Dark Blue (South Island PD Book 1) (24 page)

“I guess someone’s got a boyfriend.” Keira’s voice echoed through the admissions office Monday morning.

Belle stayed put in her desk chair, halfway through typing an e-mail.

“Either that, or our mystery visitor has gotten classier…”

Belle paused, swiveling in her chair and leaning back to peer through the glass wall panel beside her door.

Keira stood at the reception desk, eye-to-eye with a bouquet of roses.

Make that an explosion of roses. There had to be two dozen of them, vividly scarlet.

“Belle!” Keira turned toward Belle’s office, meeting her gaze through the glass. “I’d carry them in to you, but I don’t want to risk throwing out my back.”

Belle blinked as realization set in. By the time she rose from her chair, she was torn between flattered surprise and worry.

The roses had to have cost a fortune, and part of her balked at the idea of Jackson spending so much on them. Still, they were beautiful and the gesture was incredibly sweet.

“You know the person who sent these, right?” Keira looked wary.

“I think so.”

Keira nodded. “Good.”

And that was that – she didn’t pry. It just wasn’t her way.

Belle carried the cut glass vase carefully to her office, careful not to bump any of the blossoms on the door frame. She was aware of Zackary watching, but pretended not to be and then shut the door.

Once she was alone, she plucked the little envelope from the plastic prong tucked into the bouquet and broke its seal to find a card that unfolded to reveal a hand-written note.

Belle, Thought these might brighten your Monday. Thinking of you. Love, Jackson

P.S. If your little admirer is watching, do me a favor and parade these by his desk again.

She bit her lip, stifling laughter because Zackary probably
was
still watching her through the glass panel. When the urge faded, she re-read the note, especially the last part.

Love, Jackson

Then and there, she decided those were her two favorite words in the English language. They were a pleasure to read, and she could only imagine how much sweeter they might sound rolling off Jackson’s lips someday.

Until then, she’d treasure the note and those two words scrawled in his handwriting. He must’ve stopped by the florist and filled out the card himself. Maybe he’d even sealed the envelope while leaning over the counter in uniform. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye, and it made her heart beat faster.

* * * * *

Day to day. Hand to mouth. That was how Jackson had lived most of his life, not knowing there was any other way. As he watched a couple walk out of the courthouse on Thursday afternoon, he wondered whether he’d changed.

He pegged them as thirty-ish. The woman wore a knee-length white dress and heels, and the man was in shirtsleeves despite the heat. She had her hair pinned up and was carrying a bouquet of ivory lilies.

Newlyweds. There was no wedding party, no photographer snapping pictures like a paparazzo. But they looked happy.

It made him think as he sat in his car in the lot across the street from the courthouse, waiting for Belle to show up. Specifically, it made him think about how important she’d become to him so quickly.

But that wasn’t quite true, was it? His desire for her had always run deep; it was just that he’d never had the chance to run with it until a couple months ago. Now that he did, he didn’t want to stop.

He spent most of his time thinking about the here and now, a sphere of time that had become synonymous with thoughts of Belle. And when he thought about the future, that carried over – in his mind, she was there.

There was no question of how much of his life he wanted to spend with her or how much of himself he wanted to give her. Whether he died tomorrow or lived to be one hundred, he wanted to spend whatever time he had on this earth with her.

When her car came into view and she pulled up beside him, he cut his engine off and stepped out into the parking lot.

She met him on the sunbaked asphalt, smiling in a white dress.

The sight of her was like a punch to the gut – it took his breath away and left him feeling weak.

It was a sun dress, with crisscrossing straps and a small V of lace at the neckline. Nothing elaborate, and perfect for summer on the island. Still, it made his head spin.

“You look beautiful.” He took her hand, trapping her bare fingers beneath his.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “So, where are we headed first?”

They’d agreed to meet across the street from the courthouse so they could have the exact day he’d planned for them.

“This way.” He maintained his hold on her hand and led her away from the public parking lot, toward the coffee house just a block away. “Figured we’d get a cup of coffee first. I usually stop by this place whenever I have to appear in court – it’s good.”

In front of the café, he stopped holding her hand long enough to open the door for her.

Inside, the small space was so fragrant that its customers might as well have been buried alive in coffee beans. That was one of his favorite things about the place – the smell.

“Get whatever you want,” he said, “but I have to recommend their iced mocha coffees. We’re going for a walk, and one of those would keep you cool.”

“Okay.”

She took his advice, and they both ordered the same thing. Once they were back outside with their drinks, the sun immediately sent condensation rolling down the sides of the plastic cup and over his fingers.

“Where to now?”

“I’m going to share one of the island’s best-kept secrets with you.”

“Oh?” She sipped her mocha and arched a brow.

“Uh-huh. Best sandwiches in South Carolina are up this way, at this little stand on the corner of Roman and Lovell.”

“That’s news to me.”

“Told you – it’s a secret. The police and court house workers have been trying to keep it quiet since the place opened a year ago so that they don’t have to wait in line for too long on their lunch breaks.”

Still, when they arrived, there was a line despite the fact that it was past two o’clock in the afternoon. They waited hand in hand, iced coffees melting.

“Any recommendations?” Belle nodded toward the menu.

“Far be it from me to make your decision for you, but people have fought and died over this place’s Cubanos.”

“Seriously?”

“A couple of my co-workers almost came to blows once over who got the last one when the lieutenant bought lunch for everyone to celebrate our platoon receiving an award from the mayor.”

“Wow, and I thought you all were supposed to be peace officers.”

He shrugged. “It was the last time the lieutenant bought us lunch.”

“Well, you’ve sold me on a Cubano.”

“Good choice.”

Eventually, they walked away with hot Cubanos wrapped in wax paper. There was a park nearby, and they settled on a bench next to overflowing flowerbeds.

“Careful,” he said as she unwrapped her sandwich, “they go a little crazy with the mustard.”

She spread a napkin on her lap, protecting her white dress.

“Iced mochas, Cubanos… You really had your heart set on taming my ire with food, huh?”

“It’d work on me.” He shrugged. “But this is just so you won’t be hungry during the day’s main event. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

* * * * *

Belle rode in the passenger seat of Jackson’s car as he drove to the northeast edge of the island, past the public beach and scattered palmettos, then outcroppings of rock. The island had a wild look here – undeveloped and beautiful. There was an aquarium, and a half mile past that, the South Island Sea Turtle Hospital.

“I haven’t been here since we visited on a field trip when I was in junior high.” She peered out at the building, its siding a pale blue against the darker color of the sea.

Curiosity welled up in her as Jackson pulled into the little lot and parked in a space designated Sponsor.

After they climbed out of the car, he opened the hospital’s front door for her, and a bell jingled.

A woman in a blue polo shirt materialized in the short hallway just past the empty reception desk.

“Hi.” She flashed him a big smile. “You must be Mr. Calder.”

“That’s right.”

She seemed to have been expecting him. “And you’re Belle?”

Belle nodded, taken aback when the woman addressed her by name.

“Nice to meet you, Belle. I’m Antonia. Why don’t I take you back and introduce you to Coral?”

Belle shot Jackson a questioning look, but he merely took her hand and walked down the hall, following the woman in the polo.

She took them into a room where several turtles swam in a huge tank. In a smaller one – a plastic tub, really – was a baby turtle relaxing in a foot of water, its shell about the size of a Frisbee.

“Belle, meet Coral. She’s a juvenile loggerhead. Last fall, she had a run in with a boat. See those lines on her left flipper?”

“Yes.” The appendage was clearly marked with long, thick lines.

“Those scars are all that’s left over from the accident. Her flipper was pretty mangled when she was brought in – a small section was almost completely severed and had to be surgically reattached.”

A pang of pity struck Belle, but Coral looked serene now, lounging in the shallow tank with her dark eyes seemingly watching the humans looking down at her.

“We had to treat her for pneumonia, too. Between the antibiotics and the surgery, she had it rough for a while. Today though, she’s fully rehabilitated and ready to be released.”

“Wow.”

Antonia smiled. “Mr. Calder sponsored her rehabilitation on your behalf: the surgery, her medication and food – everything. We thought you might like to help us release her.”

Belle’s gaze snapped up, locking with Jackson’s.

He flashed her a smile but said nothing.

“Really?” Belle asked.

“You bet. We’re almost ready to go. Before we leave, though…”

She led Belle and Jackson back out of the room and to the waiting area they’d passed through. Above a handful of chairs, the wall was lined with bronze plaques.

“Here’s yours,” the woman said, pointing to one that gleamed near the far right.

Belle stepped closer, her eyes flying over the familiar form of her own name.

Belle Morrissey

Rescuer of: Coral