and hugged Jack tightly. “It’s about damned time if you ask me.” She leaned down to hug me again too and whispered in my ear, “I always thought of you as a daughter. It’ll be nice to make it permanent.”
Tears stung my eyes as she left money on the counter and grabbed her food. “She’s a good mom,” I said.
“The best.”
We finished up our food in silence and Jack left a generous tip with the bill. We snuck out while Martha was busy in the kitchen so we couldn’t get waylaid again.
“So how do you feel about eloping?” Jack asked when we got back in the Suburban.
“If it means there’s no one there but you and me and we get to have sex afterwards then I’m all for it. ”
“I can almost guarantee there will be sex afterward. Probably several times.” He pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction on Queen Mary, away from the funeral home and the rest of town. It took us higher in elevation, the trees becoming denser and the houses fewer and farther between. Only one road intersected with Queen Mary on this side of town—Heresy Road.
If we’d turned left it would’ve taken us back to the house I’d grown up in—the house where I’d seen the ghost of my father the day before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But instead of turning left toward my past, Jack turned right. Toward my future.
Jack’s house—our house—jutted up from the cliff majestically, as if it were part of the landscape itself. It was a log cabin of two stories, but not like any cabin I’d seen before. The logs were smoothed to an amber gleam and grey stone chimneys rose from each end of the house. A wide porch wrapped around all sides. There weren’t many windows in the front, but the back of the house was nothing but windows that looked out over towering trees so thick you couldn’t see the river below. It was more space than we needed. Even if we someday filled it with children it would be too much.
Most people underestimated Jack. They saw him as the son of wealthy tobacco farmers, a little reckless and with a temper that had plagued him when he was younger. They saw him as someone who craved the wild side of life, fast cars and fast women, but with a sharp and complex brain that made him a great cop. He had Master’s Degrees in both criminal justice and psychology.
But what they didn’t know about Jack was that he loved his solitude—his quiet spot on the side of a cliff that was completely private and closed off from the outside world. He liked good wine and intelligent conversation. And when he needed to think something through, he more likely than not did it in the kitchen cooking something that would make the mouth salivate and tastebuds explode.
I’d been thinking about the body that had washed up on shore. It was pu zzling, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to know more about it.
“ I keep thinking about the victim,” I said. “There was nothing familiar about him? Other than the tattoo, I mean?”
Jack was busy removing the boxes from the back of the Suburban and I joined in to help.
“It’s not like I could ID him from his face. It’s been six years since I was SWAT. I’ve stayed in touch with my brothers over the years, but we all have our own lives, our own families. Some transferred to other cities. A couple have passed away over the last few months. The rest are scattered here and there. Only a couple stayed with the team.”
“It was that bad?” I asked, referring to the last op that had left Jack fighting for his life.
He looked at me out of somber eyes, his face blank of emotion. It was the same face he used whenever we were at a crime scene. A face that didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking or feeling.
“Yeah, i t was that bad.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The boxes sat in a neat row on the dining room table. When I’d found them in the bunker, along with the dead body, I’d taken them almost out of reflex. I’d made the mistake
Tears stung my eyes as she left money on the counter and grabbed her food. “She’s a good mom,” I said.
“The best.”
We finished up our food in silence and Jack left a generous tip with the bill. We snuck out while Martha was busy in the kitchen so we couldn’t get waylaid again.
“So how do you feel about eloping?” Jack asked when we got back in the Suburban.
“If it means there’s no one there but you and me and we get to have sex afterwards then I’m all for it. ”
“I can almost guarantee there will be sex afterward. Probably several times.” He pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction on Queen Mary, away from the funeral home and the rest of town. It took us higher in elevation, the trees becoming denser and the houses fewer and farther between. Only one road intersected with Queen Mary on this side of town—Heresy Road.
If we’d turned left it would’ve taken us back to the house I’d grown up in—the house where I’d seen the ghost of my father the day before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. But instead of turning left toward my past, Jack turned right. Toward my future.
Jack’s house—our house—jutted up from the cliff majestically, as if it were part of the landscape itself. It was a log cabin of two stories, but not like any cabin I’d seen before. The logs were smoothed to an amber gleam and grey stone chimneys rose from each end of the house. A wide porch wrapped around all sides. There weren’t many windows in the front, but the back of the house was nothing but windows that looked out over towering trees so thick you couldn’t see the river below. It was more space than we needed. Even if we someday filled it with children it would be too much.
Most people underestimated Jack. They saw him as the son of wealthy tobacco farmers, a little reckless and with a temper that had plagued him when he was younger. They saw him as someone who craved the wild side of life, fast cars and fast women, but with a sharp and complex brain that made him a great cop. He had Master’s Degrees in both criminal justice and psychology.
But what they didn’t know about Jack was that he loved his solitude—his quiet spot on the side of a cliff that was completely private and closed off from the outside world. He liked good wine and intelligent conversation. And when he needed to think something through, he more likely than not did it in the kitchen cooking something that would make the mouth salivate and tastebuds explode.
I’d been thinking about the body that had washed up on shore. It was pu zzling, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to know more about it.
“ I keep thinking about the victim,” I said. “There was nothing familiar about him? Other than the tattoo, I mean?”
Jack was busy removing the boxes from the back of the Suburban and I joined in to help.
“It’s not like I could ID him from his face. It’s been six years since I was SWAT. I’ve stayed in touch with my brothers over the years, but we all have our own lives, our own families. Some transferred to other cities. A couple have passed away over the last few months. The rest are scattered here and there. Only a couple stayed with the team.”
“It was that bad?” I asked, referring to the last op that had left Jack fighting for his life.
He looked at me out of somber eyes, his face blank of emotion. It was the same face he used whenever we were at a crime scene. A face that didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking or feeling.
“Yeah, i t was that bad.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The boxes sat in a neat row on the dining room table. When I’d found them in the bunker, along with the dead body, I’d taken them almost out of reflex. I’d made the mistake
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