The Truth About Comfort Cove

There was something seriously wrong with her. Her stomach fluttered at a brush of his hand. Or a sound in his voice. In just a matter of hours she’d be taking him home with her and—

“This is it,” the tattooed young man who’d been leading them to one of the school’s two on-campus dining halls turned to say. Simon, in jeans and a UC hoodie, had escorted them at the request of the records clerk, who’d told them that Jack Colton had held a job in the university cafeteria. The clerk had also given them the name and off-campus address of a man who’d once run it.

“Thanks.” Ramsey nodded at the young man who continued on his way. “Let’s have a look inside, shall we?”

The officer who’d served their warrant was gone. Simon was gone. It was just her and Ramsey now.

And Lucy wasn’t focused enough on the case.

“I n point three miles, turn right.” The sterile voice of her GPS system sounded in the closed confines of Lucy’s Buick Rendezvous.

“Not the

best of neighborhoods.” Ramsey spoke from the

passenger seat beside her.

They were on their way to see a man who’d been Jack

Colton’s boss for the short time he’d been at UC. A retired

cafeteria manager, Chester Brown.

“UC isn’t in the best of neighborhoods. I was working a

burglary battery case a couple of years ago and traced the perp

to the University Hospital emergency room. I walk in, trying

to look inconspicuous, you know, so all the people in there not

feeling well don’t get alarmed. Turns out the sick people were

the minority, not me. It seemed like the place was crawling

with cops. That and homeless folks trying to stay warm and

maybe score some painkillers by claiming ailments.” She was rambling. It was better than trying to figure out

whether Ramsey was wearing aftershave or cologne. Trying not to get turned on by the scent he’d brought into her

car with him.

“I’ve been to some hospitals in Boston like that.” “Were you born in Boston?” Not a work question, Hayes.

Stick to the work questions.

“No.”

“In Comfort Cove?”

“No.”

“Turn right,” Bonnie, the name she’d given to the GPS

voice, blurted into the silence.

Lucy turned.