One Stormy Night

He smiled thinly. “I was an illegitimate child. When the old man died, his sons—my half brothers—continued to live with their mother. My mother sent me here.”

Except for the monthly checks, his father had never acknowledged him. His brothers and their mother hadn’t known he existed until Sara had come across the record of those checks when settling his estate. She had invited Mitch for regular visits, given him time with his brothers and treated him more like a son than his own mother had. She had even asked him to live with them, but he’d chosen to stay with his grandmother. Even so, he considered Sara more family than his mother.

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said again, and he realized he’d just told her more about himself than even Taylor knew. Not good.

“Why did you come back?”

He turned the question on her. “Why did you? Half the town was betting that the storm would be the shove you needed to leave Belmar and Taylor for good.”

“And what did you think?”

“I didn’t. Frankly it didn’t matter to me either way.” A lie. He’d been curious. Had thought it one hell of a waste if she was dead. Had hoped if she was alive, she was smart enough to stay gone. Had thought she deserved better than Taylor.

“You didn’t answer,” he reminded her. “Why did you come back?”

She poked her fork at the last bits of hash browns on the plate, then laid it down and pushed both away. “I had unfinished business here.”

Her only business in Belmar, unfinished or otherwise, was with Taylor. Settling matters between them? Divorce? Reconciliation? Revenge?

He figured Taylor’s interests lay more in line with revenge. People didn’t go without his say-so. If an officer decided to leave the department, Taylor fired him before he got the chance. Back in college, when word had gotten out that he was going to be cut from the football team, he’d quit first. He wouldn’t have liked that Jennifer had left him. He’d want to win her back, if for no other reason than so he could turn around and leave her.

Hey, no one had ever accused Taylor of maturity.

“You should have gone back to California with your sister,” Mitch said flatly.

She glanced at the check, then left a generous tip on the table before meeting his gaze again, hers straight, blue, steady. “Is that a threat, Officer Lassiter?”

He kept his gaze just as straight and steady. “Why, ma’am, I’m an officer of the law. I don’t make threats.”

Her snort showed just what she thought of that. His brief experience with the Belmar Police Department—two months and counting—supported her opinion.

There had to be some advantage to a job that paid what this one did, Billy Starrett often repeated.

He followed her to the counter, where she paid her ticket, then out the door. Her car was parked down the street; his was around the corner. She walked a few feet away, then turned back. “Remember—bank, post office, grocery store.” Then, with a smirk, she walked off.

Damn Taylor for giving him this order. Mitch had better things to do, things that actually fell under his job description. Using department assets to find out what the chief’s wife was up to wasn’t exactly appropriate. But, when compared to all the other inappropriate things going on within the department, this one didn’t begin to matter.

He climbed into his unit, switched the AC to high, then fastened his seat belt. He’d spent more years in a patrol car than he wanted to count at the moment. With a shotgun secured to the dash, a heavy-duty flashlight in the passenger seat, the radio, the computer and the extra handcuffs tossed onto the console, he felt comfortable here, more than anywhere else in Belmar.

There were three banks in town, but he didn’t have to guess which one Jennifer was going to. She tapped the horn as she drove past, just to make sure he didn’t miss her. She was entirely too accommodating about being watched to be up to anything. It promised to be a long, boring morning.

She went inside the bank and spent eleven minutes and got in and out of the post office, with a handful of mail, in six. Her next stop was the grocery store nearest the apartments. He parked behind her car and across the aisle and watched as she went in.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. The engine was running and so was the AC, but the temperature inside the car was steadily rising. Southern Mississippi was always hot and humid in September but seemed even more so that morning. Maybe it was Hurricane Leo, idling out in the gulf, deciding which way to blow. Maybe it was this assignment, being used as a babysitter—spy—on city time, that was making him hot. Or, hell, maybe it was the whole damn job.

Restless and needing to do something that felt productive, he called in the tag on her car to the dispatcher, Megan, who ran it and notified him, predictably, that it came back to a rental company. He asked her to call the company and find out who had rented it. She said something to someone there in the office before replying affirmatively, and he recognized her voice from last night’s call to Taylor.

So Megan was sleeping with the chief. Great for job security…until she did something to tick him off or he found someone he wanted more. Like his wife?

It took a few minutes for Megan to call back with the info, and she did so on his cell phone. “The car was rented by Jessica Randall, who lives in Los Angeles. You think she’s related to Taylor’s wife?”

You think?

“I know she’s back. What do you think she wants? Where has she been? What has she been doing?” Dispatcher and department gossip—Megan’s unofficial title.

“You’ll have to ask Taylor. Thanks for the info.” Mitch hung up as a vision of blond hair, golden skin and frilly clothing came out of the grocery store, only one small bag in hand, and started his way. He rolled down the window as she neared. “Why is your car rented in your sister’s name? Why didn’t you do it?”

Dark glasses covered her eyes, hiding their expression. He wore dark shades, too, but she wouldn’t be able to read any more if she were looking straight into his eyes.

“What do you need to rent a car, Officer?”

“Driver’s license and credit card.”

“And what did you find inside my washed-away car besides two suitcases, some jewelry, cosmetics and a few mementos?”

Her purse, with her driver’s license and credit cards.

“Jess rented it for me before she left. She knows I’m good for it. And speaking of good…” She held up the shopping bag a moment before depositing it in his lap. “I realized this is going to take me a while, so I thought you might need to cool off.”

One part of his anatomy was quickly turning ice-cold until he lifted the bag and looked inside. It held a bottle of chilled water and an ice cream sandwich.

For the first time in a long time, he was taken by surprise. Under the circumstances, she was the last person he would have expected a thoughtful gesture from. “I—thank you.”

She flashed a smile. “I’ll be out soon as I can.” She strolled back into the store, long legs taking long steps, hips swaying. When had he ever seen Jennifer Burton stroll? When had he ever watched her do anything?

God, he needed a break. A date. A woman.

Any woman who could make him forget all about his boss’s wife.

Jessica loaded more groceries and cleaning supplies than she could possibly use into the trunk of the rental, climbed behind the wheel and glanced at Mitch before backing out. He’d finally shut off the engine and rolled down the windows and he looked hot. Sweat dotted his forehead and likely dampened his shirt as well as his hair. Damp was a good look on him. Wet would probably make her steam.

The cell phone beeped and she punched the speaker button. “It’s about time you called.”

“How’s it going?” Jen asked, her voice ethereal and disembodied through the small speaker.

“I met Taylor this morning and he’s a jerk. What a loser.”

“Oh, I thought he was amazing when we met. He was so handsome and charming and adorable.” She sighed. “Of course, I didn’t know then what I know now.”

“I also met your next-door neighbor.”

“Mrs. Foster? She’s kind of a pain—oh, you mean Mitch Lassiter.”

Who was also kind of a pain, Jessica thought with another glance in the rearview mirror.

“You know you can’t trust him.”

“As if I need you to tell me that.” Bad cop or not, Taylor’s friend or not, Mitch Lassiter was the sort of man any smart woman watched out for. Handsome enough to make Taylor look like a toad, sexy enough, too, but lacking in charm, and adorable simply wasn’t in the vocabulary that applied to him. He was dark. Hard. Dangerous.

And, according to Jen, if not already on Taylor’s payroll in more ways than one, soon to be. No matter how handsome and sexy, a corrupt cop…she just couldn’t stomach that.

“Do you have a plan?”

Jessica laughed. “Yeah. Getting the groceries out of this heat and into the kitchen while Officer Mitch sears to a crisp in the parking lot.”

“Taylor has him watching you.”

“Bingo.” Jessica turned into the Sand Dollar, slowed to about five miles per hour and drove to the rear of the building.

“You can’t search for anything with him watching you.”

“I can start inside the apartment, though I’m pretty sure he and Taylor have already checked it out.” He’d refused to confirm or deny it over breakfast, but it stood to reason. Jen had been missing; they were cops. Knowing that Taylor had been inside the apartment Jessica was temporarily calling home, touching things that she was touching, looking at the clothes she was wearing, was creepy. Knowing that Mitch had created an inappropriate sensation all its own.

“Listen, I’m home and Officer Mitch is pulling in beside me. Give me a call later.” She disconnected and climbed out before he’d had a chance to shut off the motor. She opened the apartment door first, the metal hot enough to burn, then carried two handfuls of bags inside to the kitchen counter.

When she turned, he was blocking her way, sunglasses off and the rest of the bags in his strong grip. She swallowed hard, her chest tight, backing up until the refrigerator stopped her and giving him access to the countertop.

She’d been right about the sweat dampening his hair and his shirt—right that hot and sweaty was a good look for him. Of course, the way he’d gotten hot and sweaty could make it an even better look, she thought, then chided herself. He was the enemy, remember? It was a given that everyone who worked for Taylor was on his side. Trust no one, Jen had intoned, and she hadn’t laughed when Jessica had. She’d been deadly serious.

If Jessica didn’t keep her guard up, she could end up seriously dead.

He set down the bags, then retreated to the dining table, and suddenly she could breathe again. “Th-thank you.” For carrying in the bags? Or for giving her space? She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

He shrugged as if both his actions and her words meant nothing.

“Tell your boss I’m planning to spend the rest of the day at home, so you’ll be free to do your real job.”

Something flashed through his eyes—annoyance, perhaps. With her for being smug? Or with Taylor for assigning him to such a mundane task? “I don’t think he’s likely to take your word for it.”

“Well, if he makes you stay, at least you can stay inside. You won’t die of heat exhaustion. I keep it cool.”

Where had that come from? The last thing she needed was a cop hanging around while she looked for evidence that would incriminate his boss and quite likely him—and the last thing she wanted was more time in his company.

He gave her a narrow look, assessing, as if he might discover her ulterior motive for the invitation if he looked hard enough. Abruptly, though, he turned away. “The heat’s not going to kill me.”

It felt as if the statement was unfinished—but something else might—but that was all he said. With a muttered, “Later,” he left the apartment, and this time he closed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the distant thud of her trunk closing. She walked to the window and peeked through the crack in the drapes and saw him leaning against a tree barely tall enough to support his weight in the tiny lawn next to her car, his cell phone to his ear, no doubt calling Taylor.

Now there was a conversation she would love to eavesdrop on.

She was still standing there, minutes after he’d ended his call, when another police car rolled around the corner. It stopped behind her car, and Mitch walked over to talk for a moment to the man behind the wheel. Then he got into his own car, backed out and drove away, and the new guy took his space, right next to her rental.

The guy was probably older than he looked—he looked about eighteen—and wore mirrored sunglasses above a scraggly mustache. He’d been with Taylor in the diner that morning, which meant he wasn’t to be trusted. What was the world coming to, some TV show character had once asked, when you couldn’t even trust the police to be honest?

Amen to that.

She double locked the door, closed that little gap in the drapes, then returned to the kitchen. Except for a few frozen dinners, most of her food purchases had been of the junk-food variety. She and Jen had been blessed with a good metabolism that allowed them to eat that way without worrying about their weight. There at the end, Jen had been spitefully pleased that Taylor tended to get fat if he didn’t exercise religiously and stay away from sweets.

What about Mitch? Those muscles hadn’t appeared out of thin air, but did he work out because he needed to or simply liked to?

“What does it matter?” Jessica asked aloud, loading her voice with every ounce of frustration. “He’s one of the bad guys, remember? Just this morning you were criticizing Jen for falling for a pretty face, yet you’re on the verge of doing the same thing.”

Letting out a low, annoyed growl, she turned, hands on her hips, to survey the living room. It was time to start searching. She knew Taylor’s men had already searched the apartment and had, presumably, found nothing. That meant one of three things: Jen had hidden it extraordinarily well, in plain sight or someplace else.

She had her work cut out for her.

Wishing she could open the drapes and let in the sun without the kid cop being able to see, she turned on every light in the room—and discovered the reason the lamps at either end of the sofa hadn’t worked the night before: they were unplugged from the wall. Jen had always unplugged things like hair dryers and can openers before leaving the house, believing they were fire hazards. With a faint smile, Jessica stuck the plugs back into the outlets and the lights immediately came on.

After plugging in the television, she tuned it to a music channel, then started her search. It was a good thing the apartment was so small. Because she intended to do a very thorough job.

“Is he in?” Mitch asked as he passed Megan. Without interrupting her broadcast, she nodded in the direction of Taylor’s office.

He wound between desks, passed the interrogation room and paused long enough for a sharp rap at the door before opening it and inviting himself inside.

Taylor leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach. “Well?”

After moving a stack of files from the lone chair that fronted the desk, Mitch sat down and made his report—every stop Jennifer had made, why and for how long. The only parts he left out were the ice cream and his helping carry in her groceries. There wasn’t any reason not to tell him about either. Mitch just didn’t want to.

That done, he said, “As long as she knows she’s being watched, she won’t do anything interesting, so I’m going out on patrol.”

“That’s fine for now. I’ve got Jimmy Ray over there. Sitting in the car watching the apartment just might be what he does best.”

What Jimmy Ray did best, Mitch thought, was threaten people. He looked so young, so harmless, that no one suspected he was mean as the devil until it was too late. Not that he would ever do anything without Taylor’s order. Tough as he was, he knew Taylor was tougher.

“But I want you to watch her at night and on weekends.”

Mitch stared. He’d like to believe Taylor wasn’t serious, but he’d lost whatever illusions he’d had about his old friend weeks ago. “I’m not being paid—”

“You will be.” Taylor’s voice was as level as his expression. “You keep an eye on Jennifer on your time off and you’ll find a nice raise in your next paycheck.”

Mitch settled back, crossing one ankle over the other knee. “Using department resources and department money to investigate your wife… And I suppose if I find anything that could be useful, say, in a divorce, that would probably earn me a nice departmental bonus, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not worried about a divorce,” Taylor said dismissively. “You have a problem with making some extra cash?”

Mitch considered it, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on how much cash we’re talking.”

“It’ll be enough. Trust me. Just keep an eye on her. She’s a beautiful woman. It won’t be hard. Okay?”

Again Mitch waited a beat before agreeing. “Okay.”

He was at the door before Taylor softly added, “Bubba? Just an eye. You lay a hand on her…I’d hate to consider the consequences, what with you and me going back so far.”

Mitch opened the door, then glanced back. “I don’t fool around with married women.” He looked pointedly in Megan’s direction. “There’s something about those vows…”

Taylor didn’t even look uncomfortable, much less guilty.

As Mitch returned to his car, he wondered what had happened to Taylor over the years. His parents were still together after some forty years; they spent summers in Alaska and winters in South Florida and they’d always seemed happy. His father had been a lawyer, his mother a stay-at-home mom, and in their retirement they did regular volunteer work with children’s charities in both states.

Through high school and college he and Mitch had had far more in common than not. They’d shared an apartment, taken the same classes, even had the same plans of going into law enforcement. Taylor had returned home to Belmar, though, while Mitch had gone to Atlanta for big-city police work within a few hours’ drive of his brothers.

Somewhere along the way, though, Taylor had changed. He’d become more controlling, more self-centered, less honest. He’d always been a little on the wild side and more than a little full of himself, but within limits. Back then he’d given a damn about something besides himself and power and money. Mitch felt as if he hardly knew him anymore.

Felt as if he hardly knew himself.

One thing about working law enforcement in a town where most of the police department was corrupt—there wasn’t much other crime to investigate. Since coming to Belmar, Mitch’s days were mostly spent writing traffic citations, with the occasional teenage vandalism, burglary or drug bust. People on the chief’s good side got special attention when they were the victim of a crime and a blind eye when they went speeding through town. That had been the toughest problem Mitch had faced since coming to town—keeping straight who was on the chief’s good side.

Until Jennifer had returned.

“Don’t lay a hand on her,” he scoffed. As if he needed to be told. He’d kicked Taylor’s ass twenty-four years ago and could easily do so again in a fair fight. Not that Taylor fought fair. He used his badge, his authority and his department to intimidate and frighten. He was rarely seen without one or more of his officers. He believed in making a show of force and in letting others do his dirty work.

That was the man Mitch had called friend for twenty-four years.

He drove to the north edge of town, where an abandoned gas station stood across the street from a big, relatively new truck stop. What the station owner hadn’t hauled away, thieves had, and vandals had broken the rest. The only thing that still worked on the premises was the pay phone, only because it was around the corner, on the side of the building where weeds grew tall. He backed his car into the weeds, beaten down because it was one of his few routines. With the highway coming into town and the speed limit dropping from fifty-five to thirty in the space of a few hundred yards, it was a good spot to work radar.

Leaving the coolness of his car, he dropped a few coins into the pay phone, then dialed his brother’s cell phone.

“Calloway.” Loud music played in the background, raunchy and punctuated by louder, rowdier male voices.

“Jeez, it’s not even noon and you’re already in a strip joint?”

“It’s noon somewhere,” Rick said. “Besides, I get paid to be here. I’m tending bar. You still in Mississippi?”

“Where else?”

“How does the small time compare to Atlanta?”

“I’m more likely to die of boredom here than there.”

“Yeah. Some guy gets bored and shoots you to liven up his day.”

Mitch had heard the joke before, but he still grinned. Wouldn’t that be something—after eleven years on the streets in Atlanta, to get killed in the line of duty in a nowhere place like Belmar. “The only person liable to shoot me down here is my boss, and that’s only if I get too friendly with his wife.”

“She worth getting shot over?”

He didn’t even need to close his eyes to summon up an image of Jennifer in last night’s second-skin jeans and sweater. When he’d first come up behind her in the dark, he’d smelled her fragrance, subtle, just enough to tease a man, and felt the heat radiating from her before he’d taken a step back for safety. His, not hers.

“She could be, if she wasn’t married,” he replied, earning a grunt from Rick. Funny thing about Mitch and the Calloway boys—having a father who wouldn’t keep it in his pants had given the meaning of fidelity one hell of an impact. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Taylor there was something about those marriage vows.

“Other than the boss being a tad possessive about his wife, how’s it going down there?”

“Okay. He offered me a raise if I keep an eye on her.”

“She’s worth getting shot for, and he’s not sticking close enough to keep track of her himself?”

“They’re separated. Remember? She went missing in the hurricane, he thought she was dead. She’s not and she’s back, and he wants to know everything she does.”

“Why doesn’t he hire a private investigator who specializes in divorce cases?”

“When he can let the city pay me to watch her?” Mitch scowled as a car sped past on the way into town. The city manager’s teenage son was behind the wheel and he was at least twenty miles over the limit. Lucky for the brat that his father was on Taylor’s good side.

“Funny thing,” he went on. “Taylor’s not worried about a divorce.”

Rick was silent for a moment, considering that. Mitch thought about it, too. Taylor didn’t have a prenup—he’d mentioned that before. He had a lot of assets, most of which couldn’t have been funded by his salary. It was hard to imagine that he could possibly have anything on Jennifer that would make her walk away from the marriage with nothing. Taylor, guilty of something worthy of blackmail? Sure. No doubt. Jennifer? No way.

“Maybe he plans to win her back,” Rick suggested.

“Maybe.” Or maybe he had other plans for her. But this was neither the time nor the place to discuss that in depth. Anywhere else in the country, phone calls, especially from pay phones, were relatively safe as far as privacy. But Belmar wasn’t anywhere else.

“Well, there are worse people that could be watching her.”

“And worse people to have to watch.” But damned if he could think of a single one. If there was a woman in town with the ability to screw with his concentration the way Jennifer had, he hadn’t met her yet.

“When you get that raise, why don’t you come up here and take us out for a weekend on the town?”