by JoAnn Ross
“I responded to a 911 call. Accessed the situation and handled it.”
“You didn’t do a damn thing.”
Don James shot out his jaw. Which, once upon a time ago, when Aiden had been Honeymoon Harbor’s teenage brawler, would’ve made a perfect target. Although the Marines had taught him discipline, there were times, like now, that professional police adulting sucked. “The wife said she slipped. He backed her up.” He shrugged. “End of story.”
“It was a 911 domestic abuse call. Washington law states there needs to be an arrest.”
“Laws are written by politicians who’ve never spent a damn day on the street,” Don countered.
Like this guy had ever been on the street. Aiden suspected that if he’d spent an hour working in the tough spots in LA, James would fold like a cheap lawn chair and go running home to his mommy.
“They’re written to keep order. And we’ve been tasked with serving and protecting the public.”
“Seems to be pretty one-sided these days,” James muttered. “Whatever happened to listening to the guy for a change?”
Donna Ormsbee, who’d taken the call, broke in. “Maybe when guys stop hitting women, we’ll do that. Or at least admit it when they do.” Donna had been working as both office manager and 911 operator for as long as Aiden could remember. When Honeymoon Harbor had its annual downtown Halloween Trick or Treat night, she’d always hand out home-baked cookies from the McGruff the Crime Dog jar on her desk.
“I don’t remember anyone asking you,” Don James shot back, to which Donna responded by running a hand through her long slide of silver hair, middle finger extended. The gesture’s FU effect was minimized a bit by the sequined dancing turkey on the front of the orange sweater she was wearing as a lead up to Thanksgiving.
Aiden had thought being police chief of Honeymoon Harbor, which was the county seat of Salish County, would be a snap after what he’d been through. Humping his butt across the mountains of Afghanistan in temperatures hot enough to fry an egg on his armor had been no Sunday stroll in the park. Fighting gangs and gunrunners in the second-largest city in the country had come with challenges that had nearly gotten him killed. But he was quickly learning that small-town police work came with its own challenges. Especially when you’d been appointed to the job another guy had expected being promoted to.
“You’re not being paid to hang around the office,” Aiden said, deciding to lower the conflict level.
Beefy hands moved to James’s hips, fingers like Vienna sausages splaying on his brown leather Sam Browne belt. “You want me to go back to the Palmer place?”
“No.” That was the last thing Aiden wanted. “I want you to go out and patrol the harbor. And stop by the food bank on the way. We’re delivering Thanksgiving dinner boxes.”
Steely brows climbed the wide forehead. “Now you’ve turned me into a damn delivery boy?”
“We have the vehicles. We’re already driving around on patrol. The food pantry is slammed with work this time of year and needs all the volunteers they can get. Makes sense for us to do our civic duty and help out. Stop by the pantry office and Margie, who’s in charge of the food drive, will give you some boxes and a list of addresses. I figure if all of us do our part, we can reach everyone who needs help this season.”
Muttering beneath his breath, James pulled on his gloves, yanked his hood over his brimmed hat and stomped out into the slanting November rain.
“He’s pissed off so many people over the years, I’m not at all surprised the city council didn’t appoint him chief,” Donna observed as they watched him pull out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
“Yet there have to be people claiming nepotism with me having the job. Given that the head of the council and my dad, who just happens to be mayor, have been fishing buddies all their lives.”
“Only a fool would think that,” she scoffed. “You’re obviously the far more qualified candidate.”
Aiden decided not to mention that he hadn’t wanted to be a candidate in the first place. “I remember the chief being tough, but fair. I’m surprised he never fired James.”
“He would’ve been if he hadn’t been Chief Swenson’s brother-in-law. Now that the chief and his wife have planned to retire to Costa Rica after their cruise, he’s pretty much on his own. You could fire him in a New York minute if you wanted to.”
Aiden did want to. But for the time being, he was only serving the remainder of the former chief’s term. If he did fire the chief deputy, and he was leaning in that direction, given the politics of the situation, it might cause a fracture in the community. Or worse yet, maybe the guy had friends on the council who’d appoint him chief, that would be a disaster for not only the force, but also the town.
Aiden had been on the job only six weeks, but already he was surprised how much he was enjoying the work, and that he never would’ve expected. He figured a lot of people in Honeymoon Harbor found it ironic that former bad boy Aiden Mannion had ended up the town’s police chief. They weren’t alone. Most days, Aiden couldn’t believe it, either.
He pulled on his jacket and dark blue baseball cap with the Honeymoon Harbor police shield embroidered on the front (because the wide-brimmed brown campaign hat he’d inherited with the job made him feel like Smokey the Bear) and headed over to Wheel and Barrow, figuring he’d find Amanda Barrow, wife of Eric Palmer, at her plant nursery. That would give him a chance to talk with her without her husband.
Like most states these days, Washington took allegations of domestic violence seriously, including having a mandatory arrest provision for police officers investigating incidents of potential violence. The problem was, that law required officers to arrest the “primary aggressor” if they had probable cause to believe that an assault or other serious domestic violence offense has taken place within the last four hours.
And since James had screwed it up, Aiden was working against the clock.
He found her in the shop, making a fall flower arrangement.
“Hey, Ms. Barrow.” He greeted her in the same calm, steady tone he’d use to convince an Afghan goat farmer that the armed-to-the-teeth American Marine was a friendly. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” She wasn’t showing any bruises, but Aiden knew that abusers learned early to hit where it didn’t show. He did wonder about the scarf around her neck.
“I don’t know how things were where you lived before, but we watch out for one another here in Honeymoon Harbor. If you’re worried—”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, her eyes, red-rimmed as if she’d recently been crying, met his, then quickly shifted away. As color rose in her cheeks, instinct and experience kicked in, telling Aiden that this wasn’t her first rodeo.
He’d run Eric Palmer’s record, which showed some speeding tickets and a disturbance call at a sports bar that hadn’t ended in an arrest, and three domestic disturbance calls in the last eighteen months that hadn’t gone anywhere because both husband and wife denied a problem. There was also a note in the file that said the Palo Alto cop responding to the calls had known something was hinky, but he couldn’t do anything without Amanda willing to press charges.
“Do you or your husband own any guns?”
Her eyes widened. “No.”
That she knew of. In addition to facing fines and imprisonment, people convicted of domestic violence offenses were prohibited from owning firearms and couldn’t qualify for a concealed weapons permit in the state. Violating the law was a felony and could lead to additional criminal penalties. Which didn’t mean that bad guys, including wife abusers, couldn’t easily work around that deterrence.
“I know Deputy James spoke with both of you—”
“And we both assured him that the call was a mistake,” she broke him off again. She’d turned pale when he’d walked into the shop, but now her cheeks were flushed with emotion. Fear? Embarras
sment? Probably both. “I’ll admit I was angry. I’m sorry if I interfered with police business simply because I tripped over the coffee table while marching out the door to drive away during an argument.”
Aiden had been to enough domestic violence calls to know that coffee tables were commonly blamed for injuries. Even more than the clichéd walking into a door, because a fall could explain broken bones and body bruising.
“Did the deputy inform you that a misdemeanor domestic violence conviction is punishable by up to ninety days in jail?”
He decided not to mention the fine, because while Amanda’s landscape and floral business seemed to be flourishing, he didn’t want to risk money worries keeping her from filing a charge against her husband.
“He did. And, although we didn’t discuss the topic at length, I will point out that the relevant word is conviction.”
And, damn, right there, she’d told him exactly what he needed to know. But, from the upward tilt of her chin and her steady gaze, he knew wasn’t going to get anywhere today. It wasn’t like he could drag her into the station, handcuff her to a chair and interrogate her under a bright light until she caved and admitted to what they both knew was the truth.
“I hate to be rude, Chief Mannion, but this in my busy season, with Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s so close together, so as much as I appreciate you dropping by, I really need to get back to work.”
“Right. I know from growing up on our Christmas tree farm how busy this time of year can be.” Aiden reached into his pocket and took out a card. “This has the station number, as well as my cell,” he said, handing it out toward her.
“Your personal cell?”
“I told you, we care about each other here. I promise, if you ever need anything, anytime, day or night, I’ll make things work out okay.”
She took the card, glanced down long enough to read it. The regular cards listed only the contact number for the station. Just as he had in LA, Aiden had a special batch printed up with his personal information on it. Because, hey, you never knew.
“Thank you.” Her brown eyes seemed to glisten, but it could’ve just been a trick of the beam of light from the sunbreak slanting through front windows. “Have a good day, Chief Mannion.”
He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “You, too, Ms. Barrow.”
“Amanda,” she murmured.
Progress made. Baby steps, Aiden reminded himself. “Amanda,” he repeated. “And I’m Aiden.”
“The mayor’s son. Who was a Marine. And then worked for the police in Los Angeles.”
“That would be me.” Small towns. She hadn’t been in Honeymoon Harbor that long herself, but it seemed she already knew his history. He wondered if she knew how his career in California had ended. Which might not give her a lot of confidence in his ability to live up to his promise to keep her safe if she did ever press charges.
He was nearly to the door when she called after him. “Chief Mannion?”
He turned back. “Aiden,” he reminded her.
She turned around and took an arrangement of mums, autumn leaves, acorns, and some other flowers he didn’t know the name of from the cooler. “For your mother, Aiden.”
It wasn’t what he’d come for. But, like the use of first names, it was a start. He’d take it. For now. “Thank you. She’ll love it. She was talking about coming by for a Thanksgiving centerpiece.”
He didn’t know if that was true, but since Sarah Mannion always decorated for any holiday as if she were staging a photo shoot for one of those slick country home magazines he saw in the magazine section of the market, she could have shown up at the nursery any day.
As he pulled away from the nursery, off to deliver his own food boxes, Bodhi appeared in the passenger seat. “When are you going to learn that you can’t save the world?” he asked.
“I know that.” He’d learned it during his first deployment. “But that doesn’t mean I should stop trying.”
“So, you going to keep that badge?”
“I’m still weighing options.”
“And your others would be? Other than returning to LA?”
“That’s not an option.”
“You were getting bored hanging around the coast house, cool as it was,” Bodhi pointed out. “The same way you got bored being a drunk.”
Aiden couldn’t argue with either of those things, so he didn’t bother trying.
“Of course, on the other hand, you could also get bored playing the sheriff of Mayberry.”
“Or not. And I’m chief of police. The sheriff’s jurisdiction is outside town.” He turned onto Evergreen Way, headed out of town to deliver one of the boxes to the Marlows, a family of five living in a double-wide. Evan Marlow had broken his back when his log skidder had overturned and slid down a muddy bank after a heavy rain. After two operations, he was still in a wheelchair, waiting for his disability to be approved. His wife, Ellen, had gone to work waitressing at the diner, but they’d definitely fallen on hard times with three kids under the age of thirteen. “How many times did we manage to accomplish the protect part of protect and serve?”
“Big picture? Or day-to-day?”
“The second.”
Aiden knew they’d done good work getting bad guys off the street. But the one-on-one interactions usually involved altercations. Although he’d handed out more of those domestic violence cards that he’d cared to count in LA, the number of cases and calls involved moving on. And even though late at night—when he was staring up at the ceiling, listening to the white noise of the freeway traffic two blocks from his apartment building—unable to sleep, he’d think about those victimized women he’d left cards with, the majority he’d never had time to check back on. At least two he knew of had ended up dead.
Amanda Barrow could be one of his success stories. Change that. She would be one. Honeymoon Harbor was small enough that he could keep an eye on her. Watch out for her husband. Maybe, if he made a habit of dropping into the nursery as a customer, buying flowers for his mom, his sister, or even Donna, who’d probably like prettying up her corner of the office, she’d feel more comfortable talking with him. He might be able to make a difference. That wouldn’t be such a bad way to spend his life.
Maybe he could even go out once in a while. And not just meeting Seth for wings and beer at his brother’s pub, but with a woman. Like a date. Brianna kept trying to fix him up with her friends. Maybe he’d take her up on that one of these days. Maybe he’d meet The One. The one he could imagine building a future with. Like Seth and Brianna. Kylee and Mai. His mom and dad.
The idea of teaching his son to fish off the dock, like his dad had taught him, or having tea parties with his daughter, and grilling burgers in the backyard while his kids climbed on a playset and his wife planted posies in the garden (that deer would eat and their dog would invariably dig up) once would have sent him running for the hills. Strangely, now that he was back in the very town he once couldn’t wait to get out of, it was growing increasingly appealing. The only problem was, whenever he imagined it, there was only one woman in the picture. One he’d never have because he’d burned that bridge where Jolene Wells was concerned.
“We were busy being big bad undercover guys,” Bodhi pointed out, bringing his wandering mind back to the topic at hand. “Once we made an arrest, our cover was blown with those bad guys, so we had to keep moving on.”
“Yeah. That was my point. We were like sharks, always moving forward.” And not looking back, because the truth was, if you spent too much time dwelling on what you couldn’t fix, it would eat you up. The adrenaline boost that had also contributed to those sleepless nights had been great in the beginning. Like Bodhi said, they’d lived on the edge, just like all those buddy cop movies and TV shows. But it’d lost its appeal. Which was why he was transferring out of the undercover guns for drugs detail the day after the nig
ht that had changed everything.
“You know, this isn’t such a bad place,” Bodhi said, looking out the window at the historic buildings, the jagged, snow-clad mountains and lush green forests, and the quaint harbor, all that could’ve been a set for a movie set in Victorian times. “Remember Twin Peaks?”
“Sure. The exterior scenes were filmed here in the state.”
“Remember when Agent Cooper drove into town? And told Diane that he’d never seen so many trees in his life? I didn’t really appreciate it on TV. But, man, the guy nailed it. These are frigging big trees. And the mountains are awesome, too. Though I’ll bet surfing in these waters would freeze your balls and shrink them to the size of marbles.”
“Since I don’t surf, I wouldn’t know.”
“You should’ve tried it while you were in California. You might not have burned out.”
“I didn’t burn out.” Exactly.
“Dude. Don’t lie to your partner. I was just saying.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like saving guys from jumping off a bridge, or showing them images from their future life?” Aiden asked through gritted teeth. As soon as he asked the question, a thought occurred to him. “Can you see the future?”
“Nah. That’s fictional. Or maybe a higher level.” Bodhi swiped a hand through his shaggy surfer hair. “I’m still new at this stuff. Which may be why I’m here.” He turned thoughtful, the way he’d do when they were working out a case. “At first I thought I was here for you. To help you adjust and keep from doing something stupid like eating your gun. But hell, Aiden. What if it’s just me? What if I’m not ready to quit you?”
“Like I’m supposed to have an answer for that?”
“Nah. I was mostly wondering out loud. You’d think, if a guy was going to continue to live in some parallel universe, he’d be set up with some kind of mentor,” he mused. “Like when you’re a rookie cop and you’re partnered with a more experienced officer who teaches you the ropes. Or at least you should be given a handbook after you die. Dead for Dummies.”
