The man was a machine. Jacob picked up the pace again, careful on the slippery ground. How many times had he asked these store owners to clear the walks? He closed the distance between them and grabbed the man’s shoulder. “Stop, you’re under...”
The unexpected blow to his jaw staggered him, and he blinked, struggling to refocus as his grip tightened on the perp, and he pointed the gun. “Put her down,” he said, feeling a trickle of blood near his lip. He tasted copper in his mouth, but he held steady, his gun pointed at the man’s head.
“Sheriff, you’re way out of your league here,” the man snarled, still holding Lily’s legs tightly as he flicked a blade in his other hand.
Fantastic. Jacob would prefer bullet wounds to stab wounds any day. “Drop the knife and put her down. You just got out of prison—stabbing a cop and attempted abduction will definitely break your parole conditions,” he said.
“And shooting me will result in a guilty conscience for a man who’s probably never drawn his weapon before now.”
That might be true if he was just a small-town sheriff. “Last chance to drop the knife and put the woman down.” Blood stained the front of the man’s jeans and dripped to the snow on the ground.
“Please, just let me go, Carl,” Lily pleaded.
The sound of her voice seemed to spur Carl to action, and he lashed out with the knife.
Jacob shot him in the arm, and the knife fell to the ground.
So did Lily.
Jacob kicked the knife away, out of reach, and lunged toward the man, but before he could reach him, Carl collapsed.
Unconscious.
Gun still pointed on him, Jacob approached cautiously. The man lay still, eyes closed, as Lily scrambled to her feet on the slippery sidewalk outside of Joey’s diner. “What happened?” Jacob asked, reaching for her and pushing her behind him.
“An i-i-icicle,” Lily said tearfully. She was shaking violently.
He quickly removed his jacket and wrapped it around her, noticing the broken four-inch-wide icicle lying on the sidewalk next to the guy’s head. A pool of blood was collecting beneath him. Unbelievable. “I told everyone those things were dangerous,” he muttered, for once relieved that no one had listened.
* * *
“HE WAS GOING to kill me,” Lily told Lindsay at the medical clinic twenty minutes later. She was still shivering, despite the heated blanket and Lindsay’s comforting arm around her shoulders.
“You’re okay now. Just try to relax. Dr. McCarthy will be in in a minute to give you something,” Lindsay said, rubbing Lily’s arms.
Jake stood in the doorway of the hospital room, growing more and more uncomfortable with each look of gratitude and admiration he received from the two women and just about everyone passing by in the hallway. He’d done his job; that was all. And he wished he were the one driving Carl Phillips back to the Newark detention center, instead of Sheriff Bishop.
Besides the fact that Sheriff Bishop would hardly be a match for Phillips—six-foot-five and all muscle—dealing with victims was something Jacob rarely did. His “bedside manner” in that department was lacking. Once a victim was safe, a situation secured, he was on to the next one. But Lily had refused to let go of him until Lindsay and several other nurses had peeled her away and settled her in the examination room. And even then, she’d insisted he come with her. She was scared and disoriented. He understood that. So he stood where he was, uncomfortable with providing comfort.
Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall, and a second later, Ben and Noah appeared. Noah hung back with Jacob, but Ben rushed forward to Lily.
Instinctively, she pulled away, moving closer to Lindsay.
Ben’s expression was one of hurt and concern as he carefully knelt in front of her. “Lily...”
The woman shook her head and buried her face into Lindsay’s chest.
“She’s still really shaken and a little disoriented,” Lindsay told Ben. “Give her a few minutes.”
Ben’s shoulders slumped as he stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I should have been there with you. I’m so sorry, Lily.”
Lily continued to shake, avoiding everyone’s gaze but Jacob’s.
Great. Survivor attachment. He’d stayed long enough. She was surrounded by caring, supportive people. She would be okay. Now, he had to shift the focus and shift back into his police officer role. Going into the room, he touched her shoulder and felt her flinch slightly. On purpose, he left a hand there, making her just slightly uncomfortable with him. “I’m going to need a full statement in the morning, okay?”
She nodded.
“You’re safe now. Lindsay and the doctors will take good care of you, and Ben’s here.”
The man beside him visibly relaxed.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jacob said, turning to leave.
“Sheriff Matthews,” Lily said weakly.
He stopped. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He touched her shoulder again and left the room.
The look in Lily’s eyes had reminded him why he’d transferred from a patrol position to being an undercover agent. Rescuing people from immediate danger meant that the victim and their family would often offer praise and admiration—sometimes sending cards or gifts to the station—and while most of his coworkers relished the heroic spotlight, Jacob felt uncomfortable with it.
Doing the right thing, according to the rules of the law, always had another side that no one thought about. Every time he put someone in jail, the victim was relieved, but what about the perpetrator’s family—the innocent children or the spouses who got left behind, the mothers who loved their children regardless of the fact that they went down the wrong path in life. Those people suffered. His own family had suffered when he’d had to put his father in jail. Doing the right thing then had come at a cost.
When the department had revealed their offer to assist the FBI in their investigation into the corporate fraud claims against Wallace & Johns, where his father had been a stockbroker for thirty years, his first instinct had been to walk out of the briefing room and request not to be put on the case. But the badge on his shoulder reminded him that he didn’t get to choose who he put away for crimes and who he let walk.
So instead, he’d volunteered to solicit a confession from his father, and several bourbons and ill-placed trust on his father’s part later, Jacob had read his dad his rights. The look on his father’s face was one that would forever be etched in his mind as he’d remained silent as instructed, knowing he’d already said too much.
After the sentencing, his sister had slapped him, accused him of tearing apart the family and hadn’t spoken to him for almost three months.
The department had promoted him and congratulated him on a job well done.
He’d found himself caught between pride for having done his job and a sickening self-loathing for having deceived his father and causing his family pain.
Going undercover in the narcotics division had eliminated the issue. Posing as a member of a drug cartel, he hadn’t been expected to take care of anyone, and he hadn’t been responsible for individual civilian lives. No one ever praised him for being a hero, and yet he knew he was doing more good by helping to take out one of the biggest drug operations in the city than he’d ever done as a patrol cop.
Cops were trained to think of the greater good over individual lives, and it was much easier to do that as an undercover agent.
If he never saw a look like Lily’s again, it would be too soon.
* * *
“HAVE YOU BEEN home yet?” Sheriff Bishop asked as he entered the office hours later. It was just after three in the morning, but Jacob was still wired. Decompressing after an incident often took him days, and tonight was no different. If he went back to his apartment and tried to sleep, he
’d just spend the night tossing and turning and going over the event in his mind. What if he’d gone around the back sooner—could he have saved Lily from the injuries? What if the icicle hadn’t fallen—would he have been able to stop her from being abducted without wounding the man? This self-evaluation happened after every call, and then the what-if scenarios started to play themselves out. It was something his superiors were always telling him he had to let go of. Once he’d caught the perpetrator and secured the scene, he’d done his job and should be able to rest easy. Instead, his mind always wandered to what could have happened.
And tonight was worse than most.
This attack was probably the most dangerous thing to happen in this small town in years. The people here didn’t worry about incidents like this on a regular basis. Lily had felt safe being in her shop at night alone. Everyone here felt safe. And despite his preaching that they shouldn’t adopt a false sense of security, he hoped that this evening’s event wouldn’t make them all paranoid. Careful, yes. Scared, no.
“I thought I’d get started on the paperwork,” he said rubbing his eyes.
Sheriff Bishop retrieved his coffee cup, a mug that read World’s Greatest Grandp, the a obviously having worn off from so many years of use, and filled it with the tar-like liquid from the coffeemaker. He sat down across from Jacob, taking a sip, then placed the cup aside. “I’m sorry I doubted you tonight.”
“A small town where nothing ever happens... I get it,” Jacob said, but he was annoyed that the situation had been dismissed. He would much rather be sitting here apologizing once again for his overzealous actions than dealing with what could have been this evening’s outcome—a manhunt and missing person case...or worse.
“Still. It was wrong. It was against protocol. I don’t know what I was thinking really.” The man toyed with the rim of his coffee cup. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“Nah.” Not too old, just complacent in a town where nothing ever happened.
“Yes, I am. If that had been me there tonight, I couldn’t have done what you did—chasing him down.” He rubbed his stomach. “Look at me. I get winded walking to the vending machine. Can’t remember the last time I worked out.” He shook his head.
“The icicle got him, not me,” Jacob reminded the sheriff, though he’d been fully prepared to shoot again. He doubted the older man would have even fired once.
“But I don’t have your instincts anymore. I mean, if I’d been the one driving down Main Street and saw Lily’s lights on, I’d have kept driving.” He shrugged. “We need new blood around here, someone who’s in great shape, still has that edge...and we need them here permanently,” he said pointedly.
Ah. Jacob stood and reached for his coat, his adrenaline subsiding and weariness setting in. “I see where you’re going with this, and I’ll stop you right there. I appreciate your confidence...” Not that the sheriff had shown it earlier. “But I never signed on for the long run out here. As soon as I’m cleared to return to the city and my job, I’m on the next plane out of Newark.” He hoped the older man understood his position on that.
Sheriff Bishop rose to squeeze his shoulder as Jacob headed for the door. “Okay, enough said. Good night, son.”
Jacob paused and turned back. “By the way, any word on that?” Suddenly he worried that the man with the knowledge concerning his fate might neglect to tell him something...or at least delay the message. This wasn’t the first time in four months that the sheriff had hinted about him sticking around. If the courts could bring Lorenzo into custody before the container shipment bust, that would be ideal.
“No.” The sheriff stuck his head into the mail room and retrieved a small green envelope. “But you did get more mail.”
Again, it was Kyle’s handwriting on the front of the envelope. The address was torn off as usual. But this time it wasn’t opened. “You haven’t read it?”
“I trust you,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Jacob shook his head and handed it back. “I trust protocol. Please, read it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
JACOB WAS STARVING and tired—having been up all night replaying the events in his mind—but mostly starving. As he parked outside Joey’s the next morning, he shot a quick look toward Lily’s shop. Daisies and Dukes was still dark, and the sign on the door read Closed. He hoped by week’s end, business would resume. The best thing for Lily would be to get back into her normal routine as quickly as possible.
He got out of the car and went into the diner, his monitor beeping to indicate his blood sugar was dropping.
Loud applause erupted all around him in the crowded restaurant. Word traveled fast around here. Taking in the smiling, admiring faces, his appetite faded. He could not deal with this this morning.
As Tina came forward, grinning at him for the first time since he’d moved to town, he held up a hand to her open arms. “Sorry, I’m not staying...” he muttered, backing out the diner door.
“Wait...”
The door closed on her protest, and he jogged across the street to Ginger Snaps. Coffee and a muffin would be breakfast today. Unless there was a crowd waiting for him inside the bakery, as well...then he was just going to starve to death.
A bell chimed as he entered, and he was relieved to see the place was empty, except for a man in the corner talking on his cell phone.
“Hi, Sheriff Matthews,” Ginger greeted him wryly.
Good. At least someone was treating him normally. “Hey, Ginger, can I get a coffee and muffin to go...” He scanned the choices in the display case.
“What’s wrong? The adoring crowd at Joey’s too much?” she asked.
So, she’d heard. And she knew about the mob inside the diner. “People around here are crazy,” he said.
To his surprise, she laughed. The effect made her look ten years younger. “You’re right about that.”
Spotting a double chocolate chip muffin, he pointed to it. “Can I have one...two...of those?”
She frowned. “You sure?”
“Why, are they stale?”
The rest of her smile evaporated. “Young man, I’ll have you know, nothing in my display case is ever stale.” She said it as if it was a bad word.
“Sorry. Yes, I want two...no, three of those.” He’d save one for later, in case he couldn’t get into Joey’s for the rest of the day.
“Are you low?”
He looked at her in surprise, then checked his glucose monitor. He’d barely eaten in twenty-four hours. “I will be if I don’t eat. How did you know?”
“Heard your monitor beeping the last time you were in here yelling at me about the walks.”
“Wasn’t yelling.”
“My husband was diabetic, and he had a monitor like yours just before he died.” She opened the display case and removed one of the double chocolate muffins. Then, turning to the back display case, she removed two plain chocolate chip muffins. “These are sugar-free,” she said.
He made a face. In his experience, sugar-free meant tasteless and chalky. He preferred to just stay away from sugar until he was low and needed something, rather than eat the sugar substitute products. After he was diagnosed, his mother had baked a new sugar-free, diabetic recipe almost every day until her death, and though he’d appreciated her efforts, nothing had tasted as good as the cookies he watched his sister eat, even though she tried to hide them. “Nah, that’s okay.”
She broke off a piece of one and handed it to him. “Try it.”
“No, I don’t...”
She leaned over the counter and plopped it into his mouth. The startling gesture almost made him choke on the muffin, but then...mmm, this was actually good. Delicious even. “Those are sugar-free?”
Ginger nodded, putting the muffins in a bag. “I told you, my husband was diabetic and he m
arried a woman whose passion was baked goods. Once he was diagnosed, I spent months coming up with new recipes for all of his favorites.”
Reaching for his wallet, he swallowed the muffin. “How much?”
“Put your money away,” she said.
He shook his head, removing a ten-dollar bill and tossing it onto the counter. “Please, don’t start treating me differently. Now that I know these muffins exist, I want to be able to keep coming in here. See ya, Ginger.”
* * *
FROM THE CORNER booth where she sat with Melody, Brad and their nine-year-old twin boys, Heather watched Jake leave the diner and jog across the street to the bakery.
Someone wasn’t comfortable being the center of attention, she mused, taking a sip of her coffee.
Across from her, Josh frowned, slapping his homemade “We Love Sheriff Matthews” sign down onto the table. “Well, that sucks. He didn’t even notice the sign.”
His brother, David—less impressed by Jake’s sudden hero status than by his video game—shrugged. “I don’t see the big deal. Grandpa saves lives all the time,” he mumbled.
Heather hid a grin behind her cup as she met Melody’s gaze. David’s loyalty to his grandfather was adorable.
“Yeah, that’s sorta true...but Sheriff Matthews caught a real-live bad guy, like the ones on TV. I want to be a cop when I grow up,” Josh said, stirring his hot chocolate with a candy cane.
Brad frowned. “I thought you wanted to be a guitar player.”
Melody shot him a look. “He can be whatever he wants.”
Brad kissed her cheek, but then, covering his mouth, he whispered to Heather, “He’s going to be a guitar player.”
Heather laughed, loving how happy the family seemed together. For too many years, her friend had struggled to raise her boys alone after her husband’s death. Melody seemed to be so happy and in love now, and her music career was booming. Heather didn’t know anyone who deserved it more. She reached for Josh’s sign. “He usually comes into the bar in the evenings after his shift. I can give it to him.”
Love, Lies & Mistletoe Page 8
