He rubbed his palm over his jaw. “I almost joined the department.”
That piece of news surprised her enough to have her sitting up and reaching for her robe. It figured. They were already ridiculously wrong for each other. Him serving the institution she’d made it a cornerstone of her campaign to displace was about the only thing that could possibly make them a more inappropriate couple. “Almost?”
“I applied shortly after I got out of the SEALs, and got an offer, contingent upon me completing training at the academy in Rochester. Your buddy Trent and I were in the same class.”
And yet he wasn’t a member of the department. She had a hard time imagining he washed out of the police academy. Physically, he could tackle anything. Heck, she owed life and limb to his quick instincts and reflexes. He was up to date on technology and had a solid tactical background thanks to the SEALs. Law enforcement seemed perfect for him. “So, what happened at the academy to change your mind?”
He frowned at the ceiling. “Nothing. I completed my eighteen weeks, no problem. But getting the slot was competitive, and at graduation I overheard some people talking about how I got bumped to the front of the line of candidates because Tom put in a word with the sheriff. I didn’t ask him to do that, and hadn’t realized he’d pulled any strings, but when I asked him, he admitted he had.” He glanced over to her and shrugged. “I decided not to swear in.”
Damn Tom Buchanan and his good-old-boy networking ways. Still, she figured his heart had been in the right place. He’d wanted to help his son. Misguided, sure, but understandable. “Don’t let pride stand in the way of something you want. Maybe Tom opened a door for you, but you still had to walk through. You did work and complete the training. You earned the job.”
“I like the way you think, but unfortunately the logic doesn’t hold. At least one other applicant never got a shot at the academy because he didn’t have a daddy with the juice to get him in the door. I appreciate what Tom was trying to do, and, frankly, I should have suspected something when I got the slot right off the bat—one, because I know my father, and two, because local budgets being what they are, I ought to have realized there was a waiting list of candidates I was magically leapfrogging.”
“But—”
“Relax, sweet Virginia, I’m not brokenhearted over my decision.” He brushed his thumb over the space between her brows, where she knew her consternation always showed. “I earned my place at Annapolis, just like the
rest of my classmates. Nobody opened any doors for me. I earned my slot on my SEAL team. I earned every rank and commendation I ever received. When it comes right down to it, I’m not interested in joining an organization that operates on anything less than talent, effort, and accomplishment. The sheriff’s department doesn’t meet those standards.” He shrugged again, folded his arm behind his head and settled back against the pillow. “It’s not the place for me.”
She admired his standards, but where did they leave him? “Where is the place for you?” The question came out soft, because she knew he was still figuring that out, and the answer might not involve Bluelick. A fact she’d known from the start, but let herself push to the background along with all the other reasons getting involved with him was such a bad idea.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, and she noticed the tension in his jaw and the grim set of his mouth. “I didn’t think much of the way the sheriff’s department operated, but the underlying work appealed to me, and, frankly, I’m good at it. Bigger law enforcement agencies are the ones hiring most regularly right now, so I submitted applications in Atlanta, Cincinnati, and a few other places, but it could be months before I hear anything.”
He looked so…remote. He’d grown up here, had family here, but in a lot of ways, this man was an island. No. Not true. An island, at least, stayed in one place. Shaun could be moving on as soon as a job offer came through. Important new fact to keep in mind, as if she needed another reason why Shaun Buchanan and Virginia Boca did not have a future.
But you have the here and now. She reached over and rested her hand on his chest. His attention immediately shifted to her. He returned the favor, slowly cupping her breast, before moving his hand down her body. Her heart raced as he closed in on one of his favorite destinations.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, closed her eyes, and groaned in anticipation of a Navy SEAL invasion.
His voice reached her ears a moment before the assault commenced. “I think, for the moment, I’m right where I’m needed most.”
Chapter Twelve
Shaun left his Jeep in the circular driveway of his childhood home, next to Justin’s Mustang, and walked into the empty hall. The silence suggested Tom and Brandi weren’t around and Justin was probably bunkered in his room. Fine with him. He had a few minutes to spare before he picked Ginny up at her place, given she’d asked him not to arrive before Ms. Van Hendler left for Bingo night at the senior center. But he wasn’t itching to spend them with any members of his family. That wasn’t why he was here.
The cloak-and-dagger measures Ginny asked of him were beginning to chafe. He wanted to write it off as impatience with the inconvenience, but the truth tipped more toward discontent with her treating their association like some kind of back-alley booty call. Totally out of line, because she’d been upfront about her concerns from the start, and he’d signed up for this, but logic didn’t change the fact that he wanted…hell…he didn’t know. More. Which scared the shit out of him on a number of levels, the most obvious being he didn’t have more to offer. An unemployed ex-SEAL with the wrong last name and no solid plan for his future? Yeah, that would really tempt her.
He held no illusions about what tempted her where he was concerned. Mind-blowing sex, and plenty of it. He might be drifting in a lot of areas of his life, but this was one purpose he could actually fulfill, so he’d maintain the veil of secrecy. You don’t much want to be a topic of conversation in Bluelick either, he reminded himself. Waiting to pick her up until after her neighbor went to Bingo didn’t cost them much in terms of time, and served both their goals.
The delay worked to his benefit, as it turned out, since it gave him enough time to swing by the homestead and select a beverage for their picnic. She liked white wine, and Tom had a nicer selection in his cellar than Boone’s Market offered. He’d left his dad a voicemail assuring him he’d replace whatever he helped himself to on his next trip to Lexington.
He cut through the kitchen, did a quick check of the bottles chilling in the under-cabinet wine fridge and grimaced. Somebody liked lower-shelf Asti Spumanti, and he had no problem picturing Brandi sucking it down while watching TMZ or whatever passed for news in her world.
Back in the hall, he took the door to the basement. Down the stairs, past the main room with the carved, antique pool table his father had taught him to play on, an air-hockey table he didn’t recognize, and a new U-shaped sectional positioned in front of a huge, wall-mounted flat-screen. A bunch of video equipment and gaming consoles blinked from a glass-fronted cabinet beneath the TV. In a far corner sat the old poker table around which Tom had hosted weekly games when Shaun was a kid.
Something suspiciously close to sadness settled in his chest. Tom had financed the perfect family room, and some no-doubt overpriced designer had brought the fantasy to life, but here it sat, dead as a tomb on a Friday night. Back in the day, Tom would have ordered pizza, his mom would have fired up the popcorn machine, and they all would have come down here to watch a movie. No way did the current version of the Buchanan family gather on the pristine, untouched sectional to talk, laugh, and play Xbox. Even sadder, if they did, he’d want no part of it.
He rolled his shoulders to shrug off the depressing thought and headed into the wine cellar. Just a fancy, temperature-controlled closet really, but along with the reds racked against the walls, it boasted a cabinet of hard stuff, and, in a small alcove behind the door, his target. A full-sized wine refrigerator.
He’d just poked his head into the fridge when the door opened behind him. He watched, undetected, as Justin strolled over to the far wall. The teenager produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket and opened the liquor cabinet.
Fucking awesome. Yes, pilfering the parental liquor was a time-honored teenager tradition, but why did it have to happen right at the moment he was pilfering the parental liquor? Shaun waited until the kid had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black in each hand, and then stepped out from the alcove.
“Can I see some ID?”
Justin bobbled one of the bottles, lost his grip, and jumped back as it shattered on the sealed concrete floor.
“Motherfucker!” He put the other bottle on the cabinet and turned to fume at Shaun. “You scared the shit out of me. Look what you made me do.”