Concealed Hearts (Hometown Jasper #4) - Nicky James Page 0,14
Lead the way, Chief.” He waved a hand at the doors to the station. “So you finally broke down and set up your new computer? About time.”
“The old one wouldn’t boot up this morning, and don’t bother lecturing me, Matt’s already had a go. I get it. I’m old and out of date.”
“No, your computer was old and out of date.” John clapped a hand on my shoulder. “But you’re still drawing all the attention, ya stud. How’s Belinda? Her lasagna was fantastic, by the way. I’m telling you, teenaged daughter aside, she’d be a keeper. I don’t know why you don’t move on that.”
I chuckled and shook my head. There was no point dodging or avoiding the jabs at my single lifestyle. They’d been happening for years. Instead of answering, I redirected the conversation elsewhere.
“You know, you’re going to have two teenaged daughters at the same time someday.”
“Lord, help me. I’ll never survive.”
Matthew was at the front desk when we got inside. He glanced up, phone pressed to his ear, pen at the ready over a notepad. He covered the receiver and whispered, “You’re good to go, Chief. Let me know if it gives you problems.”
“Thanks.”
He turned his focus back to his phone call.
In my office again, I took a few minutes to orient myself with the new system. I had some reports to fill out and check, so I pulled up the program we’d started using a few months back after moving everything to electronic reporting and away from paper.
I missed paper. It was easier than pecking at a keyboard. Writing out long forms might have slowed the others down, but not me. Before I could pull up the form I required, my cell phone made a noise it had never made before. I tugged it from my pocket and stared at the screen.
A little envelope icon appeared in the upper corner. When I investigated, I understood it meant I’d received a new email.
I rose from my desk and closed my office door before pulling up the email app. It was a response from Tomi. Straight forward and simple. Three words. We should talk. And a phone number. That was it.
I almost laughed out loud. The amount of bravery it had taken to write the first email—never mind the second—was nothing compared to picking up the phone and calling Tomi, especially when it concerned something I’d never whispered about or acknowledged to anyone for over half my life.
I jotted the number down on a small piece of paper and tucked it inside the breast pocket of my uniform. Perhaps later tonight, in the privacy of my home, I could strum up the nerve to make a call. I had no clue what I’d say, but my insides were alight with an excitement I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
This could be the beginning of something I’d only ever dreamed about.
* * *
It was after eight in the evening before I managed to slip away from work and head home. My house sat on the adjacent lot to the old Sullivan mansion on the north end of town. The little cottage had been used as the servants’ house back when the mansion was built over a hundred years ago. It was small but functional for a single guy. The property had been legally divided many years ago. The mansion’s owner was long deceased, and the stately house had wound up town property after a short stint in court way back when I was a child.
The mansion had been classified as condemned and had sat vacant since a house fire had rendered it structurally unsound thirty years ago. There was constant talk at town meetings about whether it should be restored or torn down.
Its fate was endlessly pushed aside since no one could agree. It was a historic landmark, some claimed, and part of the town’s culture, but repairing it would cost a lot of money, and therein was the issue. Who wanted to spend the tens of thousands of dollars it would cost to fix it?
Growing up, the Sullivan mansion had developed a reputation as being haunted. It was nothing more than tall tales invented by bored citizens. Given the fragile nature of the building and its history, young kids and teens couldn’t stay away. We got calls all the time about trespassers or hooligans sneaking in through the boarded-up windows, drinking, smoking pot, or causing more destruction on the property.