Chief of Police Jack Whittaker had the mother of all headaches. Sitting in his white unmarked patrol car, he rubbed his forehead as he leaned back against the headrest. Whatever was kicking his ass was getting worse, not better. Now his sight was being affected. Fear crawled into his belly and scratched at his insides. Jack glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
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Chief of Police Jack Whittaker had the mother of all headaches. Sitting in his white unmarked patrol car, he rubbed his forehead as he leaned back against the headrest. Whatever was kicking his ass was getting worse, not better. Now his sight was being affected. Fear crawled into his belly and scratched at his insides. Jack glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Deep blue eyes. Deeper lines around them. A touch of gray at his temples.
There was no getting past it—he looked older. Jack blinked, his vision cleared, but the headache pounded on. He opened his glove box, and pulled out a bottle of extra-strength pain relievers, popped two and chased them down with a swig of cold black coffee.
Having them come in and work their shifts had only spread it faster through the ranks. On days like today, he hated his job. Not to mention he had a budget meeting with the mayor this afternoon. He put the cruiser into gear and checked for traffic in his rearview. A car appeared over the hill. His heart kicked up a notch, that familiar rush of the chase grabbing his gut. He waited, watching it eat up the road. As the bright red Miata convertible passed him, its wind trail rocked his car.
The guy had to be doing sixty—maybe sixty-five. In a forty-five. With a growl, Jack flicked on his lights, hit his siren, slammed his foot on the gas and fishtailed onto the road in pursuit.
A large white car with blue and red flashing lights followed him and he heard the wail of a siren. He reached over, picked up his jacket and fished out his wallet. After taking his proof of insurance and the registration papers from the glove box, he sat back and waited, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the wheel. Winston scratched at the door.
He swung open the door and got out. He pulled on the leash and Winston hopped down. A deep, irritated voice came out of the air. Get back in your vehicle. I just need to walk my dog.
This was not happening to him. Jack shook his head and the motion started the pounding again. There was no way in hell he was going to take this crap from some… He stopped, doing a double-take at the young man and his dog.
Jack blinked. The dog, one of those ugly-as-hell bulldogs, waddled down the side of the road. Immense balls swung with every step as he pulled his master after him like a cowboy holding on to a stubborn cow headed for the barn. His ice-blue shirt was western cut but the piping had brown leather fringe. At least, Jack thought it was leather.
Was this guy for real? Jack headed to the car, leaned over the door and picked up the packet of papers. After checking the name, Jack tossed the registration on the seat.
It matched the name on the insurance card, which he added to the pile. He picked up the leather wallet. Soft, supple, it reeked of Italy and money.
He watched the driver approach and come around the car with the dog pulling hard on the leash and growling. Early thirties, five feet ten inches, short black hair and deep brown eyes that stopped Jack in his tracks. He hopped backward as he jerked his arm away from the man and tried to kick the dog off his leg at the same time.
Everyone was growling and everyone had a piece of him. Jack flexed his biceps and pulled the guy into him, his gun pointed at the sky. Jack wanted to kill the son of a bitch right then and there. Then the damned dog. The man let go and stepped away just as the dog shook Jack again, its massive head snapping from side to side.
Jack hopped backward and his arms pinwheeled in the air. He lost his footing, went down on his side, hit his head on the ground, and a new wave of pain erupted as his elbow jammed down on the blacktop. The gun went off. The front tire on the car hissed and flattened. Someone screamed. No one was going to believe this. And shared among all his men for them to laugh at him.
If it were up to him, no one would know about this either. Standing over Jack with the dog in his arms, the man glared down at him. After pulling up his leg, he rolled up his cuff, scrunched down his black sock and examined the bite.
Two puncture wounds just above his ankle leaked blood, his pants were shredded and his dignity was shot to hell. Would it be murder? First degree or manslaughter? How much time would I have to do? I can do anything I fucking want to.
Not good. Jack slapped the handcuffs over his wrists then walked him by the arm over to his patrol car. After he slid behind the wheel, he picked up the radio and took a deep breath. The man had made him so mad Jack had lost his professionalism, kissed goodbye to his control and had cursed. Not cool. For all Jack knew, he could be wanted in three states.
That shirt alone should get the guy arrested. He stole a look at his prisoner, decided it was time to pull himself together and act like the cop he was, put down the mic, and got out of the car. Jack stared at it. Are you joking? Senior, junior, maybe, but the little III behind the name seemed so pretentious.
With his damn dog. I had no idea sheriffs were so funny. No record. No warrants. Jack groaned. Instead, he got out of the car and opened the rear door, then uncuffed Beauregard. And he certainly should not be noticing such things. He nodded, got the dog from his car and led him back to the cruiser. For some reason Jack absolutely did not want to explore, he softened his tone.
Maybe two months. The young man shut the trunk then came back to the patrol car. He placed the luggage on the ground in front of Jack as if he were supposed to stow them away, then he turned and went back to the wounded Miata.
The familiar smell of leather came from the bags, reminding Jack of saddles and tack. At all. Maybe they were borrowed. He pointed to his bags.
EDWARD UNCONDITIONALLY BY LYNN LORENZ PDF
Yojinn It tore me up to watch Edward go through another rejection, and to watch Jack struggle so hard with his fears. Edward is on his way to town to visi Edward Unconditionally is the 3rd book in this series. To view it, click here. Its a comfort read without being too fluffy. They spend most of the book thinking about each other, and fantasizing about each other, yes, but they interact more with seconda 2.
Return to Book Page. At least, not if unconeitionally values his trust fund, and he definitely does. Preview — Edward Unconditionally by Lynn Lorenz. What is more important to Jack? Ratings Guide 5 Star Reviews 4. He has also led a bit of a shallow life of parties and changing jobs, backed up by his trust fund although his mother tightly controls the purse strings. However, I did like it.
EDWARD UNCONDITIONALLY LYNN LORENZ PDF