Night Whispers (Second Opportunities 3)

This time, his taunt embarrassed and irritated her because several people who were walking by heard what he said and because Caruso smirked at her. She waited until they were a few paces away; then she called out cheerfully, "Try the chili! Everyone says it's great." She remembered what Sara had said about the challenge of hot chili to men, and although Sara's notion had seemed completely inane at the time, Sara was an unquestioned authority on men and male behavior. "You'd better stay away from it if you can't handle jalapeño peppers, though!" she added, raising her voice a little to reach them.

The two men turned long enough to give her identical smirks of confident male superiority; then they headed directly for Pete Salinas's chili stand.

Sloan bent her head to hide her smile and began straightening up the stacks of brochures on neighborhood-watch groups, civil service employment opportunities, and on the new self-defense classes for women being taught at city hall.

Beside her, Jess Jessup watched Ingersoll and Caruso until they vanished into the crowd. "What a perfect pair. Ingersoll's an egotist and Caruso is a sycophant."

Privately Sloan agreed with him, but she automatically chose to soothe a difficult situation rather than make it more inflammatory. "Ingersoll's a good cop, though. You have to give him credit for that."

"You're a damned good cop and he doesn't give you any credit," Jess countered.

"He doesn't give anyone any credit," Sloan pointed out, refusing to let the discussion threaten the relaxed mood of the balmy afternoon.

"Unless he happens to like them," Jess argued irritably.

Sloan shot him an irrepressible grin. "Who does he like?"

Jess thought for a moment; then he chuckled. "No one," he admitted. "He doesn't like anyone."

They lapsed into comfortable silence, watching the crowd, returning friendly nods and smiles from people they knew or who knew them or who simply walked by. It began to amuse Sloan that several women had walked by more than once and that their smiles were becoming increasingly blatant and aimed directly at Jess.

It amused her, but it didn't surprise her. Jess Jessup had that effect on women no matter what he was wearing, but when he was in uniform, he looked as if he belonged in a Hollywood film, playing the part of the handsome, tough, charismatic cop. He had curly black hair, a flashing smile, a scar above his eyebrow that gave him a dangerous, rakish look, and a thoroughly incongruous dimple in one cheek that could soften his features to boyishness.

He'd come to Bell Harbor a year ago, after spending seven years in Miami with the Dade County Police Department. Fed up with big city crime and big city traffic, he'd tossed a sleeping bag and change of clothes into his Jeep one weekend and driven north from Miami. With no particular destination in mind except a pretty stretch of beach, he found himself in Bell Harbor. After two days, he'd decided the little city was truly "home."

He applied for a position on Bell Harbor's police force and unhesitatingly left Miami behind, along with the seniority and pension he'd earned while he was there. Competent, witty, and energetic, he was nearly as popular with his colleagues on Bell Harbor's police force as he was with the city's female population.

Everyone at the department teased him about the increased number of emergency calls from "damsels in distress" that inevitably came in from his particular patrol area. The duty roster changed every three months, and wherever Jess's new assignment placed him, it was inevitable that the calls from ladies would begin to increase.

Everyone, from the secretaries to the desk sergeants, teased him about his attractiveness to women, and to his credit, he showed neither annoyance nor vanity. If it hadn't been for the fact that the women Jess dated were all tall, willowy, and beautiful, Sloan would have believed he was oblivious to looks, his own or anyone else's.

At the moment, a redhead and two of her friends had concluded a brief huddle and were now heading straight toward their table. Sloan saw them and so did Jess. "Your fan club approaches," she joked. "They've worked out a plan."

To her amusement, Jess actually tried to deter them by turning his head away from them and toward Sara's tent. "It looks like Sara has a customer," he said with unnecessary intensity, peering at that tent. "Isn't that Mrs. Peale with her? I should probably go over there and say hello."

"Nice try," Sloan teased. "But if you stand up and leave, they'll either follow you or wait for you. They have that glazed, determined look that women get when you're around."

"You don't," he said irritably, startling Sloan and then making her laugh.

All three women were in their late twenties, attractive, with sleek, tanned bodies that were so perfect and voluptuous that Sloan was struck with admiration. The redhead was the spokesperson for the group, and her first words made it obvious they already knew Jess. "Hi, Jess. We decided you looked lonely over here."

"Really?" he said with a noncommittal smile.

At closer range, it was apparent that they were all wearing a lot of makeup, and Sloan mentally adjusted their ages to early thirties.

"Really," the redhead said brightly, giving him a long, intense look that would have made Sloan blush if she'd tried it. When he didn't seem to react to the invitation in her gaze, she tried a more practical tack. "It's such a relief to know you're the one on patrol in our neighborhood now."

"Why is that?" he asked with a smiling perversity that Sloan had seen him use to discourage women before.

All three women looked startled but undiscouraged. "There's a crazy man on the loose," one of them reminded him unnecessarily, referring to the wave of burglaries that had left several elderly women savagely beaten and near death in their homes.

"Women in this town are terrified, particularly single women!" the redhead put in. "And especially at night," she added, increasing the wattage of her gaze.

Jess smiled suddenly, acknowledging the message she was sending. "I can solve that for you," he said, his tone heavy with promise.

"You can?"

"I can." He turned abruptly to Sloan, forcing her from her comfortable position of amused observer to unwilling participant "Would you hand me that clipboard and three of those brochures?" he said. Sloan did as he asked, and he gave a brochure to each of the three women; then he handed the redhead the clipboard. "Just put your names on that list."

They were all so willing to do anything he asked that they wrote their names and phone numbers on the list without question.