LITMIR.BIZ

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you tell us about Greywacke Lodge,” Jack asked as the elevator stopped at the first floor.

      Francesca moved through the lobby, catching June’s inquisitive gaze as she circled the desk and led the way down the administrative corridor.

      “What exactly would you like to know?”

      “Who lives here?” The detective cast a meaningful glance around. “Looks like a hotel.”

      Francesca smiled. “Greywacke Lodge is a senior-living community, upscale as far as these communities go. Seniors come to enjoy their retirement years in comfort and convenience, and we provide long-term housing and a level of assistance tailored to their individual needs.”

      She filled them in on the stats of the property and the lodge’s mission to provide a healthy, successful environment. Residents were kept active under the supervision of medical, lifestyle and activities’ coordinators. The calendar was so full that Francesca had to check it daily to keep up.

      “When independent living is no longer a viable option,” she explained, “we also provide assisted living in a nursing center nearby. It’s staffed to meet the more demanding needs of aging and provides rehabilitative services for our residents recovering from hospital stays.”

      Detective Tanner took notes as they strolled toward her office, but Jack gave her his undivided attention. The man had a knack for making it seem as if he was hanging on to her every word. A knack that must serve him as well in local politics as it had way back when every high school teacher and coach had adored him. Was he still Bluestone Mountain’s golden boy? She wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he was.

      Striding through the reception area outside her office, Francesca instructed her administrative assistant to make copies of the missing wallet reports. Then she ushered the men into her office and offered them seats.

      “The copies won’t take long,” she said.

      “Thank you.” Jack smiled, nothing more than a courteous response, but somehow one polite smile reflected charm that could be wielded like a weapon.

      Detective Tanner set his notepad on her desk. “Who owns this place?”

      “There is no one owner,” she explained, grateful for an excuse to look away from Jack. Honestly, she might have been seventeen again. “It’s the product of a collaborative partnership of companies that specialize in senior living.”

      “Their names?” Poising his pen above the notebook, he waited.

      Francesca wondered if this was some sort of test. This information was a matter of public record. “Lakeland Developers, University Realty Associates, Northstar Management and Rockport Investment Banking.”

      “And you’re with the management company?”

      She nodded. “Northstar Management. We staff over two dozen properties around the country.”

      The intercom beeped. “That’ll be the copies, gentlemen.”

      Jack rose, the sleek gray lines of his suit enhancing the athleticism of the motion. Francesca wondered if the high school football star still played. Was he a coach for his kids? Did he even have kids? Just the thought of this gorgeous man reproducing with the bullying bitch he’d once dated was enough to make Francesca twitch.

      “We appreciate your help, Ms. Raffa.” Jack extended his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

      Francesca had been helpful. She’d given a lot more information than she’d gotten in return. Now it was his turn to repay the favor. “What can I tell the Hickmans, Chief Sloan? They’ll be worried, and the captain really doesn’t need any stress right now.”

      “Why’s that?” he asked.

      “Heart trouble. He spent some time in our nursing center after a hospital stay. He wasn’t home long before he misplaced his wallet.”

      “Tell them not to worry. If there’s a problem we’ll advise them on how to proceed.”

      Not exactly what she was hoping for, but it wasn’t her place to push. She’d leave that to the Hickmans’ daughter. So she ushered the men from her office, picked up the copies from Yvette before escorting them back to the lobby.

      They exchanged polite goodbyes. Francesca waited while they got into an unmarked car. As Jack slipped into the passenger side, he glanced over his shoulder and caught her gaze. And smiled that smile.

      Then he slid into the car. The door closed behind him, and the tinted windows shielded him from view. He could be staring right at her for all she knew, so Francesca stood her ground until the car pulled away, refused to give a man with law-enforcement vision the slightest indication that her heart was pounding double-time.

      Honestly.

      “Never a dull moment around here,” June commented drily when Francesca finally returned to the lobby.

      “That’s the truth.” She shrugged off the cold. “Now it’s time to get back to work.”

      But as she strode toward her office, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. Police chief? She’d have pegged him for a world-class surgeon or a high-powered attorney or some other similarly affluent career. He’d been A-list back in high school. His future had looked like the land of opportunity from where Francesca had been standing.

      Then again, when she remembered the way he’d listened to her talk about the lodge, she wasn’t surprised he’d gone into a career that relied heavily on his people skills. Even she, in the seventh circle of social hell, hadn’t missed out on the whole Jack Sloan mystique. How such a guy had been involved with Karan Kowalski…Francesca shook off the thought, determined not to let the past impact her present. No one knew better than she did that people grew and changed. For all she knew, Jack could be married to Karan now and have six kids. But he hadn’t been wearing a wedding band.

      Which meant exactly nothing, she thought stubbornly. Her ex-husband, Nicky, had taken off his ring when it had suited him, as she’d learned too late.

      Jeez. What was it about a charming man that melted her from the inside out? One might think her years with Nicky Raffa would have made her immune. Apparently not.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN hours ago, but Jack was only now getting around to a workout. Not his preference, but it beat missing one for the third day in a row. He’d just left the office, which was late even for him, and he was no slouch when it came to long days. All the law-enforcement agencies in the area worked closely with the sheriff and the state troopers to keep the Catskills safe. Since crime happened around the clock, Jack had to be available the same.

      But he enjoyed his job. The flexibility. And the surprises. No two days were ever alike. Every time he walked through the door or his cell phone rang, some new challenge forced him to juggle commitments with crises in the inadequate amount of time available.

      Who’d come up with a twenty-four-hour day, anyway?

      Left to Jack, he’d have added at least six more hours—enough for some decent shut-eye.

      He wiped the sweat from his neck before moving to the bench for some barbell curls. One nice part of a night-time workout was that he practically had the gym to himself. No waiting for equipment, which was exactly why Tom Censullo, the owner of Pit Bull Gym, kept the place open 24/7. For some diehards, workouts were like crime.

      “You do know that normal people are at home watching the news right now?” The familiar, but unexpected voice broke into Jack’s thoughts.

      Surprised, he glanced in the direction of the sound to find his dad heading toward him. “You’re telling me you’re not normal?”

      His dad tossed a towel on a nearby bench. “That’s news?”

      “Maybe not.”

      Shrugging, his dad propped a water bottle against

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