Northern Lights Read online

  walking death.

  The way he'd felt in the hospital after Jack, with the pain bubbling up under the drugs, and the awareness of what had happened smearing the path to oblivion.

  But he could function.

  He'd finished the day, locked up. He'd driven back to The Lodge, walked up to his room. He'd spoken

  to people. He couldn't remember what or who, but he knew his mouth had moved, words had come out.

  He'd gone up to his room, locked the door. And sat in the winter black.

  What the hell was he doing here, in this place? This cold, dark, empty place? Was he so obvious, so pathetic, that he'd chosen this town of perpetual winter because it so perfectly mirrored what was inside him?

  What did he possibly expect to prove by coming here, pinning on a badge and pretending he still cared enough to do a job? Hiding, that was all he was doing. Hiding from what he was, what he'd been, what he'd lost. But you couldn't hide from what was with you, every minute of every day, just waiting to leap out and laugh in your face.

  He had the pills, of course. He'd brought them with him. Pills for depression, pills for anxiety. Pills to help him sleep, down deep where the nightmares couldn't follow.

  Pills he'd stopped taking because they made him feel less of who he was than the depression or anxiety or insomnia.

  He couldn't go back, couldn't go forward, so why not sink here? Deeper and deeper, until eventually he couldn't, wouldn't, crawl out of the void anymore. He knew, a part of him knew, he was comfortable there, all settled into the dark and the empty, wallowing in his own misery.

  Hell, he could set up housekeeping there, like one of the crazies living in an empty refrigerator box under a bridge. Life was pretty simple in a cardboard box, and nobody expected you to do anything.

  He thought of the old saw about a tree falling in the woods and twisted it around to suit himself. If he lost his mind in Lunacy, would he ever have had it to lose?

  He hated the part of him that thought that way, the part of him that wanted to live there.

  If he didn't go down, someone would come up. That would be worse. He cursed at the effort it took just to get to his feet. Had those little stirrings inside him, those quick sparks of life been a kind of mocking? Fate's way of showing him what it was to be alive, before it kicked him into the hole again?

  Well, he still had enough anger to crawl out this time, this one more time. He'd get through this night, this last night of the year. And if there was nothing in the next, he sure as hell wasn't any worse off.

  But tonight he was on duty. He closed a hand over the badge he'd yet to take off and knew it was ridiculous that a cheap piece of metal should steady him. But he'd taken even that, and he'd go through the motions.

  The light burned his eyes when he switched it on, and he had to deliberately step away before he gave into the temptation to just turn it off again. Just settle down in the dark again.

  He went into the bath, ran the water cold. Then splashed it on his face to fool himself into believing it washed away the fatigue that snaked around the depression.

  He studied himself in the mirror for a long time, searching for any tells. But he saw an average guy, no worries. A little tired around the eyes, maybe, a little hollow in the cheeks, but nothing major.

  As long as everybody saw the same, that would be enough.

  The noise washed over him when he opened his door. As with the light, he had to force himself to move forward instead of retreating back into his cave.

  He'd given both Otto and Peter the night off. Eat, drink and be merry. They both had friends and family, people to sweep out the old with. Since Nate had been struggling to sweep out the old on his own for months, he didn't see why that should change tonight.

  He carried the lead in his belly down the stairs.

  The music was bright and better than he'd expected. And the place was packed. Tables were rearranged to make dancing room, and the patrons were taking advantage of it. Streamers and balloons festooned the ceiling, and the dress of the people was just as celebratory.

  He saw some of the old-timers in what Peach had described for him as an Alaska tuxedo. They were sturdy work suits, cleaned up for the occasion. Some were worn with bolo ties and, oddly, paper party hats.

  Many of the women had fancied things up with sparkly dresses or skirts, upswept hair, high heels. He saw Hopp, spruced up in a purple cocktail dress dancing—fox-trot, two-step? Nate hadn't a clue—with a slicked-up Harry Miner. Rose sat on a high-backed stool behind the bar, with the man he concluded was her husband, David, standing beside her, gently rubbing the small of her back.

  He saw her laugh at something the receptionist from the clinic said to her. And he saw the way she looked up, met her husband's eyes. He saw the warmth of love beat between them, and he felt cold, felt alone.

  He'd never had a woman look at him like that. Even when he'd been married, the woman he'd thought was his had never looked at him with that open, unrestricted love.

  He looked away from them.

  His eyes scanned the crowd as cop's eyes do—measuring, detailing, filing. It was the sort of thing that kept him apart, and he knew it. It was the sort of thing he couldn't stop doing.

  He saw Ed, and the allegedly snooty Arlene. Mitch of KLUN, with his streaky blond hair in a ponytail, and his arm around a girl who wasn't as pretty as he was. Ken was wearing a Hawaiian lei and having a lively discussion with The Professor, who wore his usual tweed.

  Fellowship, Nate thought. Some of it drunken at this point, but it was still fellowship. And he was Outside.

  He caught a hit of Charlene's perfume, but she followed up on it too fast for him to brace or evade. Curvy female was wrapped around him, warm, glossy lips were sliding silky over his, with a sly hint of tongue. His ass was stroked and squeezed, his bottom lip gently nipped.

  Then Charlene slithered off, smiled sleepily at him. "Happy New Year, Nate. That was just in case I can't get my hands on you at midnight."

  He couldn't quite form a word and was half afraid he might be blushing. He wondered if her obvious, and inappropriate, come-on had pushed embarrassment through the black.

  "Just where have you been hiding?" She laced her arms around his neck. "Party's been in gear more than an hour, and you haven't danced with me."

  "I had . . . things."

  "Work, work, work. Why don't you come play with me?"

  "I need to speak with the mayor." Please, God, help me.

  "Oh, this isn't the time for town politics. It's a party. Come on, dance with me. Then we'll have some champagne."

  "I really need to deal with this." He put his hands on her hips, hoping to nudge her back out of intimacy range, and searched the crowd for Hopp—his savior. His gaze struck, and locked onto Meg's.

  She gave him that slow, two-step smile, and lifted the glass she held in a mock toast.

  Then dancing couples whirled in front of her, and she was gone.

  "I'll take a rain check. I—" He spotted a familiar face, and latched on like a drowning man. "Otto. Charlene wants to dance."

  Before either of them could speak, Nate was beating a fast retreat. He made it to the other side of the room before he risked taking a breath.

  "Funny, you don't look like a coward."

  Meg stepped up beside him. She held two glasses now.

  "Then looks are deceiving. She scares me to death."

  "I won't say Charlene's harmless, because she's anything but. Still, if you don't want her tongue down your throat, you're going to need to say so. Loud, clear, in words of one syllable. Here.

  Got you a drink."

  "I'm on duty."

  She snorted. "I don't think a glass of cheap champagne's going to change that. Hell, Burke. Just about every soul in Lunacy's right here."

  "Got a point." He took the glass, but he didn't drink. He did, however, manage to focus on her. She was wearing a dress. He supposed the technical term was dress for the skin of hot red painted on her.<
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  It showed off that tight, athletic body he'd imagined in ways that might have been illegal in several jurisdictions. She'd left her hair down. Black rain to milk-white shoulders. Sky-high heels the same color as the dress showcased slim, muscular legs.

  She smelled like cool, secret shadows.

  "You look amazing."

  "I clean up good if the occasion warrants it. You, on the other hand, look tired." And wounded, she thought. That's how he'd struck her when she'd seen him come down the stairs. Like a man who knew there in was a huge, gaping wound somewhere on his body, but didn't have the energy to find it.

  "Haven't got the sleep pattern down yet." He sipped the champagne. It tasted like flavored soda water.

  "Did you come down to relax and party or to stand around looking dour and official?"

  "Mostly door two."

  Meg shook her head. "Try the first for a while. See what happens." She reached out, unpinned his badge.

  "Hey."

  "You need a shield, you can pull it out," she said as she tucked it into his front pocket. "Right now, let's dance."

  "I don't know how to do what they're doing out there."

  "That's okay. I'll lead."

  She did just that and made him laugh. It felt rusty in his throat, but lightened some of the weight.

  "Is the band local?"

  "Everybody's local. That's Mindy on the piano. She teaches in the elementary school. Pargo on the guitar. Works in the bank. Chuck's on fiddle. He's a ranger in Denali. A Fed, but Chuck's so affable we pretend he's got a real job. And Big Mike's on drums. He's the cook here. Are you committing all that to memory?"

  "Sorry."

  "I can see you tucking those names and faces into a file in your head."

  "Pays to remember."

  "Sometimes it pays to forget." Her gaze flickered to the right. "I'm being signalled. Max and Carrie Hawbaker. They run The Lunatic, our weekly paper. They've been out of town most of the week. They want an interview with the new chief of police."

  "I thought this was a party."

  "They'll just hunt you down the minute the music stops anyway."

  "Not if you sneak out with me, and we have our own parry elsewhere."

  She shifted, looked straight into his eyes. "I might be interested, if you meant that."

  "Why wouldn't I mean it?"

  "There's the question. I'll ask you sometime."

  She didn't give him much choice as she angled around, waved. She was pulling him along with her, to the edge of the impromptu dance floor. Introductions were made, then she slipped away, leaving him trapped.

  "Really good to meet you." Max gave Nate's hand an enthusiastic shake. "Carrie and I just got back into town, so we haven't had a chance to welcome you. I'm going to want a piece of your time for an interview for The Lunatic!'

  "We'll have to work that out."

  "We could sit out in the lobby now, and—"

  "Not now, Max." Carrie beamed a smile. "No work tonight. But before we get back to the party, I'd like to ask you, Chief Burke, if you'd have any problem with us running a police log in the paper.

  I think it would show the community what you do, how we handle things here. Now that we've got an official police department, we want The Lunatic to document it."

  "You can get that information from Peach."

  Meg wound her way back to the bar, got another glass of champagne before sliding onto a stool where she could watch the dancing while she drank.

  Charlene slid onto the one beside her. "I saw him first."

  Meg kept watching the dancers. "More who he sees, isn't it?"

  "You're only looking at him because I want him."

  "Charlene, if it's got a dick, you want it." Meg tossed back champagne. "And I'm not looking at him, particularly." She smiled into her glass. "Go ahead, make your play. It's no skin off mine."

  "First interesting man who's come along in months." Feeling chatty now, Charlene leaned closer.

  "Do you know, he has breakfast with little Jesse every morning? Isn't that the sweetest thing? And you should've seen the way he handled the Mackies. Plus, he's got mystery." She sighed. "I'm a sucker for a man with mystery."

  "You're a sucker for a man as long as he can still get it up."

  Charlene's mouth twisted in disgust. "Why do you have to be so crude?"

  "You sat down here to let me know you're hoping to fuck the new chief of police. You can put ribbons on it, Charlene, it's still crude. I just leave off the ribbons."

  "You're just like your father."

  "So you always say," Meg murmured as Charlene flounced away.

  Hopp took Charlene's stool. "The two of you would fight about how much rain came down in the last shower."

  "That's a little philosophical for us. What're you drinking?"

  "I was going to get another glass of that lousy champagne."

  "I'll get it." Meg walked around the bar, poured another glass and topped off her own. "She wants to take a nice, greedy bite out of Burke."

  Hopp looked over at Nate, saw he'd managed to escape from the Hawbakers only to be caught by Joe and Lara Wise.

  "Their business."

  "Their business," Meg agreed, and clinked her glass to Hopp's.

  "The fact that he looks to be more interested in taking one out of you isn't going to improve your relationship with your mother."

  "Nope." Meg sipped, considering. "But it should make things exciting for a while." She saw Hopp cast her eyes to heaven and laughed. "I can't help it. I like trouble."

  "He would be." Hopp turned on the stool when she saw Nate being pulled onto the floor again by Charlene. "All that business about still waters, blah blah. Those broody types can be hard to handle."

  "He's about the saddest man I've ever seen. Sadder than that drifter stopped in here a couple of years ago. What was his name? McKinnon. Blew his brains out up in Hawley's cache."

  "And wasn't that a mess? Ignatious might be sad enough to put the barrel of a .45 in his mouth, but he's got too much spine to pull the trigger. Think he's too polite, too."

  "That's what you're banking on?"

  "Yeah. That's what I'm banking on. Well, hell. I'm going to do my last good deed of the year and go save him from Charlene."

  Sad, polite men were anything but her type, Meg told herself. She liked reckless men, careless men.

  Men who didn't expect to stay the night after. You could have a couple drinks with a man like that, tangle up the sheets if the mood struck, then move on.

  No bumps, no bruises.

  A man like Ignatious Burke? A roll with him was bound to be bumpy, and it was bound to leave bruises. Still, it might be worth it.

  In any case, she liked conversations with him, and that couldn't be overvalued in her opinion. She could happily go days, weeks without talking to another human being. So she appreciated