by Joan Kilby
Riley let a beat go by. “Why are you so tense? I noticed that back at the station. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m not tense.” Tapping the steering wheel, Paula watched the curve in the road.
What if Nick was driving down this highway? He always obeyed the speed limit so he didn’t get pulled over. That could be him coming toward her right now, in that black sedan, and she wouldn’t know. She felt for her gun, snug and reassuring in its holster.
“We’re partners,” Riley said. “Partners are supposed to bond. That means opening up to each other, getting to know and trust each other. Be friendly.”
“All we need to know is that when the going gets tough, we have each other’s back.” Turning to face him, she leaned forward a little, gripping the steering wheel. “Can I? Can I count on you?”
Riley drew back, shaking his head. “Lady, you are tense.”
A bright red Ferrari screamed past so fast the draft shook the patrol car and rattled the branches of the ti tree.
“Finally, some action.” Paula locked in the clocked speed on the radar gun and started the car engine. “Let’s get this jerk.”
CHAPTER TWO
RILEY STACKED HIS guitar case on top of a box of kitchen stuff and carried it from his car up the gravel driveway to the single story weatherboard home. Purple bougainvillea trailed over the veranda, annuals bloomed in loamy beds next to the house.
He set the box on the wood floor in the entry hall and went exploring. It felt weird, walking through the empty rooms. So many years had gone by since he’d lived here, so many changes in both himself and his family. Mum had passed, his father remarried…
The living room was smaller than he remembered, the dining room, tiny. He would need to knock a few walls out. He wandered in and out of his old room, Katie’s room, the master bedroom, peeked into the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, the center of their family life. At least it had been while his mother was alive.
On the doorframe of the laundry room were the incremental marks where Dad had measured his and Katie’s growth. God, had he ever been that short? He twisted his head sideways to look at the dates.
One stood out from the rest.
The year Mum died he’d been twelve years old, and five foot six inches tall.
There was a big gap after that, as if normal activities had ceased for a time. Riley dragged his gaze away.
The old-fashioned kitchen looked exactly as he remembered. White-painted cupboards, worn linoleum, green-tiled walls up to shoulder height, then yellow paint above that. It was cramped, not enough counter space.
You’d never know a professional cook had worked there. His mother’s weekdays had been spent testing recipes and typing up notes for her next cookbook, her electric typewriter all but lost among the clutter on the counter while two or three pots bubbled on the stove. Her brown hair would be tied back, her brow lightly creased in concentration as she tasted, adding a bit of this or that, then tasted again.
Riley especially loved the dessert section of Mary Henning’s healthy-lifestyle cookbooks. The red ceramic cookie jar was always full when he came home from school. He’d grab a handful of oatmeal and raisin cookies then run outside to play cricket or footy with his mates.
He glanced at the mark on the doorframe and ran his thumb across it, feeling the indentation of the pen in the soft wood. The beginnings of a headache stabbed his right temple.
Why hadn’t he hung around and talked to her more often, just for a few minutes? She’d always stop what she was doing when he or Katie came into the room, ready to chat or give tastings. It pained him to think how he’d brushed her off. He’d give anything now to be able to ask how her day was, if her work was going well. To hear the sound of her voice.
A lump formed in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Kids didn’t think like that, though. At twelve he’d thought his mum would be around forever.
“Riley?” Katie called through the open front door. She’d followed him from his rental unit in her car.
“In the kitchen.” Riley blinked rapidly. Jeez, any minute now he’d break down and cry like a girl.
Katie carried in a box of dishes. To help him move she’d worn old jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, her dark hair swinging in a ponytail.
“Dad and Sandra just pulled up. The moving truck isn’t far behind—” She set the box on the floor. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But he and his little sister were close. She always knew what he was thinking.
Katie’s gaze swept over the kitchen. Her arm stole around his waist. Softly she said, “It almost feels as if Mum’s still here.”
Riley cleared his throat. “This room is too poky. I think I’ll knock this wall down between the kitchen and dining room.” He swept a hand across as if waving a magic wand. “New appliances, new flooring, the works. What do you think?”
“It’s your place now.” Katie gave him a one-armed hug. “Do what you want.”
“Are you sure? By rights, you should get half the house.”
“I’m happy with my little cottage. I—I couldn’t live here.”
The catch in her voice wasn’t only about their mother. Katie had gotten breast cancer in her early twenties and come home to live while undergoing treatment—and to nurse her broken heart after John had abandoned her.
“But I’m glad you’re here,” Katie said. “I think Mum would have liked knowing one of us, at least, was still living in the family home. She was so much a part of this place, especially the kitchen.”
“Yeah. Moving in is a bit more emotional than I expected.” Riley sucked in a breath. “Let’s get the rest of the load.” He led the way back through the dining room. “How was the first day of school?”
“The children are so gorgeous. I know, I say that every year but it’s true. Grade one is such a cute age.”
“My new partner has a kid in your class. Small world, huh? Her name is Paula Drummond.”
“Drummond…” Katie frowned, thinking. “I haven’t got all the names memorized yet. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Ah, Jamie. He’s sweet.”
Riley hauled a box out of the trunk of his car and placed it in Katie’s arms then picked up his army boot locker.
“I’m planning our annual bike safety lesson,” Katie said as they went inside. “Do you know who at the station will be doing it this year?”
“Not a clue.”
“Well, since your partner’s son is in my class and you’re my brother, what if you two did it? What do you think?”
Riley didn’t particularly want to spend any more time than necessary with uptight Paula and since events like the bike safety lesson were usually conducted on their own time, this was a particularly unwelcome idea. But he didn’t like letting his little sister down. “Sure, that sounds like fun.”
Katie beamed at him. From this angle with her oval face framed by long black hair, and her green eyes, she reminded him of someone… . A stab of pain made him wince. He pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Are you all right?” Katie asked, pausing in the foyer. “You went pale all of a sudden.”
“A bit of a headache. I’m fine.” Outside, a car door shut. “I think the others have arrived.”
His dad’s white Ford sedan was parked at the curb. Then a truck rumbled to a halt, its air brakes hissing. Barry Henning’s voice carried as he issued instructions to the driver backing up the narrow curving driveway.
“How did you accumulate enough stuff to fill a moving van in less than a year?” Katie said.
Riley leaned against the veranda post. “Imagine a man living out of a footlocker for ten years. Then imagine him moving into his
own home, even if it’s just a two-bedroom rental unit. A trip to the home furniture store is like taking a kid to a candy shop.”
“Hey, you two.” Sandra, their stepmother, came across the lawn, avoiding the truck. Her gray-blonde hair was softly waving, her smile big and bright. She presented Riley a casserole dish. “Your mother’s famous chicken cacciatore. You won’t have time to cook today.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “You shouldn’t have.”
He exchanged a furtive grimace with Katie. Since she married their father Sandra had taken up cooking out of their mother’s cookbooks. It was nice of her, but in her hands the recipes didn’t always turn out—to put it mildly.
“Save that for another time,” Barry ordered, striding up onto the porch. His gray hair and moustache were regulation army length, his carriage erect. “We’ll order pizza after we get him moved in.”
“Yes, sir, Major Dad.” Katie saluted. She gave Sandra a wink.
“We’ve eaten out twice already this week.” Sandra was briefly crestfallen. Then she put on a brilliant smile. “Never mind, I’ll tuck this in the fridge.” She carried the casserole into the house.
One of the moving men trundled the first dolly-load—a walnut dresser—to the steps. “Where do you want this?”
“Right this way.” Riley led them into his house, rubbing his aching temple. What was up with the headache? He rarely got them and then only when he occasionally drank too much. There weren’t even any painkillers in his belongings. But the pain was nothing compared to what he’d experienced in Afghanistan. He would soldier on.
* * *
“MORNING, PATTY,” Paula called out as she passed Dispatch on Monday morning. The young Irish woman waved.
After the phone calls last week, Nick had gone quiet. When Paula had arrived home that night with Jamie, her house had been exactly as she’d left it, every door and window locked and untampered with. It should have reassured her. Instead, all weekend she’d been jumpy, obsessively checking over her shoulder, looking for Nick’s face in the crowd, keeping Jamie in sight as they wandered through the monthly outdoor market in the village.
She wasn’t naive enough to think Nick had gone away. He seemed to be biding his time, trying to make her nervous. What did he want from her? Did he hate her for betraying him? Did he want revenge?
Or did he want Jamie?
This morning she’d called Sally, Jamie’s afterschool caregiver, and asked her to be at the school at 3:00 p.m. on the dot. Then Sally’s toddler started crying and the other woman had to go. This afternoon, when Paula picked up Jamie, she needed to have a proper talk with Sally.
She found a desk and a spare computer and got caught up on paperwork, working steadily for an hour before her shift started. She and Riley were supposed to be equal partners but from things the guys said she’d deduced he was the boss’s best bud. And even though she was senior in years on the force, her past tainted her. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or her insecurities showing but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Riley was watching her every move, waiting for her to slip up. Well, she would show him. She would show everyone. She would work twice as hard as any one of them.
John came through the door heading for his office. He carried an athletic bag with a beach towel stuffed inside and his hair was damp. His early morning ocean swims were legend around the station.
“Excuse me, boss. Can I have a quick word?”
“Sure.” He glanced at her computer and at the clock. “You know we don’t have the budget for overtime, don’t you?”
“I know.” She saved her report and rose to follow him. “I hate getting behind on the report writing.”
“The trouble with policing today isn’t the crime, it’s the paperwork.” He opened his office door and flung his bag in the corner. “What can I do for you?”
“I wondered if you’ve heard anything from District Headquarters about my application to detective.”
It was too early to be asking about a promotion but chances were Moresco would revert to his old ways. She didn’t know if she’d be allowed to work on any case that involved him but if she was, she wanted to be ready. This time she would take him down for good. She couldn’t do that sitting on the side of the road working a radar gun.
“I reviewed your application when you joined Summerside,” John said. “Your qualifications are excellent.”
She studied his face, trying to decide if he genuinely supported her career ambitions or if he was like her previous commanding officers, letting her put in time till she could be sent on her way. “But?”
“All promotions are on hold due to budget cutbacks.” His expression was open and frank. “Funding cuts have been looming for some time but the memo came yesterday afternoon. The economy dips and the government tightens up on new spending. I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Paula struggled to hide her disappointment. She believed him about the budget cuts but she’d been burned before and she wanted to know where she stood with him. “This knockback doesn’t have anything to do with my past, does it?”
“I know very little about your past.” John’s gaze was steady, inviting her to open up to him.
The silence stretched. Sounds of the outside office filtered through the door. Her fists balled on her thighs. What did he expect her to say? Did her future at Summerside depend on whether she told him her history right this minute? It sucked that her career still hung on one stupid choice she’d made years ago.
She could see his point of view. John didn’t know those days were over, but she’d be a fool to expose herself in case he had some discretionary spending or the economy turned around. He sure as hell wouldn’t be in a hurry to promote her if he knew what she’d done. But she wouldn’t whine that she’d learned her lesson. She would have to bust her hump and prove to him she deserved her detective stripes. If that meant taking Nick down on her own time, so be it.
Speaking of Nick, should she tell John that Moresco had contacted her? Not yet. Not till she knew what Nick wanted. She was in no hurry to associate herself with that loser. No, the past was still a closed subject.
“I should go finish my report before shift.” She rose. “Boss.”
Paula walked over to the coffee machine, nodding at bleary-eyed officers from night duty on their way home. Third-time lucky? Ha. She’d been dreaming. She stirred cream into her cup and took a sip, taking a moment to collect herself.
She checked the big wall clock over the copy machine. Almost time to hit the locker room—a daily ordeal she hoped would pass if and when she became accepted. The station was so small she was the only female cop. That in itself showed how far she’d dropped since she’d been part of a big bustling city station, in charge of her own vice unit and leading a major undercover drug investigation. Add in the fact that she had to share locker space with the guys and Summerside P.D. started to look more like a boys’ outdoor camp than a fully fledged police department. Mind you, she would never say such a thing to John who was proud of his little band of brothers.
But she was a big girl; she could handle the arrangement. It was the guys who seemed to have a problem with it. Whether they resented her for disrupting their routine or they simply didn’t like her, she had no idea.
Take the issue of changing into their uniform at work. Jackson was on the pudgy side and self-conscious. He waited until she left the room to get dressed. Crucek grumbled and turned his back as he quickly shucked his civvies. Delinsky obviously worked out and thought he was hot stuff. He liked to parade around bare-chested, flaunting his sculpted body at her. In your dreams, mate. She didn’t go for that over-developed look. Or the leering attitude.
Riley was the odd one out. Every morning he was there when she arrived, already fully kitted out. She might have thought he slept in his uniform except that
it was always immaculately cleaned and pressed.
Sighing, she set her dirty cup by the sink. Time to man up.
“Morning, gentlemen,” she proclaimed loudly as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Morning.” Riley was seated at the table, shining his already spit-polished shoes.
Despite the fact they hadn’t exactly hit it off the first week, he was a prime example of a good cop. Always professional, always smartly decked out, every detail of his uniform top notch. He was good looking, too, since she was noticing. His shoulders filled out his shirt nicely and the fabric of his pants stretched over long thigh muscles. Smarten up, Drummond. Mind on your job. The last time she’d given in to an inappropriate attraction it had cost her her career.
Instead of greeting her, Delinsky, Jackson and Crucek retreated to the far side of the room and began whispering like teenage girls. Normally she ignored their behavior—she had bigger things to worry about than guys acting goofy—but since Nick’s phone calls her control was stretched thin.
She twirled the combination lock. “So much for my high hopes of working with men instead of boys.”
More giggles.
It sucked being the new person. But she was damned if she would let the guys think their treatment bothered her or that she was going to kiss their collective asses.
Paula swung her locker door open. A plastic bag containing white crystals fell onto the floor. She jumped. In the background excited whispers rose in volume. Slowly she bent to pick up the ziplock bag. Her stomach turned over.
“Hey, watcha got there?” Crucek swaggered forward and took the bag from her hand. “Lookie here, guys. Our new constable is into drugs.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” She made a swipe for the bag but Crucek whipped it out of her reach, holding it high so she would have had to jump to get it.
Delinsky and Jackson crowded around. “Does Sergeant Forster know about this?” Jackson said, eyes wide. “Maybe we ought to get him in here. Let him know what his new constable has been up to.”