beneath the uniform’s matching ball cap. And then, because I’d been modeling for him in our bedroom and he’d always said I was irresistible when I pouted, he’d demonstrated how quickly the entire uniform and everything beneath it could be removed. After that, he’d spent a little more time—
I shook my head, briefly scowled at my reflection and then went to stand unnoticed in the kitchen doorway.
Chad was standing at the stove, singing a Tim McGraw tune off-key. Something about being a real bad boy, but a real good man. He was wearing my red-and-white-gingham chef’s apron over a clean uniform and was keeping time by moving his hips. He should have looked silly. In fact, he looked so sexy it made my body ache.
Briefly, I questioned the wisdom of our open-door policy. But Chad very rarely took advantage of it. Each time, he’d been dangerously exhausted. Or briefly overwhelmed by some horror he’d encountered on the job. Offering each other a safe place to sleep and a sympathetic ear were acts of friendship. A favor that Chad willingly returned.
I’d lost so much already. I didn’t want to lose the precious little bit of our relationship that still remained. That had been ours from childhood.
So maybe it’s time you got your hormones under control, I scolded myself. Obviously, he’s managed it.
I crossed the kitchen and tucked in next to him.
“G’morning,” I murmured.
On the stove, the percolator was chugging away, producing coffee that was stronger and hotter than any mere automatic drip coffeemaker could produce. But before lifting the pot from the burner, I touched Chad’s face, made him hold still long enough for me to get a good look at his injured cheek.
“Good. You changed the bandage.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he retorted, flipping me a quick salute. “Got it wet in the shower, and I didn’t want to get into trouble.”
I reached for the percolator and concentrated on pouring scalding-hot coffee into my mug. Trying not to burn my tongue, I slurped the first sip and kept sipping steadily as I made my way to the round oak table that was tucked into a corner opposite the stove.
“Good coffee,” I said, sighing dramatically. “Thank you.”
Chad laughed, but kept his eyes on the bowlful of eggs he was beating.
“You might be a cop if—” he paused for a beat, then went on “—you wish caffeine was available as an IV drip.”
The game was a familiar one, begun during the months when bed and breakfast were a shared activity. Chad had posted a list he’d found on the Internet to the refrigerator. You Might Be a Cop If… Within a week, the original list became so familiar that we’d begun offering variations. And that, like so many things we shared, evolved into good-natured competition. Unofficial rules dictated that a game period lasted for twenty-four hours and that quips—from the list or our own—had to be situation-appropriate.
“I heard you come in,” I said as I settled down into one of the bentwood chairs. “You must have been exhausted.”
Chad shredded some cheddar cheese into the eggs.
“Exhausted is an understatement,” he said. “When the call from the Fishers came in, I was just minutes away from going off duty for the day.” He grinned suddenly. “You might be a cop if your idea of a good time is a murder at shift change.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, then laughed. Now he was two up on me.
“Yesterday, even before the little girl went missing, the day’d already gone to hell. First thing in the morning, I dealt with a shitload of vandalism complaints.”
As he spoke, Chad threw a handful of finely chopped chives into the bowl. They grew wild in the sunny field that lay between the back of the house and the forest, and Chad was fond enough of their mild, oniony flavor to pick them fresh.
“Some kids in a pickup truck apparently took out most of the mailboxes along Route 3 near Iron Furnace. Probably with a baseball bat. I also got to spend some quality time at the county courthouse, testifying against a shade-tree mechanic who likes fixin’ folks’ cars with stolen parts. His way of keeping the prices down for his customers, he said.”
Chad paused as he dumped the eggs into a pan, then began pushing them around with a wooden spatula as he continued speaking.
“After that, I made some traffic stops, arrested a guy for shoplifting cigarettes at Huck’s and helped out a couple of women who’d locked their keys in