He shook the memory away. “Next time.”
Hank grunted. “How is she?”
She was a pain in the ass. Somehow she’d gotten under his skin, into his head. Jack frowned. He was sure he’d seen that face before.
Hank was still watching, waiting for an answer.
Realization hit Jack like a slap. Hank was asking aboutJane. His daughter. Hardworking, softhearted Jane, with her abundant blond hair and generous rack that set off a low-level hum of masculine appreciation every time Jack saw her.
He hadn’t felt a hum around Lauren Whatever-her-name-was. More like a shock.
“She’s fine,” he said.
Jane was more than fine. She was perfect for Jack, for his new life. She’d grown up on the island. A young single mother, a natural-born homemaker, she was warm and nurturing and succulent as a muffin fresh out of the oven, the exact opposite of Jack’s ex-wife in every way.
So why was he dragging his heels?
Hank set down his cup. “Coffee’s cold.”
Jack wasn’t going to excuse himself by explaining the traffic stop. “It’s still better than that sludge Luke makes.”
Luke hung up the phone and leaned back in his swivel chair. He was a Marine vet, like Jack. An islander, like Hank. A real hometown hero, a genuinely good guy who’d come through hell with all his shiny principles intact.Notlike Jack. He wore his brand-new police uniform with military precision, his pants sharply creased, his shoes polished. “You can take over the coffee-making duties anytime, Chief.”
Jack smiled without answering.
“You need a woman,” Hank said.
Jack met his gaze impassively, hoping Hank couldn’t spot the heat crawling in his cheeks. That was part of his long-range plan. Find somebody supportive and sane to pick out a couch and curtains with, to raise kids and plan vacations with. Maybe Jane. But she lived with her father and her six-and-a-half-year-old son. Two good reasons for taking things slow.
Jack wasn’t dumb enough to blame every woman for the wreck of his marriage. Hell, he didn’t even entirely blame his ex-wife. But he’d been a cop long enough to know you don’t shit where you eat. If they got serious and things didn’t work out, Jane would have to cope with the reactions at home. And Jack would have to deal with the fallout at work.
Luke grinned. “I’ve got one, thanks. You’re both invited to the wedding, by the way. Monday after next.”
“Looking forward to it,” Jack said.
“It’s the middle of tourist season,” Hank said.
Luke shrugged. “At least we’ll miss the weekend turnover. The restaurant was free. And the priest is willing.”
Renee had insisted on a big white wedding, six bridesmaids and Jack’s nephew in a ring bearer’s suit. Half the cops in Philly had packed the church, like an officer’s funeral. The only thing missing was the bagpipes.
Jack cleared his throat. “I’ll call the sheriff’s department.”
“It’s a small wedding. Mostly family,” Luke said. “Not much need for traffic control.”
“We still need somebody to cover our calls.”
“Which is why you ought to hire a girl to answer the phones,” Hank said. “Make coffee.”
Luke raised his eyebrows.
Right. Making coffee wasn’t only a woman’s job. But Jack understood where Hank was coming from. There wasn’t much difference between rural North Carolina and the blue-collar suburbs of Philadelphia when it came to gender equality. Law enforcement was still largely a good ol’ boys club, despite the fact that Jack had known competent women who could and did kick ass.
Women like his ex-wife.
Renee used to complain about sexism on the force, back in the days when she still talked to him about anything besides whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher or take out the trash. Jack had sympathized.
Renee never let her sex or anything else stand in her way. But the truth was Jack had never really gotten over worrying about her. Sometimes an officer had to depend on sheer size to control a situation. Making a traffic stop on a dark road. Walking into a bar full of drunken rowdies. Jack still occasionally tangled with some asshole who figured he could take him.
