The Feel Good Factor(4)

I knit my brow and tilt my head. “Excuse me?”

“Are we getting a ticket for . . . whatever this is?”

“It’s called lewd behavior, and no, you’re not getting a ticket, because you didn’t cross the line. But when you’re getting too frisky, and there are schoolkids around, you really should consider your whereabouts.”

She sighs gratefully, pressing her palms together. “Thank you. We’ll practice in private from now on. We were just trying to win.”

“Win what? An award for PDA? A trophy for the public affection most likely to result in public copulation? Because that’s not something to aspire to.”

She smiles. “We’re entering a kissing contest.”

Things I’ve never heard of. “And this was practice?”

“Yes. We’re entering in the marathon category. The state record is seven hours. I think we made it to . . .”

I look at my watch. “Thirty-two minutes. Keep up the good work.” I stare at them, adding, “In private.”

“We will.” But she heaves a disappointed sigh then turns to the guy. “That was only thirty minutes. Babe, we need so much more practice.”

He drapes an arm around her. “I know, babe. We’ll keep trying.”

They stand and take off, presumably to suck each other’s faces some more. Call it a lucky guess.





*



At the end of my shift, I return to the police station and check in with the chief, Jeff Jansen, who puts the grizzled in grizzled old dude. He wears gruff like a second coat of paint, but he’s a teddy bear underneath. That’s what Theresa tells me—his wife runs the yarn shop and regularly knits for the man. She made him a fisherman’s sweater for Christmas last year, and he looked adorable when I bumped into them caroling.

“Keating,” he barks from the hallway door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you know that there’s a promotion opening up?”

My ears perk. My mouth waters. “You mean for Slattery’s job?” The patrol sergeant left for Sacramento last month. Rumor has it his spot is going to an outsider.

“That’s the one. I’d like to see you consider it.”

I maintain a straight face. He wants me to consider it? I’d like to be considered for it. “I’d love the opportunity, sir.”

He nods, the expression on his square, sturdy face barely budging. “Good. You’re a go-getter. I appreciate that you take on the traffic-duty shifts. I admire that you did the stint in the K-9 unit recently. You’re always willing to tackle whatever needs to be done, and your reports are top notch. Plus, you’ve done a fine job making the department friendlier, embracing the local community. Keep that up. Like the farmers market stuff you do, and any local fundraisers.”

I smile. That’s easy as pie. “Absolutely. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I love everything about Lucky Falls. I’ve told the local schools I’ll put my hand up if they’d like to do a Dunk-a-Cop booth at the summer festival to raise some money.”

“Perfect. My wife and I are entering the kissing contest for first responders in Whiskey Hollows. It’s held at the Windemere Inn.”

I blink. “You’re doing that?”

“What makes a cop seem friendlier than seeing him or her kiss someone special? It’s perfect for our image. Theresa says a lot of local business owners are entering, but man, would I love to see our precinct win.”

“Good luck, then, with the kissing, sir. Judging from what I saw in the town square, the competition is going to be fierce in the marathon category.”

He winks. “Good thing Theresa and I have been practicing for years.” He shifts gears. “Keep up the good work, Keating.”

I thank him and leave the station, a burst of excitement in my step.

This is the first advancement opportunity that’s opened up in years. A promotion is everything I’ve been working toward. It would mean more money, more seniority, more prestige.

It would mean everything, and I intend to maintain a laser focus on getting that job.





3





Derek





One hour to go, and I’ll have nailed my first week of shifts here in a new job, in a new town.

Yay me.

It’s been busy as hell, which surprised me, but busy impresses the boss man, and that’s what I’m here to do.

Henry Granger strides out from behind the metal desk he calls his office—tucked in the corner of the space EMS shares with the firehouse next door—and parks his big hands on his hips. “Last call of the night, and I’m going to need you to handle it, McBride.”

I stand, rising from the couch. “Yes, sir.”

My partner, Hunter, stands too. “What are the deets?”

Henry scrubs a hand over his jaw, badly in need of a shave. “It won’t be pretty. We’ve got a mighty serious situation.”

“We can handle it,” I say, grabbing my paramedic bag so we can head to the van right away. “Hell, I used to work in the city. It was crazy there on Friday nights.”

Granger shakes his head, the look in his dark eyes saying I haven’t seen anything yet. “Don’t get cocky, McBride.”