Alex eyed the two empty beer bottles as he crossed the room to open his freezer. “Try this instead.” He set a bottle of Grey Goose and two tall glasses on the table and sat down, pouring a drink for both of them.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve got it bad. Written all over your damned pretty face.”

“She thinks you don’t like her.” Jack downed the vodka.

Alex said nothing.

“I told her you were the strong silent type and not to take it personally. Conversing with women isn’t your strong point.”

Alex still said nothing as he polished off his drink and poured them each another. Jack joined him in companionable silence as he thought about the woman down the hall.

What was he going to do about Lacey? The air sizzled when they were together. When she was near, the hair on his knuckles grew and he fought an overpowering impulse to kick the ass of any man who looked at her.

Not a good sign.

He’d never felt this way about a woman.

Had he morphed into a one-woman man? ’Cause that was the direction his thoughts went every time he was with her. Where was fun Jack? The guy who enjoyed a multitude of first dates and rarely asked for a second.

Now he was tripping over his feet to place himself between a woman and a possible serial killer. Definite brain cell deterioration. The man had killed three men in the last few days, and made it crystal clear that Lacey was in his sights.

Maybe Jack just felt sorry for her.

Yeah. And Osama bin Laden hadn’t been a terrorist.

A subconscious attempt at redeeming himself? Save this woman, erase the memory of the woman he didn’t save? He stared down at his drink, wishing he could pickle his brain in the alcohol. Then maybe he’d forget.

“Weird to see you gooey-eyed over a female. Not the Jack I know.” Alex finished another drink. “You tell her why you’re no longer a cop?” Alex had an uncanny knack for reading his mind.

“No.”

“Wasn’t your fault, man. You gotta get past it.”

Easier said than done. Jack pressed his eyes with the heels of his hands but the ghosts still came.

He’d been on the force only two years when it’d happened. Calvin Trenton had been assigned to partner him as a rookie. The man had bitched and moaned in Jack’s ear, then proceeded to train him to be the best cop he could be.

Jack had admired Cal. The man had a gift with words. He could talk a drunk driver into believing he was doing the cops a favor to let them drive him downtown. Domestic disputes turned into gales of laughter, and scared toddlers clung to his hand. He always knew exactly what to say to put someone at ease.

It’d been a domestic dispute that blew Jack’s life to pieces. The apartment complex had been familiar. Jack and Cal had responded numerous times to the place. But that day, the arguing couple was new to them. Neighbors had called the police, complaining of screaming and fighting.

The couple was Hispanic. Maybe there was a language problem somewhere but Jack and Cal had sworn the couple understood them just fine that awful day.

She was upset. Rosalinda Quintero was twenty-two and hugely pregnant. Bruises of many shades on her face and arms had told Jack that someone close to her liked to hit. And he didn’t think it was her two-year-old daughter. He and Cal had separated the couple outside the apartment. Jack talking to the woman, and Cal working his magic on the husband, Javier.

Javier was shorter than his wife. Small and wiry, with a thin mustache that made him look about nineteen. But the cocky look in his eye had said he believed he was a big man.

Rosalinda admitted Javier had hit her before, but that wasn’t the problem at the moment. It was him “sitting on his lazy ass” watching TV while the toddler screamed and she made dinner. Javier had exploded when she’d hollered at him to take care of their daughter so she could get dinner on the table. The argument had taken root from there. Sprouting into money complaints, dirty shoes on clean floors, and on and on and on.

Rosalinda’s voice grew louder as she complained to Jack. He noticed Javier shooting dirty looks their way as Cal tried to talk some sense into the man. Rosalinda began shouting her grievances at her husband. Jack tried to back her into the apartment to put some more space between the two. Cal’s voice was low and cajoling, trying to lighten the situation, but Javier wasn’t going for it.

Javier cursed long and hard at his wife. Jack had grown pretty good with Spanish in the last two years. but puta was the only word he recognized: whore.

Rosalinda’s face reddened. She slid one hand under her pregnant belly for support and shook her fist at him with the other as she volleyed back her husband’s taunts. Jack nervously watched her bulging stomach, petrified she’d go into labor on the spot.

Neighbors stepped out of their apartments to stare. A couple of the women yelled their support for Rosalinda, pissing Javier off even more. Men shifted from foot to foot, eying the tense scene, occasionally putting in their two cents. The generalized murmur of Spanish and English grew louder. Jack caught Cal’s eye: The situation was escalating and he feared a mob mentality was about to take over.

“I want everyone else back in their apartments! This is between the Quinteros. The rest of you need to leave.” The crowd did not appreciate Cal’s directions.

“He hits her! She’s pregnant and he hits her!” A teenage girl with Jennifer Lopez beauty spoke up and the rest of the women nodded fervently.

“Shut the fuck up!” An older Hispanic male in baggy jeans backhanded the girl, drawing irate shouts from all the women and some of the men. Small groups surged forward, stepping too close for Jack’s comfort. He tried again to steer Rosalinda back into the apartment.