Officer on Duty (Lock and Key Book 4)

by Ranae Rose

  “You’re a sheriff’s deputy, right?”

  “A sergeant. Sort of a first line supervisor. Still on patrol like the rest of them though, and right now I’m training a new officer.”

  “Well, I hope some good evidence crops up soon. It’s sickening to know that whoever did that is still walking around free.”

  He nodded.

  “Of course, if you’ve been doing the job since you were twenty-one, I’m sure you’re more used to seeing situations like this than someone like me.”

  He was, and exposure had a way of cultivating a protective coating over the nerves, much like a patina formed on neglected metal.

  “Doesn’t make me any less eager to see whoever did it caught. Especially not when the victim was so young. Makes me think of Paige, and I don’t like knowing there’s someone who’d do that walking the same streets as us. As her.”

  Lucia frowned and nodded. “I can imagine. It makes me worried for my girls, too.”

  “Your girls?” Surprise arrowed through him, and he had to fight to keep it from showing on his face.

  He hadn’t considered that Lucia might have children. Where were they – with their father?

  “The girls in my swim class. They’re all middle and highschoolers.”

  His surprise evaporated, replaced by understanding.

  “The aquatic center isn’t far from the town center, or Walters Park. I’d recommend making sure that none of them are walking home alone, at least until Brianna’s killer is identified and caught.”

  Just in case it hadn’t been personal. Better safe than sorry. Children’s lives weren’t something to gamble with, no matter how unlikely the odds of loss.

  “I will.”

  Her promise granted him a modicum of relief. He was tired of seeing innocent people hurt. The previous summer had burnt its grim brand of paranoia into his mind, those few months more jadingly brutal than all his previous years of police experience combined.

  Anything could happen anywhere, to anyone. Mercy separated itself from chance and depravity like oil rose above water: always, without fail.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Paige would be home in half an hour.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, “and the cookies. I’d better get home and start dinner.”

  “You cook too?” Lucia sounded impressed.

  “By default. My cooking is nothing like my mother’s, unfortunately.”

  She set down her coffee cup and stood. “I’ll let you go then. Thanks for stopping by – feel free to drop in anytime.”

  Her eyes locked with his, and he was momentarily spellbound by the light and warmth reflected there.

  “I might just do that. Thanks again for the coffee. Until then.”

  He tipped his head and forced himself to walk away.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lucia was fully aware of how pathetic she was as she stood on Jeremy’s doorstep. Aware, yet utterly unable to stop herself from rapping on the door.

  Days had passed since she’d had coffee and peanut butter cookies with him. Since then, she’d thought of it every time she’d walked into her kitchen. Not only was he incredibly hot, but he was incredibly easy to talk to. And to like.

  “Hey,” she said, her heart skipping a beat when he answered the door, “I wanted to drop off something for Paige.”

  He leaned on the door frame, looking ridiculously sexy in jeans and a t-shirt. “Oh yeah?”

  She held up her perfect excuse for stopping by.

  “It’s a wide tooth comb – much better for curly hair than a brush. The company I buy my hair products from sends me one with every order, so I have a ton of extras.”

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Do you want to come in to give it to her?”

  Her heart did a stupid little cartwheel, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Sure.”

  Okay, so a wide tooth comb was an essential for curly hair. And she really was happy to lend Paige a hand in maintaining her gorgeous new haircut, which she’d stopped by to show off a couple days ago, as promised.

  But there was no denying that she’d purposely waited until Jeremy got home from work to bring the comb over instead of taking it to Meredith’s place earlier that afternoon, where Paige often spent time while he was at work.

  “She’s in her room,” he said when she entered the kitchen. “I’ll go get her.”

  Paige emerged, her curls looking healthy and stylish. Her new cut reduced the volume of her thick hair, leaving the remaining curls to fall in a flattering cascade. She smiled when Lucia gave her the comb.

  “Maddie used one of these when she did my hair,” Paige said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “It’s nothing; I have more extras than I’ll ever use. Thought you might like it.”

  Paige smiled.

  “Thanks again,” Jeremy said. “For the comb, and the referral. God knows I don’t know how to pick out a hair stylist.” He touched his close-shorn hair, little more than a dark shadow over his skull.

  Lucia’s fingertips tingled.

  Paige examined the comb, laid it on the table and went to the fridge, where she pulled out a pitcher of tea. She’d just poured herself a glass when Jeremy went to a cabinet and opened it.

  “Can I get you some, Lucia?”

  “Sure.”

  Paige took the two extra glasses from her dad and filled them.

  A lifetime of living in North Carolina had taught Lucia to expect tea so sweet it was cloying, but she was pleasantly surprised. This tea was just right: undeniably sweet, but not overly-sugared.

  “Did you make this?” she asked.

  “Paige did.”

  “Well, it’s really good. I like it when it’s not too sweet.”

  “The way most people make it, you wouldn’t think there was any such thing as too sweet. I’m with you, though – there’s such thing as too much sugar.”

  “Grandma always says if you put too much sugar in your tea, it’ll rot your teeth,” Paige said.

  Lucia found that amusing, considering Meredith’s fondness for decadent baking, but only nodded.

  “I’m pretty sure she only started making it this way because she was running low on sugar after dumping it into a batch of cookies,” Jeremy said. “But it’s become a habit.”

  Lucia sipped the icy sweetness Paige had poured for her, meanwhile looking around the kitchen.

  It was modestly sized, with white cabinets, an island and little in the way of decoration. The thing that stood out most was a programmable coffee maker with a large carafe and a variety of buttons set into its brushed metal surface. Jeremy probably set it according to his shift times, so he’d have coffee ready whenever he got up.

  Rotating shifts had to be hard on the body. And what about Paige – how did she handle having just one parent who had to work at all hours of day and night?

  She had her grandmother, of course. But when Lucia thought of Paige crossing the street to ask for a hair stylist recommendation, a pang of sympathy shot through her, leaving a little hole in her heart.

  How awful, to grow up without a mother. She couldn’t imagine what her life would’ve been like without hers. She’d grown up with a great mom, two grandmothers and several aunts to boot. Her family was large, with plenty of people to love and be loved by.

  “I still can’t get over how gorgeous your hair looks, Paige,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’m so glad I found someone who could make it look good before school starts.”

  “You go back in August, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’ll be in what, seventh grade?”

  She nodded.

  “Exciting. You know, I have a lot of girls close to your age in my junior swim fitness class at the aquatic center. I don’t think any of them are quite ready to go back to school.”

  Paige shrugged. “I like summer, but I’m going to do a creative writing class this year.”

  “You’re into writing?”


  She nodded. “I wrote some short stories in my English class last year, and my teacher said they were good. The creative writing class is normally for eighth graders, but I got permission to take it this year instead of study hall.”

  The excitement and pride in her voice made Lucia smile. “I wish I was creative enough to write. My best subjects in school were history and French. No numbers or creativity required.”

  Learning a foreign language had probably been a little easier for her than the average student since she’d already been bilingual, speaking Spanish in addition to English.

  “I like history too, but I like English better. Well, except for grammar drills. I took German as my foreign language last year.”

  Lucia nodded. “What about math – are you good with numbers too?”

  Paige made a face. “I try not to think about math when I don’t have to.”

  “You get that from me,” Jeremy said. “I was always crap at algebra, calculus and all that.”

  “Are you an English lover then too?” Lucia asked.

  He shook his head. “I was a summer vacation lover. Spent years on the wrestling team. Did okay academically, but only because my parents made it clear that I had to if I wanted to stay involved in sports.”

  “And here I figured you were where Paige got her writing genes from. Thought maybe you were a poet.”

  He made a face remarkably like the one Paige had made when Lucia had mentioned math.

  Paige smirked. “Dad, you should try to write one. Maybe you’re good at it and just don’t know it.”

  “You just want a good laugh at my expense.” He shot Paige a knowing look. “I’ll leave the writing to you.”

  Paige finished her iced tea, set the glass by the sink and glanced at the clock. A split second later, she thanked Lucia again for the comb and drifted off to the living room.

  A favorite show of hers must’ve been on. The sounds of a drama drifted from beyond the kitchen, and Lucia could just see her curled up on the couch, bathed in the TV’s soft glow.

  Outside, the light was fading. As evening descended on Magnolia Street, Lucia was alone with Jeremy for the first time since she’d managed to wrangle him into having coffee and cookies with her.

  He thanked her again for the comb too, and embarrassment unfurled in the pit of her belly, just below the place where a few butterflies were stirring. The comb had been a mild kindness at best, and an excuse to visit. Far from a big deal, but with the way Jeremy and Paige acted, it might as well have been solid gold.

  “It’s was nothing; I’ve got almost a dozen of them. If Paige ever wants to try out hair products or needs help with styling, just send her over.” She touched one of her curls. “I’ve got years of experience.”

  She felt compelled to offer, wanted to help. And not just because Jeremy was smoking hot – for Paige’s sake, too.

  Lucia had taught lots of girls in the same age group, but Paige had a certain charm that eluded many girls in the difficult preteen stage. She was smart and a little shy, but she opened up, her enthusiasm shining through, when the topic turned to something she cared about.

  It was obvious that Jeremy was doing a good job raising her.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “Really.”

  She felt her cheeks get hot and hoped he couldn’t see the pink. Her complexion wasn’t fair, but the blush felt substantial enough to show anyway.

  She smiled and tucked a curl behind one ear, just for something to do with her hands. “I’d be glad to help out. I had lots of little cousins growing up, and I loved doing their hair. Of course, I was pretty awful at it back then and they probably regretted being my guinea pigs. I like to think I’ve come a long way, though.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t steer Paige wrong. Your hair’s gorgeous. Like something out of a magazine.”

  Her cheeks really burnt then, and she had to summon every ounce of coolness she had to keep from flashing a dopey grin.

  “Thank you,” was all she said, though she felt like doing a little tap dance across the kitchen.

  After saying goodbye to Jeremy and Paige and then returning to her own house, she did do a little dance.

  Just a few springy steps down the hall, a slight swaying of her hips as she hummed and tossed her hair. Maybe it was goofy, but the house was all hers – nobody else could see. Single life had its perks.

  Of course, she couldn’t help but wonder what the perks of life with Jeremy might be like. She blamed her inability to resist the fantasy on his blue eyes.

  * * * * *

  Beverly adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, careful not to let it bang against the screen door as she gripped the handle.

  It was unlocked. So was the second door. She was able to slip inside the little blue house almost silently. Once inside, she released the breath she’d been holding in. She’d made it – talking to the girl in her own home would be much better than trying to do so on the street, or in a public place.

  Last time, that had ended badly, and she’d learned her lesson.

  Her pulse rang in her ears as she swept her gaze across the kitchen and down a short hallway. The house couldn’t have more than two bedrooms – maybe even just one. Where had the girl gone?

  The sound of a flushing toilet answered that question.

  She crossed the kitchen in three strides and tucked herself against the wall, one shoulder pressed against the fridge and the other near the hallway entry. There, she’d be able to see the girl while she herself remained hidden for a split second – if the girl entered the kitchen.

  She might not. She might go to bed. In that case, she’d confront her there.

  There was the sound of a running sink, and then – almost before Beverly was ready – footsteps in the hall.

  She gripped her purse strap and lowered it off her shoulder, knuckles white against the caramel leather.

  The girl entered the kitchen, wearing the same jeans and t-shirt she’d worn at the clinic. Her brown ponytail swung as she made her way toward the sink, humming a tune under her breath and never once looking at Beverly.

  The sound of her humming sent bile creeping into Beverly’s throat. She swallowed it, clenching her fists even tighter. To listen to her, you’d think the girl didn’t have a care in the world.

  Unbelievable.

  Beverly shoved her disgust onto a backburner and made her move before she could lose the advantage of surprise, lunging forward and swinging her purse with all her might.

  It hit the girl between the shoulder blades, not the back of the head, as she’d intended. Still, her target fell forward beneath the weight of the brick concealed inside.

  A shriek escaped her, then a muffled curse as she hit the linoleum.

  Beverly had earned herself a split second, and she took advantage of it.

  “Stay down!” she said, her gaze snagging on the knife block on the nearest counter.

  The girl was maybe twenty pounds lighter than Beverly, and she was fully conscious, already trying to push herself up. If they tangled, it could end badly. Thinking ahead, Beverly seized one of the handles protruding from the knife block.

  The knife she withdrew was long and pointed. She wasted no time in thrusting it at the girl on the floor, cutting imaginary gashes in the air. “Stay down!”

  She screamed.

  Beverly gripped her purse strap tighter and considered hitting her again.

  She decided to be generous. This would go better if the girl saw that she was reasonable. “Be quiet, or I’ll have no choice but to knock you out cold.”

  The girl turned her head to look at Beverly, blue eyes wide as she pressed her palms against the linoleum.

  At least she wasn’t humming anymore.

  “I’m here to talk to you. Sit up. This will go fine if you cooperate.”

  The girl’s gaze settled on the knife, and after endless seconds, she pushed herself up and sat balled against the cabinet beneath the sink. In the fetal po
sition.

  How ironic.

  Beverly bit down on her lower lip, tasting blood.

  “You were in the parking lot at the clinic,” the girl said. “I saw you. Did you follow me? What the hell?” Even after she stopped talking, she couldn’t shut her mouth – it gaped open.

  Beverly nodded. “You went to that place for help. Well, I’m here to give you the kind of help they won’t offer you.”

  “What are you talking about? If you’re trying to rob me, there’s some money in my top dresser—”

  “I’m not here for money.” Beverly’s lip curled. People with no moral standards always assumed that others were the same way. “I’m not a thief.”

  The girl just stared, mouth open, like a fish.

  Beverly drew a deep breath. “I’m here to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The girl’s eyes shone, visibly wet. Soon, the tears would be streaking down her face.

  She cried when threatened, and yet she had no regard for the innocent life at her mercy. It was nauseatingly pathetic.

  “I saw you at that clinic.” Beverly’s knuckles went white against the knife handle. “You’re about to make an awful mistake. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

  “Lucky?”

  “To be pregnant.”

  The girl’s jaw dropped even lower. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Girls like you always lie!” Her jaw ached, and her pulse pounded in her temples, drumming up a deep ache. This girl was just like Sarah: secretive and deceptive, assuming she could play Beverly for a fool.

  Beverly would be lucky to get an honest word out of her. She had to try, though. Because if she didn’t, no one else would.

  “I went to the clinic for birth control. I don’t have health insurance.” Tears were streaming down her face now.

  “Is that why you want to get rid of the baby? You don’t want the hospital bills?”

  It was a ridiculous excuse. Beverly certainly hadn’t given birth in a hospital. Why did this girl think she was so special?