Vinnie reached over to poke Trevor’s shoulder. “You mean Esmerelda’s still floating?”
Jamie tried to settle back in his chair. At least they were talking about inane things like Trevor’s boat and the big-top theme for Ben and Delia’s nursery. The regular stuff of life instead of the tragic consequences of unfortunate decisions and mental distress that played equal roles in their working lives.
“There’s some speedy service for you,” Vinnie said, as Sarah returned to the table, carrying a tray laden with plates.
“Hope you know we won’t be waiting for you to eat.” Nick stuffed a French fry in his mouth.
“No. Go ahead. Eat while it’s hot.”
Vinnie took a big bite of his hamburger and then spoke with a full mouth. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Jamie laced his fingers together and rested his wrists on the table. At least no one was watching him now. He’d only assumed that the others would make a big deal out of his investigation tonight. Most of them didn’t even know about Mark’s suicide. Didn’t know about the guilt Jamie carried over the things a big brother should have noticed but hadn’t.
No, he couldn’t think about that. Not when his senses were still filled with the pungent scents of a discharged weapon and blood, and the dark images of a crime scene. Not when he needed his coworkers to see that he could shake this off. Needed to believe it himself.
Sarah appeared again, with Ted, one of the owners, trailing behind her. Both carried trays full of food. The other officers ate their meals, their conversations ending or limited to those seated closest to them.
In the cacophony of plates scratching, silverware clinking and ice cubes tinkling, Jamie let his thoughts slip back to that night’s grisly discovery. Then further. Even nine years later, he couldn’t think of his funny, smiling brother without seeing Mark’s lifeless body dangling in the garage.
Regret, the kind that only someone who has known true loss could understand, covered him, filling every crevice with emptiness, hopelessness and damnation. He’d tried to stop reliving the day of Mark’s death, but that night’s events had cued up the scene again.
“I got this out here as soon as I could.”
The soft, feminine voice from behind him startled him from his daze.
Sarah held another tray and indicated the other diners with a shift of her head. “They’re nearly finished.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He wished he had something clever to say, but as usual, he came up empty. Dion beat him to it.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for dessert,” Dion announced. “What kind of pies have you been baking today, Miss Sarah?”
“A bit of chocolate heaven or blueberry rapture?” Vinnie suggested hopefully.
Jamie didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Sarah’s face would be as pink as her uniform. She seemed so uncomfortable whenever anyone mentioned her baking. He wished Ted hadn’t let them in on the secret that she was responsible for all the new pies, cakes and breads on the menu.
She cleared her throat. “We have eclair cake with chocolate ganache and just one piece left of the lemon cake with whipped frosting and—”
“Stop right there,” Nick interrupted. “Sold. Both.”
She bent her head to jot a note. “And for pies, we have apple amaretto, strawberry rhubarb and lemon meringue.”
Several of Jamie’s colleagues placed orders, and a few declined in defense of their waistlines. When she reached him, he shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”
“No, you should,” Trevor said. “Give him his favorite. The apple. On my ticket.”
Jamie didn’t bother arguing. It would be too obvious if he turned down free pie. Even if his slice was Trevor’s second clumsy attempt to comfort him.
“Sorry. I owed him,” Trevor said, as Sarah returned to the kitchen. “And no, I don’t owe any of the rest of you anything.”
When the waitress rested the dessert plate next to his barely touched burger, Jamie could only stare. Whoever had cut the pies must have flunked division in math because that slice made all the other pieces look like slivers. Had Sarah picked up on Trevor’s pity-pie ploy and decided to stuff Jamie in sympathy? He glanced right and left, but the others were too busy inhaling their own desserts to notice his.
From the first bite, Jamie nearly forgot about his awful day and his shaky stomach. He closed his eyes and savored the sweet almond-liquor flavor that counterbalanced the tart apples. The flaky crust melted on his tongue.
“Worth the five extra miles we’re going to have to run, isn’t it?” Trevor said.
“Oh yeah.”
Jamie pushed the burger aside and finished all but the crumbs of the pie. By then, Sarah had returned.
“Great, as always,” Trevor told her as she cleared away their plates.
“Yeah, great,” Jamie echoed.
“Thanks.”
Her voice was soft, but the corners of her mouth lifted.
When she moved to the cash register to print out their bills, Jamie couldn’t help watching her again. She was as oblivious to him as she was to her own beauty. To her effortless allure that always had him catching his breath in her presence. If he believed that the earlier moment between them had been anything more than a product of his imagination, he was smoking stuff stronger than the K2, or synthetic marijuana, he arrested suspects for.
His friends were already pulling on their jackets when Sarah returned to drop off their bills. Jamie glanced down at his. He hoped the pie would be on his ticket instead of Trevor’s, but only the burger and the coffee were listed.
Farther down the page, her signature was the same—that loopy, feminine cursive that contradicted Sarah’s guarded demeanor. But then his fingers brushed a second slip of paper beneath the bill. The azure color of a sticky note was visible through the filmy ticket.
Though she’d probably stuck it there by accident, her grocery list attached where it didn’t belong, Jamie straightened in his seat. What if it was something else, like a call for help? Why would she reach out only to him in a room full of cops? He blew out a breath. He really was losing it tonight if he was coming up with damsel-in-distress theories.
Still, he made sure no one else was watching before he flipped over the bill.
Thanks for everything you do. You’re one of the good ones.
He read the words twice. People didn’t say things like that to cops. Now profanity-laced rants, topped with middle-finger salutes, those messages were more familiar. He studied the note again. No name. And the letters were block-printed. It wasn’t even addressed to him. Or any officer.
So how pitiful was it for a twenty-seven-year-old man to tuck that folded square of paper in his jeans pocket, as if it was a secret note from study hall? Jamie decided not to answer that question as he shrugged into his sweatshirt. At the cash register, Sarah accepted Vinnie’s money and impaled his receipt on that tiny spike as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had, though this time the note in Jamie’s pocket made him wonder.
Sarah caught him watching, and she didn’t look away immediately. He couldn’t have if he’d tried. His pulse pounded so loud in his ears that everyone in the restaurant had to hear it. His palms were as damp as his sweatshirt. With a shy smile, she turned away.
Jamie couldn’t stop blinking. He dug in his pockets for his car keys.
The connection had been as short as the one when he’d first arrived. Shorter. Had it not happened twice, it wouldn’t have seemed