“Screw Moody. He’s in my doghouse for too many things to count.”
“I stopped by Gertie’s on my way home last night,” Gene said. “The guilt of what she did is eating her up.”
“The man about killed her. She was justified in doing what she had to do to protect herself.” From what we’d learned, Jansen had beat on his wife on a regular basis. I’d seen too many battered women in my line of work who’d lost their lives because they’d let a man treat them like a punching bag. As far as I was concerned, good for Gertie Jansen.
“I’ve made an appointment for her with a therapist who specializes in helping battered women. My wife’s taking her this afternoon.”
“You’re a good man, Gene.” Truthfully, other than Jansen and Moody, I had a pretty damn good police force. Jansen’s fate I wouldn’t have wished for, but I planned to do whatever I could to see that his wife stayed out of prison and got the help she needed.
Gene shrugged as if he’d not done anything out of the ordinary. “She was my babysitter, so I’ve known her a long time. She should have left Jansen years ago.”
“Unfortunately that’s too often the case where battered women are concerned.”
“Sadly true. At least we settled a long-running dispute yesterday, so not every situation turns out to be tragic.”
I eyed him with a smirk. “I was pretty impressed with your tree-climbing skills.”
His cheeks turned pink. “How much to keep that to yourself, Chief?”
“There’s not enough money in the world.” I chuckled when he narrowed his eyes. “Besides, Hamburger Harry and Granny witnessed your ass hanging out of your torn pants, so it’s not just me you have to worry about.” I had no intention of repeating the story—other than to Jenny, and I trusted her not to spread it around.
“Won’t matter if you do.” He let out a sigh. “Hamburger’s a storyteller. He’s probably already put his own spin on it and telling anyone who’ll listen.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, no one will hear it from me. If those dogs had come after me, I would’ve been up that tree with you.”
My phone buzzed, Kim Payton’s name coming up on the screen. The information my officer gave me wasn’t surprising. “Stephanie Jenkins tested twice the legal limit,” I told Gene after disconnecting.
“I figured she would. How do you want to handle it?”
This was the touchiest of the situations we had going on. “We’re going to have to charge her with a DUI, of course. Let me talk to the mayor first, tell him what’s going to happen.” Jim John definitely wasn’t going to be happy.
What I’d rather do was find Jenny, take her back to my place, and lock the door against the world for at least a week. Even that wouldn’t be enough time with her, though. Gene left, and I swiveled my chair to face the window, my gaze on the mountains rising up behind the town. I loved it here, wanted to make a home here, a wife, kids, all that jazz.
If Jenny weren’t leaving soon, I’d want to explore that possibility with her. But she was, and already there was going to be a small hole in my heart that she was going to leave behind. I think if I asked her to stay, she would consider it, but I wouldn’t. If she did, a year from now, ten years, or twenty, she’d regret not following her dream. Nor would I tell her I’d wait for her. She needed to go, free of any baggage. If she met someone on her travels and fell in love, I wouldn’t have her feeling guilty over me.
I had two choices. Stop seeing her or make sure I guarded my heart. Since I didn’t want to stop seeing her, guard my heart it was.
29
~ Jenny ~
Ilicked my candied apple, glancing up when Dylan groaned. “What?”
“It’s the way you close your eyes when your tongue slips out and licks that thing.” He leaned his mouth to my ear. “Puts dirty pictures in my mind.”
“Men.” I rolled my eyes.
He chuckled, bumping my shoulder. “We can’t help ourselves.”
We were at our town’s annual Christmas Festival. Every year on the last weekend in November, we blocked off the main street of town. Artisans and food vendors set up tents, and the merchants decorated their storefronts for the Christmas season. We kicked it off on Saturday morning with a parade, which delivered Santa to his throne, and ended the festivities Sunday night by lighting the large tree in front of town hall.
Usually it was cold and everyone would be bundled up, drinking hot cider. But not this year. We’d only reached sweater weather temps. A cold front was headed our way, though, and I looked forward to it finally feeling like Christmas.
We drew thousands to the event, some from as far away as Georgia, Tennessee, and South Carolina. Dylan had been the officer in charge yesterday, but today he was playing tourist. Even so, his eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, watching for trouble. We’d been doing the festival for twenty-three years now and had never had a problem. I guess his Chicago cop’s mind was used to always being on alert.
We crossed paths with one of his officers, and Dylan stopped to talk to him. I’d eaten my candied apple down to the core and looked around for a garbage can. My gaze fell on a man standing at the corner of a nearby tent, staring at Dylan. Something about the expression on his face caught my attention. My first thought was, if looks could kill… Disturbed by the hatred I saw in the man’s eyes, I tugged on Dylan’s sleeve.
I glanced up at him. “Do you know that guy over there?”
