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With a wave, Hannah headed off to sleep in Lani’s frilly pink bedroom, leaving Tricia to her nighttime ritual of checking the locks on the front and back doors—twice—and flipping off the lights. But tonight she didn’t want to be alone in the dark with her thoughts. She’d discovered a few things about herself that she wasn’t ready to swallow.
For one thing, she was lonelier than she’d realized. Her other discovery was that she could enjoy herself in the company of a man other than Rusty. She refused to take it a step further and admit she could be susceptible to attraction, especially to someone like Brett.
She shook away the thoughts as she climbed into bed and squeezed her eyes shut. The disquiet inside her, though, refused to subside. She longed for an escape from this day when she’d so easily forsaken the husband she’d promised to love forever, when she’d agreed to the unthinkable—a second date—whether it would ever happen or not. But as she closed her eyes, she had no doubt her troubled thoughts would follow her into her dreams.
Just before the 6:00 a.m. beginning of Saturday’s day shift, Brett slammed his locker door and set aside his shiny black duty belt that, like fellow troopers, he often fondly referred to as a “Sam Brown.” But not today. He wasn’t in the mood to refer to anything fondly today.
“What’s with you, Lancaster?”
Brett jerked his head to the sound of Trooper Joey Rossetti’s voice, knowing full well that only somebody with a death wish would call the former line-backer his lifelong neighborhood nickname instead of “Joe.” He was just surly enough this time to test the theory. “Lay off, would you?”
“I could.” Joe nodded a few times as if considering it, but then he shook his head. “But then if I couldn’t watch you banging around in here, what would I do for entertainment?” One side of Joe’s mouth pulled up in a smirk before it returned to its usual hard line. “Really, do you…um…need—anything I can do?”
Can you pound it into my family’s heads that my days at the dealership are over? Can you make paper cuts the most dangerous part of my job so Tricia Williams will go out with me? But he only said, “Nah, it’s nothing,” as he buttoned the top button of his navy uniform shirt over his Kevlar vest, knotted his gray tie and pinned on his silver badge.
“Yeah, it sounds like nothing.”
Brett put on his duty belt, making a production of checking to see that all of its contents were in place—pepper spray, collapsible baton, handcuffs case, mini-flashlight, radio and extra magazines. Then he patted his hands over the .40-caliber semiautomatic pistol at his right hip. At least it was here this time.
Apparently, Trooper Rossetti was tired of his silence because he tried again. “This isn’t still about Claire, is it? She didn’t come crawling back, did she?”
The venomous look Brett tossed at his buddy, who he’d once tapped to serve as best man at his defunct wedding, must have spoken for him because Joe nodded. “Good. I keep telling you there are plenty of fish in the sea. No use reeling the same one in all the time.”
That coming from a guy who’d often vowed he couldn’t be dragged to the altar with anything less threatening than a howitzer.
“Sounds like something you should put on a greeting card.”
“Ya think?” The younger trooper flashed a grin that he’d used for bait on his own frequent “fishing” trips. “So then I have a career in greeting cards after I lay down my badge?”
They both laughed at that, and Brett slapped Joe on the back as he passed. Neither of them would ever turn in his uniform without a fight. Not for anybody.
“You were at the Red Wings game last night, weren’t you?” Joe asked as he finished putting on his uniform. “I saw something about a fight that broke out in the stands.”
“Yeah, I was there, but—” he paused for a few seconds “—I didn’t have my gun.” Brett wasn’t accustomed to breaking rules, and this one was a law that required State Police troopers to carry a firearm at all times.
“Hey, don’t sweat it. It happens sometimes. Besides, the last time I went to a concert in Detroit, security made me lock up my gun, anyway.”
Brett pushed the door to head out into the squad room, relieved he’d managed to get through the conversation without having to discuss his miserable date. But Joe followed him out the door.
“How’d your date go?” he asked from behind.
When Brett jerked his head to the side, he caught Joe studying him with a knowing smile. He’d figured out the source of Brett’s sour mood. Brett shouldn’t have expected to keep a secret for long, especially from the trooper who used to be his partner on the midnight shift. He was glad now to be on days, where he didn’t have to share his car or his thoughts with anyone.
But since Joe wouldn’t go away, he filled him in on the story, even the part about him going for his nonexistent gun.
“So why are you wasting your time and energy on a woman who refuses to date a cop?”
Brett’s shrug must not have been a good enough answer because Trooper Rossetti was still looking at him as if he was daft when their patrol cars passed on the way out of the parking lot. That sure appeared to be the question of the day: why was he completing this exercise in futility?
He pondered that as he examined the car ahead of him at the stoplight, the one with the expired license plates. With a few keystrokes on his laptop, he connected with the Law Enforcement Information Network’s direct link to the Michigan Secretary of State’s office to run a license plate check. Because the driver had an otherwise clean driving record, he gave him a break and didn’t pull him over.
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