more salt than pepper, but the tension in his features had eased.
“The life here suits me,” Burke confirmed.
“Here you go, Chief.” The blond-haired, college-age waitress set the bill on the table, flashed them each a smile and trotted on to the next customer.
When J.C. reached for his wallet, Burke shook his head and picked up the bill. “The first one’s on me. Let’s go take a tour of the station.”
Less than five minutes later, Burke pulled into a parking space in front of an attractive brick building that sported a row of dormer windows.
“Used to be the fire station,” Burke told him as he set the brake. “Won’t take long to do a walk-through.”
Within fifteen minutes J.C. had met the dispatcher on duty—who also served as telephone operator and receptionist. She was ensconced behind a window that looked into the small lobby. The first floor housed the sergeant’s office, interview rooms, a five-cell lockup and a juvenile holding cell; upstairs was home to the department’s four detectives, a briefing room and a few other staff offices.
At the end of the tour, Burke ushered J.C. into his office. The chief’s desk stood in front of the room’s single window and faced the door, a credenza on the right and a bookcase on the left. Cream-colored walls brightened the space.
“Quite an improvement over your digs in Chicago.” J.C. grinned as he inspected the room.
“No kidding. I not only have walls, I have a window.”
“Yeah.” J.C. strolled over to peruse the view of nearby businesses. “And if you get hungry for sushi, it’s just steps away.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. There’s more to life than greasy burgers and stale donuts. So how’s the cottage?”
“It’s perfect. Thanks for recommending it. How do you know the Shaws?”
“From church. It’s a nice little congregation. You’d be welcome to join us.”
“I’ll probably take you up on that. I need to find a place to worship while I’m here.”
Burke gestured toward the chairs to the left of the door. “Now that you’ve seen the station, any questions?”
“Not yet.”
“How about if I ask a few, then?” Burke closed the door. J.C. had assumed this was coming. To his credit, Burke hadn’t pushed for information when he’d offered him the temporary summer position. But now that J.C. was here, he wasn’t surprised Burke wanted more details. Besides, they’d been friends for more than ten years. His interest would be both professional and personal.
Taking one of the chairs, J.C. leaned forward. His breakfast congealed into a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, and he kept his gaze fixed on his clasped hands. “What do you want to know?”
“Relax, J.C.” Burke sat and crossed an ankle over a knee. “This isn’t an interrogation. It’s one friend lending an ear to another. And just so you know, I called Dennis and Ben. After I offered you the job.”
J.C. jerked his head up. Dennis had been the office supervisor and Ben his street supervisor during his nine-month deep-cover assignment. They knew the details of that fateful night as well as anyone.
“If you talked to them, you know what happened.”
“I’d like to hear your side of it.”
Rising abruptly, J.C. shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and strode back to the window. There were lots of people on the street now. Laughing, smiling, chatting. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
He turned his back on them.
“It was in the report. I’m sure Dennis would give you a copy.”
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
J.C. fisted his hands in his pockets. “And I’d rather not talk about it.”
The chief pursed his lips. “I’m going to assume the required counseling didn’t help a whole lot.”
J.C. snorted in disgust. “She didn’t have a clue about the stresses of undercover work. The isolation. The no-man’s-land existence, pretending to belong one place but cut off from the place you do belong. The strain of putting your life on hold to bring about justice. And that’s when things are going well.” He took a deep breath and let it out as his shoulders slumped. “But after all that effort, all that sacrifice, to watch two of your buddies take bullets because you made a mistake…” His voice turned to gravel, and he gripped the back of Burke’s desk chair.
“According to everything I heard, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I slipped up somewhere. If I hadn’t, Jack and Scott would still be alive. We walked into an ambush, Burke.”
“I heard you came pretty close to getting taken out yourself.” J.C. averted his head. “There are days I wish I had been.” A fresh wave of anguish swept over him, and a muscle in his jaw clenched. “Or that it had been me instead of them. They each left a wife and young children. No one would have missed me.”
In the ensuing silence, J.C.’s words echoed in his mind. If he was in Burke’s shoes, he’d be having serious second thoughts about now. No chief wanted a troubled cop on the force. Traumatized people didn’t think clearly. They were distracted and emotional, and they often overreacted—or underreacted—to stressful situations. In law enforcement, that could be deadly.
Steeling himself, J.C. faced the older man. Although he didn’t detect any doubt, cops were good at hiding their feelings.
“Did I just shoot myself in the foot?”
Burke cocked his head. “Should I be worried?”
“No. I’ll admit I haven’t resolved all my issues. But I’m working on them. That’s why I asked for an extended leave. I knew I needed some time to regroup in a different environment. Since I started as a beat cop, it felt right to go back to those roots. And after all my years undercover, I know how to compartmentalize. I can promise you I won’t let what happened in Chicago compromise my performance here.”
As Burke regarded him, J.C. held his breath. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he was sent packing. But in the twenty-four hours he’d been on Nantucket, he’d sensed that this place held the key to a lot of the questions he’d been unable to answer in Chicago. And he didn’t want to leave.
“Okay, J.C.” Burke stood. “I wouldn’t touch most guys in your situation with a ten-foot pole. What you’ve been through can mess with a person’s mind. But I’ve seen you in a lot of tough situations, and you’ve always been steady under pressure. From what I’ve heard and observed, I don’t have any reason to think that’s changed.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to the Nantucket PD.”
As J.C. returned Burke’s solid clasp, he forced his stiff shoulders to relax. And sent a silent plea to the Lord to stick close.
Because while he was confident his training would kick in should he find himself in a volatile situation, he was counting
