Brick excluded, of course. He made it a point to be able to out-work, out-ride, and out-shoot any other officer.

“Morning, chief.” He poured his own mug.

“What did Duncan do this time?” Darlene asked, perusing the pastry selection. She selected a bacon-topped bear claw then offered him the box.

He shook his head, heading for the fridge instead, where his protein shake waited. “Ramped his brand new Polaris into a fence and took out the stop sign on Huron Road.”

“Dang fool is gonna get himself killed one of these days,” she said.

“Anything happen overnight?” Brick asked, taking a hit of coffee.

“Remi’s home.” She glanced down at the protein shake and didn’t bother hiding her shudder.

“I heard. She okay?”

Those green eyes landed on him and held. “Seems to be. Surprised us on the front porch yesterday morning. Got herself a broken arm from some fender bender. Looks tired, but who isn’t this far into winter?”

Brick grunted, swallowing the questions he had.

“That reminds me. Family dinner tonight. Seven o’clock. Be there.” Darlene started for the door. “And don’t bother telling me you’re too busy or you don’t want to intrude.”

Damn it. There went both his best excuses.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Good. Bring bourbon. Gil’s moved on to Manhattans,” she said over her shoulder. “And eat a damn pastry to wash down that shake. A man can only have so much discipline before it’s unhealthy.”

He settled in at his desk, a dented, green metal throwback that he’d grown attached to over the years. While his computer booted up, he downed half of his shake and fired off a text to Darius, knowing full well his partner at the bar wouldn’t be awake for a few hours yet.

Brick: Won’t be in tonight.

It wasn’t his night to work anyway. But he liked checking in. The more in tune he was with the bar, the fewer surprises there were.

Refusing to think about spending an entire evening across the table from Remi, Brick got to work. Wincing at the 10 a.m. slot on the department’s calendar, he logged Duncan’s accident, then perused the afternoon’s welfare checks. Community policing involved more “driving seniors to church on Sunday” tasks than chasing down criminals.

He enjoyed the adrenaline of the high-season with all the challenges one million tourists brought with them. But he preferred the winters when he felt he was doing his part, not just keeping the island safe, but making sure everyone had what they needed.

He plotted out a route for the welfare checks and found nothing pressing in his email inbox. By the time he hit the bottom of his shake, he’d run out of willpower.

With his gaze on the chief’s office, he typed the name he’d been trying his entire adult life to forget into the database and sat back while the engine populated results.

Remington Ford had five traffic violations. Not a surprise.

She’d also been arrested twice.