Scandalous Mistress: Double Take / Captivate Me / My Double Life

Nice. Very nice.

“So, how long have you lived on Wild Boar?” she asked.

“A few months.”

“And how’s island life?”

He considered it, mentally comparing the insanely quiet nights he’d spent on Wild Boar to the lifetime of noise, energy, grime and vibrancy in Chicago.

“It’s...different.”

“Obviously you’re getting to know people if they’re already gossiping to you about the new substitute teacher.”

“Maybe. It could also be because we’re two new unmarried people and they’re trying to set us up.”

Her mouth fell open. “They’re what?”

“Apparently your friend—the one you’re substituting for—has let it be known that you are single and available.”

“Remind me to smack her, would you?”

“You bet.”

She licked her lips. “So you’re single, too?”

He noticed she didn’t add and available, maybe because she didn’t want to sound interested, though he could tell she was. Oh, she might not be looking at him, instead taking every chance she had to study her gloved hands, but he recognized desire when he saw it. During those few moments when she’d landed hard against him, heat had flared between them, instinctive and powerful.

“I’m very single,” he admitted, not sure why he’d emphasized it. After all, he should be backing away from flirtation or even the tiniest hint of romantic interest. He had no business indulging in either right now.

“And everybody is aware you’re single?”

“Yep. Just like they know your relationship status. Or lack thereof.”

“I can’t believe Callie told everyone that.”

“Well, to be fair, I suspect she told one person and the other eighteen-hundred residents found out by osmosis.”

Because that’s how news traveled in a small town. When he’d come to Wild Boar for his job interview, he certainly hadn’t gone around saying he was unattached. By the time he’d moved there to start the job, however, it had been common knowledge to every person he met.

Of all the things he disliked about his new life, the utter lack of privacy ranked number one. In fact, he hated feeling as if he lived under a microscope, and wasn’t about to give the gossipers any more ammunition if he could possibly help it. He needed to keep his life quiet, sedate and boring. Meaning no leaping off ferries to save gorgeous, impetuous redheads. So she’d better not jump.

“You’re an expert on osmosis, huh? Why aren’t you the substitute science teacher?”

He chuckled. “I have a rough idea of what the word means, but ask me to explain the difference between oxygen and iron and I’m in deep trouble.”

“One you breathe and one you make stuff out of.”

Another chuckle. “My point is, you’re not getting off so easily.”

She nodded slowly, and he couldn’t tell if she was relieved by that, or bothered by it.

“And if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone in the gossip pool. I’m treading water right there with you.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the waves. “Could we please use another analogy?”

Damn, he enjoyed her wit. “Okay, let’s say I’m just as big a grape dangling from that huge, gossipy vine. Every day since I arrived, I’ve had cakes, cookies and casseroles brought to my doorstep by the population of single women on the island, ranging in age from eighteen to eighty.”

“Has it worked?”

“I haven’t taken the bait yet.”

Her cheeks puffed out as she feigned sickness. “No fish references, either, please.”

“Fish aren’t the only ones who eat bait.”

“But single men often do. Have you? Eaten the food, I mean? There could be secret love potions hidden inside.”

“That’s possible. There’s one widow, Mrs. Cranston—gotta be seventy if she’s a day—who makes the best lemon meringue pie I’ve ever tasted. I might propose to her even without the love potion.”

They laughed together, both of them distracted, for a little while, anyway, from the misery of their journey.

“I wonder what they’ll bring me. I don’t suppose I’ll be inundated with cakes and pies from the single men.”

“Maybe you’ll get cans of baked beans. Or motor oil.”

“Small-town hell. Check.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it hell. More like a really claustrophobic closet in the middle of an island.”

“With eighteen-hundred people in it.”

“Exactly.” And didn’t that sound appealing?

You decided to come here. You wanted a total do-over.

Yeah. Right. He had.

He’d been the one who wanted a change, the one so anxious to get out of Chicago—to escape from the darkness, the blood, the anger and the nonstop violence. It had been nobody’s choice but his own to quit his job of eight years with the Chicago P.D., to leave his upwardly mobile career as a detective.

He’d seen the ad for a Chief of Police of Tiny Island, Nowhere, and jumped on it, not really sure what he wanted or where he was going, just sure that after near misses with at least three bullets and a direct hit with a switchblade, he had to get away for his own sanity. And for his parents’, who’d pleaded with him to find another—safer—career.

Of course, they hadn’t intended for it to be so far away from them. He wasn’t sure if they’d call Wild Boar an improvement, considering he was the first Santori of his generation to actually move out of Illinois. But considering his parents had their first grandbaby to look forward to, courtesy of his brother Leo and his new wife, he supposed he wasn’t on their minds 24/7.

Besides, he couldn’t say if this would be a long-term change or not. He was well into his probationary period, having agreed to stay on the job for a minimum of six months. At the end of that time, either he, or the island’s authorities, could make a change, no harm, no foul. No matter how often he’d wondered if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, he would keep his word on that. He’d see how he felt at the end of the six months, and then make some decisions for his future.

Mike wanted it to work out. He couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the Chicago P.D. An optimist like him could only stick it out for so long in a job where he couldn’t make a difference before it became agony to go to work every day. Maybe on Wild Boar he wasn’t saving lives, but he made a difference in little ways. In Chicago, the only life he’d managed to save was his own, and that had been a struggle every Goddamn day of the week.

His spirit had been crushed by it. Day after day he’d seen the same brutal crimes, the same utter disregard for other people’s lives and property, the same hopelessness and despair. It had become an agony to go to work every day.