52

Jack came close to smiling as he drove back out to the old firehouse Tuesday morning. Full, active duty. Finest three words in the English language, he’d ever heard. He got a new service weapon and a new badge, and he swore he’d die before he’d let anyone take them away from him.

Harper was in the hospital with a bullet wound to the shoulder, the poor bastard. A jealous husband had clipped him. The idiot was currently cooling his heels at the county jail. Bing and Jack had taken him in.

The jerkwad was out of circulation and would be out for a long time, but the shooting left the department one man short, which meant Bing had to bring Jack back to active duty.

He’d passed his physical first thing Monday morning, then did whatever he had to so Dr. Beacon would sign the psych release. By noon, he’d been reinstated and was interviewing burglary suspects. He was in charge of that now, officially. And only him. Harper had Joe working with him, but Bing moved Joe

over to looking for a runaw