson's.

"And what do you do there?" Belle asked.

"I'm a radiologic technologist."

"He had to x-ray that patient who tried to convince us she'd been bitten by a shark," Mariah said, "to make sure there wasn't any infection in the bone."

Wyatt's mouth quirked, though Belle could tell he was trying to keep a straight face.

"You could say that's what brought us together," Mariah continued. "We started joking about that, and next thing I knew, we were going out to dinner."

Mariah shared a few more wild tales from the hospital as she moved serving dishes from the oven and counters to the table. Every once in a while, Wyatt would chime in or add a detail she'd forgotten. Within minutes, they were all seated at the table. Mariah's chicken piccata smelled as heavenly as she'd made it sound, and she'd already opened the bottle of pinot grigio.

Wyatt poured for everyone as Mariah identified the side dishes, pointing to the French green beans, roasted potatoes and salad in turn. She'd really gone all out, and it was obvious she was proud of it.

And she had every right to be. The food was excellent. Everyone told her so, and she beamed. "Thank you."

There was a lull in the conversation as everyone ate one that Wyatt broke after a couple minutes.

"Belle, Mariah told me you work in college admissions. Do you work at the college too, Jackson?"

Jackson looked up from his plate. He'd lapsed back into silence after entering Mariah's home, hardly speaking a word.

"No, I'm an officer with the South Island PD."

"Really?" Wyatt's eyebrows rose, and he appeared thoughtful as he popped a bite of chicken into his mouth and chewed. "What do you make over there?"

At first, Jackson said nothing. After taking a drink from his water gla.s.s, he met Wyatt's gaze. "I think you can find the starting salary on the employment section of the city's website, if you really want to know. Why considering a career change?"

Wyatt scoffed, then shook his head. "No, no. I was just wondering."

During the awkward silence that ensued, Belle let her gaze flicker across the table to Mariah.

Mariah gave her the faintest of shrugs, simultaneously cutting into her chicken.

"I have a cousin who lives in Birmingham," Wyatt said. "You know, Alabama where that cop was caught on camera pocketing drugs a couple months ago? I guess he didn't feel like his salary was high enough. Either that, or he planned to use them himself."

Belle vaguely remembered seeing something about the Alabama cop online. But why was Wyatt bringing it up?

"You won't live a life of luxury on a cop's salary," Jackson said, "but there's no need to peddle crack on the side, either."

Wyatt shrugged. "My cousin went to school with the guy. Said he was a bully and a partier. Never should've been a cop. I don't get why they give the job to some of the people they do, you know?"

Jackson said nothing, just looked grim. Beneath the air of awkwardness, Belle sensed his tension and knew he had to be thinking of Officer Sanders and what he'd gotten away with.

"There are bad apples in every profession though," Mariah said, nudging Wyatt. "Remember that doctor who got caught billing patients' insurance carriers for procedures he never performed?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said, "but at least the only thing at stake there was money. A cop on drugs might kill someone."

A dent appeared in Mariah's lip, and Belle knew her well enough to know she was holding back a sigh.

Wyatt, however, was oblivious.

"Any person on drugs might kill someone," Jackson said. "I've seen the aftermath quite a few times. I'd think you could say the same, considering that you work in an ER."

"Sure, but"

"Look," Jackson said, "can we talk about something else? I can't tell you why that cop in Alabama did what he did. I heard the story on the news just like you, and I wouldn't know him from Adam."

Wyatt looked taken aback at first, then mildly perturbed. Eventually, though, Mariah broke the frosty tension with a story about a mischievous geriatric patient.

"He's sweet," she finished, "but you can't take your eyes off him for a minute. I swear the walker is just a ruse I think he sprints through the corridors when we're not looking."