Bad Boy Blues - Jessica Lemmon

Chapter 1

Brady Hutchins stepped out of the precinct into the perfect eighty-four-degree summer day and breathed in the fresh air. He felt like he’d been in there for an hour, but the meeting with the chief of police had only lasted about twenty minutes.

There hadn’t been much to say. Brady’s probationary time, or as Chief Clarence liked to call it, his “leave” was complete. They both knew that his “leave” was the epitome of bullshit, and that Brady had been made an example, there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it now.

Anyway, it was over. He was permitted to resume his duties beginning tomorrow morning and end two weeks of boredom and pacing. He understood he shouldn’t have lost his temper even if the asshole had practically begged for an introduction to Brady’s knuckles. But, as the chief had reminded him serve and protect included everyone, even the assholes.

The bright side to being off work was that he hadn’t needed to leave Lila on her own. His girl was recovering from her own recent trauma. He’d offered his apartment as a safe haven away from the bad guys, but she’d cried the entire first night she’d stayed in his place anyway.

Honestly, he had no business with Lila given his insane hours. She hadn’t trusted him enough to be consoled, curled into a ball, miserable. Thank God, that hadn’t lasted longer than three nights. She’d kissed him goodbye this morning, which was a good sign she was feeling better.

His grandfather had agreed to keep Lila company while Brady worked. Not that Lila couldn’t stay on her own or take care of herself. The company was good for both her and Gramps.

At the end of the day, Brady was a cop who’d hit a civilian. Even though said civilian was a thrice-offending criminal who manhandled his woman on the regular, it was up to Brady to be the professional. To deescalate the situation rather than ramp it up. He shook off the shadow that crawled over him whenever he thought of that night.

The run-down house outside of the nicer parts of town. The dilapidated porch. The dog tied to a post on a very short rope with no water or food in sight. The yellow light bulb over the porch, casting Mack Browning in a sickly sheen. Mack’s wife June looked worse, her puffy eye growing more and more purple while Brady stood sentinel and vibrated with anger. She’d insisted she wasn’t pressing charges, that Mack hadn’t done anything. Then that abusive piece of shit took a swing at Brady and pop! Brady hit him square in the jaw before he thought better of it. At least he had the self-defense argument or else his “leave” could’ve been “no job.”

Summer might be getting to him.

After Memorial Day, vacationers flocked to Evergreen Cove for lake activities and festivals. As recently as two years ago, Brady’s hometown had felt lux and small, almost quaint by comparison. The tourists had doubled in the last two warm seasons, which meant he and his friends on the force had been running in circles in order to keep everyone safe.

He took his responsibilities seriously, and being off duty for two weeks had seriously fucked with his head. He’d be patrolling the street come tomorrow, thank Christ.

He’d right as many wrongs as the clock would allow.

Evan Downey crossed the street coming from the direction of the post office and gave Brady a chin-nod. Evan had come to the Cove five or six years ago now. He had a beautiful wife and son and had turned his love for tattoos into illustrating children’s books instead. His paintings of superhero farm animals—Mad Cow and Swine Flu, among others—were some of the best artwork Brady’d ever seen.

“What’s up, Hutch?” Evan asked, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“Finally back at it. How’s the family?”

A genuine, happy grin lit Evan’s face. “Lyon’s a teenager. Making me crazy. Charlie’s Charlie, so,” he dipped his voice low, “making me crazy.”

Brady grinned. He was happy for the guy. Evan had lost his wife when his kid was a toddler and moved here to start over. Brady understood starting over. He’d lost his own parents when he wasn’t much older than Lyon.

“Hear you got a dog,” Evan said.

“Evidently.” Brady shrugged.

“Lyon’s been begging for one.” Evan shook his head. “What’d you name him?”

“Her. Lila,” Brady answered. “Gramps calls her Pancake.” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

“I won’t. See you around for the Fourth, yeah?”

“If