“Jack. Come in.” Meg gave him her public relations smile, friendly and sharp. “What can I do for you?”
“Meg.” He shut the screen door behind him. Nodded to both women. “Luke told me you had an animal trap.”
“If we do, it’s in his cottage.” Meg tilted her head. “Do you have a problem?”
“Not me.” The island grapevine operated just fine without any input from him. If Dora Abrams wanted to tell the neighbors she had possums or intruders or even ghosts under her house, Jack figured that was her business. But since he was asking Meg for a favor, he owed her some kind of explanation. “I didn’t want to bother Taylor. In case she was home alone.”
Meg’s smile warmed. “She’s shopping today with my mother and Kate. But I’m sure I can find it for you.”
“Thanks. If you want to tell me where to look—”
“No, I’ll get it. Have you met Lauren?”
“Lauren...” He let the word drag out.
“My client, Lauren Patterson. She’s staying at the inn.”
So now he had her last name. He smiled. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Patterson.”
“You, too, Chief Rossi.” Her tone was wry. Aware.
There was that jolt again, like a shock from a live wire. It had been a long time since he’d felt that kind of gut-level response to any woman other than Renee. Except for his time in the service, they’d been together since high school. One woman in twenty years. Like he was imprinted on her, the way he’d read baby ducks attached themselves to the first thing they saw coming out of the egg.
“Great,” Meg said briskly. If she caught the vibe in the room, she didn’t let on. “Well, I’ll let you two chat while I dig up the trap. Can I get you anything? Cookie? Wine?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Jack said.
He didn’t drink on duty. Not anymore.
He stood there, not saying anything, while Meg bustled out. He’d always found the silent routine worked pretty well in getting other people to talk. Suspects. Women.
Lauren Patterson. He’d heard that name before. Where had he heard that name?
It wasn’t like he was interested in her personally, he told himself. He was the chief of police. It was his job to know what was going on.
She regarded him over her glass of wine. She had pretty hands. Short, dark painted nails. Twists of silver curled around three fingers and the thumb of her left hand. To match the ear cuff?
When the silence stretched on too long, he asked, “So how long are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet. I just got here a couple days ago.”
“Nobody waiting for you at home?”
Lauren shook her head.
“Kids? Family?” he persisted.Husband?Boyfriend?
“A mother and a younger brother. Noah’s a high school senior this fall.” She leaned back against the counter, which did nice things for her breasts under the thin ribbed tank top. “You?”
“No kids.”
He’d supported Renee when she said she wanted to wait.I am not your mother. Or your fucking sister-in-law, pumping out a kid every two years. I have things I want to do with my life.
Yeah.
Turned out one of the things she wanted to do was his partner, Frank.
Lauren was still watching him, still waiting, doing her own version of the silent routine. Where had she learned that?
