spunk and sweetness. He wanted to protect her from men like Ashe Davis and Bobby Jones. In that split second, he’d felt possessive of Kylie Ann McGraw. A sign that he was in deep shit. He wasn’t sure if he could shovel himself out. Worse. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Spenser was always bragging about his sister’s grounded, caring spirit. Connecting intimately with all that goodness could do wonders for Jack’s cynical soul.
Tempting.
The desk phone rang, jerking him out of his destructive musings. “Chief Reynolds,” he answered.
“Personal assistant to Chief Reynolds,” Dorothy Vine replied.
Jack frowned at the woman’s caustic tone. “What is it, Ms. Vine?”
“As requested, I phoned your sister on your behalf and invited her and her daughter to your house—or anyplace of their choice—for dinner.”
It had been a desperate act on his part, asking the squad’s administrative assistant to act as a liaison of sorts. But dammit, he’d been in town for almost a week and Jessie had avoided him at every turn. He knew she had to be heartbroken. She’d finally learned the truth about the Cheating Bastard. Frank Cortez was ruled by his dick, not his heart. That’s if he had a heart. Jack wanted to help Jessie through this. He wanted to help his young niece.
“Jessica Lynn asked me to give you a message,” said Ms. Vine.
“Okay.”
“She said…”
“Go on.”
“Fuck off.”
Disappointing, but not unexpected. Almost amusing coming from straight-laced Ms. Vine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jack hung up and focused back on his paper-ridden desktop. Better than obsessing on his fractured relationship with his sister and nonexistent relationship with his niece. Better than obsessing on Kylie. According to Ziffel, Chief Curtis had had a filing system. Damned if Jack could figure it out, and he wasn’t about to ask Ms. Vine. Not today. The squad’s administrative assistant, a fifty-something woman with choppy silver hair, green cat-eye glasses and a fondness for polyester suits, had rolled in an hour late—eyes swollen from crying over the former chief, manner brusque. Ziffel was right. She didn’t like the coffee and she didn’t like Shy. She’d spent the next hour sweeping, dusting and dousing the air with pine-scented Glade.
Shy cowered under his desk. He didn’t blame the dog. She probably felt like Toto hiding out from the Wicked Witch of the West. He had to admit, Dorothy Vine was a little scary. Then again, grief caused people to act in strange ways.
Take the parents of the victim who’d instigated Jack’s breakdown. Instead of wanting revenge or, at the very least, demanding justice, they’d swallowed their misery and moved on. Their emotional lockdown had made Jack hyperaware of his own numb state.
“Chief.”
Jack looked up. His expression must’ve been fierce because Ziffel stepped back. “What is it, Deputy?”
“Got a call from dispatch. Disturbance at 1450 Main.”
McGraw’s Shoe Store. Given his previous dark thoughts, Jack tensed. “Define disturbance,” he said as he rose.
“Kylie’s making a scene.”
Shaking things up. He almost smiled. He definitely welcomed the distraction. Jack braced himself for another encounter with the woman— Just don’t touch her for Christ’s sake —and nabbed his jacket. “Let’s roll.”
Shy scrambled out from under the desk and followed them into the administrative office.
Jack tugged on his EPD cap, glanced at Dorothy who was tapping away at the computer. “Do you think—”
“Not a dog-sitter.”
Right.
Head down, Shy zipped ahead of the two men.
Dorothy spritzed the air.
“You,” Ziffel said to Shy as they left the building, “stay downwind.”
“Y OU’RE NOT THE BOSS of me, J.J.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t call the shots either, missy.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m ten years old!”
“Then start acting like a responsible adult,” said Ray Keystone.
Arguing with her
Tempting.
The desk phone rang, jerking him out of his destructive musings. “Chief Reynolds,” he answered.
“Personal assistant to Chief Reynolds,” Dorothy Vine replied.
Jack frowned at the woman’s caustic tone. “What is it, Ms. Vine?”
“As requested, I phoned your sister on your behalf and invited her and her daughter to your house—or anyplace of their choice—for dinner.”
It had been a desperate act on his part, asking the squad’s administrative assistant to act as a liaison of sorts. But dammit, he’d been in town for almost a week and Jessie had avoided him at every turn. He knew she had to be heartbroken. She’d finally learned the truth about the Cheating Bastard. Frank Cortez was ruled by his dick, not his heart. That’s if he had a heart. Jack wanted to help Jessie through this. He wanted to help his young niece.
“Jessica Lynn asked me to give you a message,” said Ms. Vine.
“Okay.”
“She said…”
“Go on.”
“Fuck off.”
Disappointing, but not unexpected. Almost amusing coming from straight-laced Ms. Vine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jack hung up and focused back on his paper-ridden desktop. Better than obsessing on his fractured relationship with his sister and nonexistent relationship with his niece. Better than obsessing on Kylie. According to Ziffel, Chief Curtis had had a filing system. Damned if Jack could figure it out, and he wasn’t about to ask Ms. Vine. Not today. The squad’s administrative assistant, a fifty-something woman with choppy silver hair, green cat-eye glasses and a fondness for polyester suits, had rolled in an hour late—eyes swollen from crying over the former chief, manner brusque. Ziffel was right. She didn’t like the coffee and she didn’t like Shy. She’d spent the next hour sweeping, dusting and dousing the air with pine-scented Glade.
Shy cowered under his desk. He didn’t blame the dog. She probably felt like Toto hiding out from the Wicked Witch of the West. He had to admit, Dorothy Vine was a little scary. Then again, grief caused people to act in strange ways.
Take the parents of the victim who’d instigated Jack’s breakdown. Instead of wanting revenge or, at the very least, demanding justice, they’d swallowed their misery and moved on. Their emotional lockdown had made Jack hyperaware of his own numb state.
“Chief.”
Jack looked up. His expression must’ve been fierce because Ziffel stepped back. “What is it, Deputy?”
“Got a call from dispatch. Disturbance at 1450 Main.”
McGraw’s Shoe Store. Given his previous dark thoughts, Jack tensed. “Define disturbance,” he said as he rose.
“Kylie’s making a scene.”
Shaking things up. He almost smiled. He definitely welcomed the distraction. Jack braced himself for another encounter with the woman— Just don’t touch her for Christ’s sake —and nabbed his jacket. “Let’s roll.”
Shy scrambled out from under the desk and followed them into the administrative office.
Jack tugged on his EPD cap, glanced at Dorothy who was tapping away at the computer. “Do you think—”
“Not a dog-sitter.”
Right.
Head down, Shy zipped ahead of the two men.
Dorothy spritzed the air.
“You,” Ziffel said to Shy as they left the building, “stay downwind.”
“Y OU’RE NOT THE BOSS of me, J.J.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t call the shots either, missy.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m ten years old!”
“Then start acting like a responsible adult,” said Ray Keystone.
Arguing with her
Similar Books
