I'll Never Stop (Hamlet Book 4)

by Jessica Lynch

  It was good that she got out of Dayton while she had the chance. Between the flowers, the heart, and the coffee, Grace wasn’t sure she would’ve found the strength to get away from her obsessive stalker if he got to her before she got out.

  The police cruiser’s door slammed shut, a bulky shadow of a man clomping his way over to her side of the car. As he crossed in front of his beaming headlights, she caught sight of the beige uniform shirt, the dark pants, the black radio on his tapered waist, the gun holster, and the gleaming handcuffs that jangled as he strode purposely toward her.

  Definitely a cop.

  It’ll be fine, she assured herself. It wasn’t like she was telling the officer about Tommy. She just wanted to find Lucas’s sister’s place before she dropped.

  She pasted on a smile as the officer stopped outside her door and, with his knuckles, rapped gently against the glass of her window.

  “Evening, miss. Anything I can help you with?”

  Her smile slid from her face. Whoa. Big. He was big—

  No. Huge.

  Even though he was bending over so that he could peer into the window, Grace still had to tilt her head up slightly so that she could see his face.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  The man wasn’t beautiful, not in the way that men with perfect features like Lucas De Angelis or some of the male dancers she worked with were. She wasn’t even sure she would use the word handsome for him. But, hell, if he wasn’t one of the most attractive guys she’d ever seen…

  From his sharp jaw and the dark stubble that shadowed it to the slightly crooked nose that looked like it was chiseled out of granite, he exuded a rugged sort of masculinity that snagged her attention and had her momentarily speechless.

  She couldn’t really pinpoint why. His dark eyes were ordinary, his hair a muddy sort of brown. Still, there was something about him. Maybe the hint of a dark curl peeking out from behind his ear? It was the smallest whisper of softness to a big man who looked like he chewed nails for breakfast.

  He was commanding, striking, and, if things were different, she might’ve thrown up her wrists and begged to be taken to jail.

  But things weren’t different. And Grace knew then that she was in even more trouble than before.

  Her finger slipped to the automatic lock. She pressed it quickly, hoping the cop didn’t notice, then moved back to the window button. It eased down silently, stopping when there was about a three-inch gap between the edge of the glass and the rim of her car. Enough that she could speak to him and hear him clearly, but not so much that he could reach inside of her car and grab her.

  Or that she could give in to the sudden urge to reach out and stroke that curl.

  This time, when she called her smile back, it was more of a struggle. Because she wanted to smile, and she knew she shouldn’t, and the poor guy was already glancing down at her in concern, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

  Grace wished she didn’t know.

  Did she think Tommy screwed her up when she was afraid to ask a police officer for help? That was nothing compared to the emotions running through her at that moment. That first gut punch of attraction gave way to absolute horror in a heartbeat. In the seven months since she ran from Tommy, there was only one man she found extremely good-looking and since Lucas De Angelis was a happily married man, she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

  But to acknowledge that one look at this gruff, stony Hamlet cop had her feeling a spark—something she would’ve thought was impossible after everything Tommy put her through—was downright terrifying. She’d always thought Tommy’s claims that he fell in love at first sight with her were as crazy as everything else he did.

  Suddenly, it didn’t seem so damn crazy.

  Was this how Tommy felt? And, she gulped, how would he react if he ever suspected that she took one look at this officer and wanted to jump his bones?

  Grace pushed those thoughts away. No. She hadn’t come to Hamlet to find a man who would make her forget that Tommy Mathers was out there. As big, as strong, as rugged as this officer appeared to be, she doubted even he would be a match for Tommy and his goon.

  “Uh, yeah.” Her voice came out like a croak. Grace liked to think it was from disuse, not the butterflies flapping wildly in her belly. Yeah, right. She cleared her throat. “Thanks for stopping. If you can’t tell already, I’m lost.”

  The officer nodded solemnly. “Thought so. I didn’t recognize the car and I figured you might need some help.”

  Hamlet helps, she mused. “I do. Thanks.” Leaning over, she grabbed Lucas’s directions. Using it as a shield, she lifted it up to her face, reading the address straight from the paper. “12 Orchard Avenue. Do you know where I can find that?”

  His brow furrowed. “12 Orchard?” he echoed. “You’re looking for Maria De Angelis?”

  Did Lucas tell her his sister’s name? She couldn’t remember. The last name was the same, so that had to be it. “Yes.”

  “You’re heading in the right direction.” As Grace lowered the paper so that she could see him again, the cop started gesturing down the road. “Keep going down Main. In about five minutes or so, you’re gonna see a big white house. There’s a stump on the corner. Take a right, that’ll bring you to First Street. Do you want to write this down? I got a pen.”

  The idea of taking his pen, maybe brushing one of her slender fingers against his, was too tempting. She shook her head. “I’ll remember.”

  He shrugged. “Once you’re on First, it’s about another five, six minutes. The street lights will have black poles. Once you see one with a purple ribbon on it, take another right. That brings you to Orchard Avenue. Maria has a sign out front, too. You won’t be able to miss it.”

  “White house, stump on the corner,” Grace said, speaking under her breath as if committing it to memory. “Go right. Keep going until I see a black pole, purple ribbon. Another right. Ophelia.” She dared a peek up, irrationally pleased when she saw that the cop was nodding in approval.

  “You got it.” He paused for a second, then said, “You want to follow me? I can show you the way if you’re concerned you won’t find it. We’re not all that used to outsiders around here and some might find our village hard to navigate.”

  “No!” Did she scream that? It sounded like a scream. The officer drew away from the side of her car, his expression going even more stony. She gulped. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s been a long drive and I guess I’m a little punchy.”

  The officer nodded. “No worries. If you get lost, or need more help, make sure to buzz the sheriff department. Someone will be on the radio.”

  Buzz the sheriff department? Radio? She had no idea what he meant. But he was leaving and she didn’t have to follow him, so she considered that a win. It would be a lot easier to make sense of the way she reacted to him if he wasn’t around to tempt her.

  Because this man? The easy way he talked to her, the kind way he offered to help her without wanting anything in return? He was very, very tempting.

  “Sure. Thanks. I, um, I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it. Have a nice night,” he said, nodding again before he went back to his cruiser.

  Grace ran his instructions through her head as she watched him fit his muscular bulk inside the compact cruiser. He turned his car on, making sure the flashing lights were dim again, then backed up, turned around, and headed off into the night.

  She waited until he was out of sight, repeating his directions again and again so that she didn’t forget them, then drove off in search of the big white house and the stump he told her about.

  6

  Rick Hart’s head felt heavy on his neck. He tilted it back, squinting at the bright station house lights as he stepped inside. A tweak to the left. A jerk to the right. A loud crack, then sudden relief.

  Ah.

  It was an old injury, and a recurring one. After twelve hours on the beat, it was no surprise it was buggi
ng him. He lifted up one of his hands, rubbing at the point where his neck met his shoulder before scratching his fingernails through the longish dark brown strands of hair that curled around his ears.

  It was getting close to time for another haircut. Too many years wearing it shorn close to his scalp had him getting itchy once it grew out past a certain length. He would have already had it trimmed if he hadn’t been dodging Dave down at the barbershop ever since he swapped a pair of hair clippers for a deputy’s badge.

  One person he couldn’t dodge, though?

  Wilhelmina. The second he stepped into the main room of the station house, she zeroed right in on him.

  She was sitting at her desk, a tall stack of paperwork hiding most of her. Her head of tight, platinum-colored curls popped out over the top, the rest of her coming into sight when she wheeled her desk chair over so that she could peer at him. Long, red nails tapped impatiently on the top of her desk.

  “So nice of you to finally stroll on in.”

  A wall clock hung behind Willie, right above her head. His eyes flickered over to it. It was coming up on seven. He was right on time.

  “I just got off patrol and I’m stopping by to sign out for the night.” Rick took in her narrow gaze, the way she squinted behind the cat’s eye eyeglasses she always wore. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  “You’ve got your radio on, sugar?”

  He reached down to his side, grabbing the Hamlet communicator he wore as part of his uniform. He showed it to her. “Got it right here.”

  “And it’s been on all night?”

  Most of the night. “Of course.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrow rose so high, he saw a swath of bright blue eyeshadow inch up toward her hairline. “Then how come we’ve buzzed your radio a bunch of times over the last couple of hours and you never answered?”

  Rick glanced at the side, fiddling with a setting there. “Hell, Wil, it looks like I might’ve had the volume down too low.” Or not on at all. His lips split in a sheepish grin. “I never heard the buzzes.”

  That, at least, was the truth.

  Willie clicked her tongue. “You know that drives the sheriff nuts, sug. If you’re carrying your radio on duty, you gotta make sure that you’re answering each and every call.”

  After serving together, Sly knew that Rick was more than capable of taking care of himself. He would expect his reports after shift, but he didn’t want or need a leash on his deputy.

  It was Willie’s nerves he was trying. He knew that, no matter how many sug’s she threw in to soften her nagging. And because he also knew why it was so important for her to keep tabs on the others in the department, he let it go.

  “It won’t happen again, Willie. Scout’s honor.”

  She snorted. “I remember you as a boy, Ricky. You might’ve gone on to be a Marine, no denying that. Before that, though, you were the furthest thing from a scout.”

  “Marine’s honor, then.”

  “And I know your word is good, too. Next time I buzz you—”

  He lifted his radio again. “I’ll make sure to answer.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, sug.”

  Picking up a pile of paperwork off the massive stack, Willie shuffled through it for a moment before setting it aside. Rick waited. He knew from experience that their office’s mother hen wasn’t done with him yet.

  He was right.

  “You know?” Willie shook her head. The curls barely bounced, they were so hairsprayed down. “I can’t get over it. Gone all those years, seeing what the world’s got to offer a big, strong fella like you, and you come back to Hamlet first chance you get.”

  He felt his back go straight, like he was at attention. “Did four years active duty, four years inactive reserves. I’m still a Marine, just a Marine who wanted to go home.”

  He considered himself retired, even if the terms for actual retirement were twenty years. Rick didn’t care about a pension; he cared about getting out while he could.

  And, damn it, he missed home.

  Shortly before the tragedy last fall, Rick’s sudden return to Hamlet—with his fellow Marine, Sylvester Collins, at his side—had fed the town’s gossip mill for more than a year. There was the small matter of an outsider man driving his truck into the gulley, but, other than that, the townspeople all wondered why he bought a house on the outskirts of town and settled into his old routine as if almost nine years hadn’t passed since he left.

  He could feel Willie’s curious stare as he turned away, clipping his radio back onto his belt. He swapped his deputy’s jacket for his old Carhartt hoodie. Patting his pocket to make sure he had the keys to his truck, he brought the keys to his patrol car back over to Wilhelmina.

  He set them down on the edge of her desk. “You’ve got the log, Wil?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Sure do. It’s right here.”

  She moved the portable DVD player in front of her to the other side of her desk, opening the white binder the player had been resting on. With a quick flip, she found that evening’s page and plopped a pen right in front of it.

  Rick found his name. The in column had his big, clumsy letters drawn in the center: 6:48. He added 19:03 to the out column, then scrawled his signature next to it.

  Willie took the pen back, slapping the binder closed. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Rick zipped up his coat. For October, it was getting pretty nippy out at night and he was never one for the cold. It was all he could do to give the outsider directions in his thin deputy jacket without shivering like a wimp.

  Though his back was to Willie as he yanked on his hood, Rick could sense the holes her worried stare was boring into him. When he heard her clear her throat, he fought the desire to roll his eyes.

  It was Willie, so he knew what was coming. He glanced over his shoulder at her, raising his eyebrows.

  She had risen from her seat, fiddling with the long necklace she wore over her ample bosom. “Rick, honey, I just… I don’t want you to think we’re not happy to have you home again.”

  Rick had known Wilhelmina Parker since he was a kid. She was a friend of his mother's, an honorary aunt of sorts even though she was barely a decade older than he was, and when Rosemarie Hart died a couple of years before he enlisted, Willie looked after him like she was one of hers.

  Now, more than a foot taller than her, fifty pounds heavier, and with a head full of nightmares he couldn’t escape, Willie was still trying to take care of Rick.

  He knew his voice could be gruff. He purposely softened it. “I know, Wil. Don’t worry about it.”

  “It’s just, after what happened to Caity...”

  Her voice trailed off to a close as she let her necklace fall. Even after all the time that passed, Willie couldn’t help but choke up whenever she mentioned Caitlin.

  He didn’t blame her. Her name and the memories it conjured stung him, too.

  Rick always had, well, a thing for Caitlin Scott. Growing up, tall and skinny and awkward, he could never work up enough nerve to strike up a true conversation with the younger, vivacious girl, let alone a relationship that was something more than old friends.

  By the time he filled out and grew some balls, she already had her hooks in Lucas De Angelis. So Rick settled for that friendship, while watching the one woman in Hamlet he wanted fall for another man.

  Joining the Marines was something he dreamed of doing since he was a kid. Coming from a military background, he was expected to go into the service; the Marine Corps was his choice. But he was fooling himself if he didn’t admit that one of the reasons he was so relieved to escape the stifling small town when he did was because the townsfolk were already taking bets on how long before De Angelis popped the question.

  Just like he was fooling himself that—after he completed his tours and fulfilled his obligations—he didn’t choose to return to Hamlet for any other reason than to see Caitlin again; his family was already long gone by the time he joined th
e Corps, so he wasn’t going back for them. Rick felt a pull back home, and since Sly didn’t want to go back to California, he took Sly with him.

  When he returned from service and discovered she left her pretty boy husband, Rick thought he might finally have a chance. She’d been promoted to sheriff in the time since he’d been gone. With Rick putting in a good word for him, Sly easily got a job as a deputy. Rick could have too, but since he had different plans when it came to Caitlin, he declined her offer and went to work at the barbershop on Main.

  He learned the skill while on active duty. He figured he might as well use it while planning his seduction of Caitlin Scott with the same precision as any other mission he’d undertaken.

  She wasn’t a big girl. She was tough, though. Sturdy. She could take his size, and he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting her if he forgot for a moment to be anything less than gentle.

  She also didn’t look at him with morbid fascination, wondering what he did while in the Marines. To Caitlin, you were either a local or an outsider. If you were an outsider, she didn’t have the time of day for you. But if you were a born local? She didn’t care how many years he was gone. The instant he was back, it was like Ricky Hart never left.

  So he went down to Thirsty’s most nights, hoping he would find her there, work up his nerve, and finally ask her out. Word around town said that she spent a good chunk of her time off duty at the bar. He figured it would be his best bet to engage her in a social setting, when she could be Caitlin instead of the sheriff, and he could put his memories and insecurities behind him.

  It worked. Somewhat. He managed to snag a dance or two with her whenever they met—he just never got the chance to talk her into going home with him.

  Then again, his thousand-yard stare and military bearing made it certain she didn’t go home with anyone else, either.

  It didn’t take long before Rick realized that Caitlin was still hung up on her ex. Three years after they divorced, she would’ve done anything to get Lucas back. Deep down, Rick knew he never stood a chance.