Between Love and Duty

With clear disapproval, Duncan said, “He shouldn’t be talking to Tito in Spanish. He needs to improve his English.”

Jane sympathized, but felt compelled to argue. “Spanish is their native language.”

“Which Tito can’t use in school.”

Suddenly tired herself, Jane pushed her half-eaten salad away. “Should I turn around and demand they switch languages so we can understand them?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

She studied him in fascination. “You’re grinding your teeth. That can’t be good for you.”

He quit grinding and clenched instead. Strong muscles flexed in his jaw. Finally he set down his fork. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious to me.”

Jane smiled. “I take it I’m not the first.”

“No.”

“Oh, well. I guess we all need a bad habit.”

His expression relaxed and she thought she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. “What’s yours?”

“Oh, I’m sure I have dozens.” But did she want to admit any of them to Police Captain MacLachlan? “Ice cream.”

One of those fascinating half smiles curved his mouth. “In large quantity?”

“When I’m in a bad mood, a pint of mint chocolate chip makes me feel way better.”

“Since it’s obviously not going to your hips, that doesn’t sound like a bad habit. Only a habit.”

“I suck on my hair.”

He stifled a laugh. She loved what that did to his face. “You what?”

Oh, why had she told him? Resigned, she lifted the hank, a little bit stiff and clumped together, that provided her with comfort. As a kid, it had been the tail end of her braid.

The laugh burst out of him, low and deep. “Now that I have to see.”

“I only do it when I’m by myself,” she said with fraying dignity.

“That’s worse than grinding your teeth.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m, well, soothing myself. It’s like cracking your knuckles or nibbling on your fingernails. It’s a nervous habit. I’m not suppressing an overflow of anger or hostility like you are.” So there.

“If you had my job, you too might have some hostility that needs suppressing.” Apparently unperturbed, he ate hungrily.

A number was called and Tito hopped up.

Duncan laid down his fork and said, “Hey, kid.”

Tito looked embarrassed. “Hola, I mean hi.”

Jane was aware that, behind her, Hector had turned to watch his son.

“Your pizza ready?” Duncan asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” All amusement had left the wintry gray eyes when they apparently met Hector’s over Jane’s shoulder. “I hope ours will be soon. I’m starved.”

The boy shuffled his feet and finally took himself off to fetch the pizza. Duncan kept staring what was plainly a challenge at Tito’s father. Jane let it go on longer than she should have. Finally losing patience, she kicked him, hard, under the table.

“What the…?” He switched the hard stare to her.

She glared at him. “Enough already.”

Tito returned, triumphantly bearing pizza. Jane looked away from Duncan long enough to smile at the twelve-year-old, who smiled shyly in return.

She realized that her number was being called, and slid out of the booth. “Will you behave yourself while I’m gone?” she asked.

Duncan’s look reminded her painfully of ones all too familiar from her childhood, the kind that had once hammered at her self-confidence. Wow. And she’d been glad he was joining her. What had she been thinking?

He’d finished his salad by the time she returned with the pizza and two plates.

She didn’t say a word, only helped herself to a piece and then reached for a napkin from the holder.

After a minute, Duncan said, “Thanks for ordering for both of us.”

“You’re welcome.” But she didn’t mean it.

“My day was lousy because the city council is pushing us for layoffs and because one of two teenagers who were in a car accident last night died this morning.”

“Oh, no.” The morning news had mentioned the accident. A boy who’d barely gotten his license had been taking his fifteen-year-old girlfriend for a drive, even though in Washington State he wasn’t allowed to have minors in the car with him unless an adult was also along. He’d apparently been showing off by speeding. They’d left the road and rolled several times before coming to rest in a large drainage ditch. “The girl?” Jane asked.

Duncan shook his head. “The boy. The girl’s still hanging in there.”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry.” She made a face. “When I have a lousy day, it means my receipts are down or an employee called in sick. Not that someone died.”

Duncan took a bite and didn’t say anything else for a long time. Somehow she knew he intended to, however, so she waited.

“The boy’s mother is a dispatcher. She was at work when…” He stopped.

“Oh, no,” Jane whispered again.

“Oh, yeah.” He sighed. “It really brings it home. You know?”

“I can imagine.”

He told her about how hard the responding officers were taking it, about how the car had been nearly flattened, about calling the boy’s parents himself. And then he talked about the proposed budget and about the maddening inability of city council members to grasp the needs of the police department they took for granted. His voice grew hoarse. Jane ached to reach across the table and take his hand in hers, but she kept hers on her own side of the table.