Journey Back to Christmas. Leigh Duncan
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He tapped his chin. He supposed the blame for his current case of the blues fell squarely on his own shoulders. But who could fault him for feeling down when his number one goal was to help people, to make a difference in their lives… and no one needed his assistance? From Mr. Birchdale at the Art Gallery to Tobias Cook, the town’s somewhat eccentric millionaire, everyone in Central Falls had their lives tied up in neat packages, much like the Christmas present that busybody, Mrs. Jones, had just toted out of the china shop.
Not that he wanted to change professions. No. He’d dreamed of becoming a police officer ever since he’d pinned a shiny tin badge on his shirt and strapped a toy gun in a holster around his waist at three years old. He’d pursued that goal by signing up for the military police when he’d enlisted in the Army straight out of high school. Four years as an MP, followed by another four in college, had earned him a position with the police department in his hometown. For the past five years, he’d risen steadily through the ranks. Last fall, he’d been promoted to Training Officer, a position he’d thoroughly enjoyed until three months ago… when Sarah had joined the force.
He guessed she was the other part of his problem. As Training Officer, it had fallen to him to teach her the ins and outs of good police work—to slow down, to assess every situation, to stay safe. A tough enough job with any new recruit. But working with Sarah made that task twice as hard. In order to do his job right, he had to stop seeing her as the little tomboy who’d done her best to outrun, outshoot, outmaneuver him all through their childhood. He had to look at her through fresh eyes. And well, that was nearly impossible when she insisted on treating him the same way she always had. Take right now, for example.
“What’s your favorite?” Sarah posed the question from behind the steering wheel of their squad car.
Jake started. What had she been talking about? Oh, yeah. Sports. “Football. Definitely football.”
“Over baseball?” Sarah’s blond brows rose to incredulous points. Her lips formed a thin line, and she gave her head a shake that sent her long ponytail swaying. “You do not.”
“What? You think you know everything about me?” He swirled the coffee in his Styrofoam cup.
“Yeah, I kinda do.” Sarah shrugged. “I’ve known you your whole life.”
“Okay, you do not know everything there is to know about me.” She might think she understood what drove him, but how could she? He’d never once mentioned how much he wanted to make a difference, to do something worthwhile with his life. There were other things she didn’t know about him, too. For instance, he’d certainly never confessed how much he worried about her when they went out on a call.
Giving her his best smug smile, the one she never saw through, he eyed her over the rim of his cup. “A man needs to keep some things to himself.”
“Oh, so you’re a man of mystery now.” She laughed. “Not!”
“You’ll see.” Folding his arms across his chest, he kept his secrets to himself. With her quick wit and keen intelligence, his partner would make a fine police officer one day. Once she started taking him seriously, that was.
Her expression said she had him all figured out as she squared around to face him. “Besides, Louise tells me anything I want to know.”
Louise never could keep a secret.
“Oh, please, shoot me now. Why?” Jake leaned back against the headrest. The long-suffering sigh he’d practiced until he had it down pat eased through his lips. “Why am I partners with my little sister’s best friend?”
“’Cause you trust me?” Reaching across the squad car, Sarah tapped her fist against his chest.
An unexpected urge to catch her fingers in his stirred within him. He suppressed it and batted her hand away. “Ma’am, hands on your side of the vehicle,” he said, the warning as much a reminder to himself as it was for her.
“And I”—Sarah gave his arm another tap—“make you look good.”
As if! Jake chuckled. “Could you please be a little less bratty when you’re in uniform?”
Sarah tilted her head. Her Cheshire-cat grin offered no promises.
A burst of static rose from the radio mounted under the dash. “Dispatch to 403.”
Jake keyed the mic attached to his uniform collar. “Yeah, 403 here.”
“We have a report of a female on Main Street at Center Road who may need a well-being check. Can you investigate that?”
“Copy that. En route.” He wasted a glance at Sarah, but she’d already moved into action, buckling her seatbelt and stashing her coffee in a cup holder in the smooth, measured movements he’d drilled into her over the past three months. The throaty engine of the 4x4 that could handle even the worst road conditions rumbled as she put the SUV in gear.
In the seat beside her, Jake straightened and peered through the windshield. Maybe this would be it. Maybe this would be the call that gave him a chance to make a difference in Central Falls and restored his Christmas spirit. Moments later, he searched for anything out of place among the happy shoppers who ambled along Main Street. The Jones boy—George, he recalled—leaned against a light pole, his phone pressed against his ear. Nothing unusual there. A pair of boys on skateboards rolled past the squad car. Jake dismissed them. As long as they wore helmets and pads and didn’t mistake Main Street for a race track, the town’s young folk were welcome on the city sidewalks. His focus shifted to a pair of women who faced one another on the other side of the wide thoroughfare. An odd feeling prickled the back of his neck when one of the pair moved farther down the street, a guide dog’s harness in one hand, a white cane in the other. His attention zeroed in on the woman who remained behind.
“There.” He pointed to a young blonde who wore an unfashionable gray coat.
“Her?” Though doubt filled her tone, Sarah pulled to the curb.
“Yeah, the one wringing her hands.” Trusting Sarah to guard his back, Jake stepped from their squad car as soon as the tires stopped rolling. He moved lightly over the packed snow. Braced for action, he positioned himself in front of the slight figure on the sidewalk, shielding his less-experienced partner with his body in case the stranger made any sudden moves. He pitched his voice to catch her attention. “Excuse me, miss.”
He’d always been a detail man. His military training and his time on the force here in Central Falls had helped solidify his focus. Now, he catalogued images. The agitated woman wore a tiny pillbox hat that looked more decorative than functional. Her wool coat appeared to be well-enough made, but it wouldn’t keep her warm if she stayed outside for long. A pair of thin, leather gloves offered scant protection against freezing temperatures. Her shoes—with their heels and decorative stitching—hadn’t been made for traipsing around in the snow, either. His gaze bounced to a wrinkled brow and brightly painted, pursed lips.
Instinct told him she didn’t pose a danger. The look he