Gabe frowned. As a kid, he’d actually liked people. As a Navy SEAL too. Then his years in law enforcement had sent his idealism into a nosedive. Too much corruption in the force. Too much hatred from the public he was pledged to protect. Eventually, he realized he was risking his life for the same people who’d break the law a second later. He’d hated how he’d grown cold and calloused.

After a goatfuck of a drug raid, when Gabe’d been shot and his partner killed, Hawk had talked him into joining a mercenary outfit. Gabe’d figured, why not? The LA citizens sure hadn’t appreciated their police. He might as well get paid the big bucks if he was going to risk his life.

But merc work turned out to be ugly. Even worse, after the private military company was sold to investors, the jobs had become questionable. He’d lost the feeling of doing anything worthwhile with his life.

With the inexorable movement of a glacier, ice had finished burying his emotions. Aside from the gap he’d left for his brothers.

He shook his head and caught the bright glint of the badge on his chest. Back in the force again. “You are a dumb son of a bitch, MacNair.”

Fuck, he needed some coffee.

As Gabe walked into the squad room, the door from the receptionist area opened.

The person who entered was male, 5’10”. Short, dark blond hair, light blue eyes, muscular, wearing a khaki shirt, jeans, and tan jacket. And a police badge.

The man frowned, then grinned. “Hey, you must be Gabriel MacNair.” His eyes narrowed at the stars on Gabe’s jacket. “Chief MacNair.”

Gabe nodded. “So it seems.”

Crossing the room, the man held his hand out. “I’m Earl Baumer. Your one and only patrol officer. Welcome to Rescue.” He had a pleasant tenor voice with a strong southern accent.

“Thanks.”

Baumer tried to dominate the handshake.

Not that he could. Mildly irritated, Gabe asked, “When did you get hired?”

“About two weeks ago after the town council approved the budget to reopen the station.” Baumer shrugged.

“I heard it’d been closed for a decade. Why open it again?”

“Eh, with McNally’s Resort open, we’ve got tourists who get upset if there isn’t an officer right there to hold them up. Most of the town council jumped on the increase tourism bandwagon.”

Most, not all? Interesting.

Gabe eyed Baumer. The patrol officer was friendly enough, but was he competent? “Where did you work before?”

“I put in close to ten years in Thibodaux. It’s in Louisiana.” Baumer headed for the coffee pot on a table against the wall.

Ten years should have netted Baumer the rank of sergeant, if not higher. Gabe’d been a lieutenant when he quit the force after eight years. Then again, maybe Baumer didn’t like the god-awful paperwork.