Northern Lights

the law without prejudice and with equality. Proved that much today when he slapped cuffs on Jim Mackie for wrestling around with his brother at The Lodge."
    There were some chuckles over that, and the Mackie brothers, faces battered, grinned from their chairs.
    "Fined us, too," Jim called out.
    "And that's two hundred in the town coffers. Way you two carry on, you'll pay for the new fire truck we're wanting by yourselves. Ignatious Burke comes to us from Baltimore, Maryland, where he served on the Baltimore Police Department for eleven years, eight of those years as detective. We're lucky to have somebody with Chief Burke's qualifications looking after us Lunatics. So put your hands together and welcome our new chief of police."
    As they did, Nate thought: Oh, shit, and pushed himself to his feet. He stepped toward the lectern, his mind as blank as a fresh blackboard. And from the crowd, someone called out, "Cheechako."
    There were murmurs, mutters and a rise of voices poised on argument. The irritation that spiked through him carved away the nerves.
    "That's right, I am. Cheechako. An Outsider. Fresh from the Lower 48."
    The murmurs quieted as he scanned the crowd.
    "Most of what I know about Alaska I got out of a guidebook or off the Internet or from movies. I don't know much more about this town except it's damn cold, the Mackie brothers like to pound each other and you've got a view that'll stop a man's heart in his chest. But I know how to be a cop, and that's why I'm here."
    Used to know, he thought. Used to know how. And his palms went damp.
    He was going to fumble—he could feel it—then his gaze met those glacier blue eyes of the woman in red. Her lips curved, just a little, and her eyes stayed on his as she lifted the silver cup to sip.
    He heard himself speak. Maybe it was just to her. "It's my job to protect and serve this town, and that's what I'll do. Maybe you'll resent me, coming from Outside and telling you what you can't do, but we'll all have to get used to it. I'll do my best. You're the ones who'll decide if that's good enough. That's it."
    There was a sprinkling of applause, then it grew. Nate found his gaze locked with the blue-eyed woman's again. His stomach knotted, unknotted, knotted up again as that top-heavy mouth tipped up at one corner in an odd little smile.
    He heard Hopp adjourn the meeting. Several people surged forward to speak to him, and he lost the woman in the crowd. When he caught sight of her again, it was to see the red parka heading out the back doors.
    "Who was that?" He eased back until he could touch Hopp's arm. "The woman who came in late—red parka, black hair, blue eyes."
    "That would be Meg. Meg Galloway. Charlene's girl."
     
     
    SHE'D WANTED A GOOD LOOK at him, a better look than the one she'd caught the day before when he'd stood in the window looking like the brooding and bitter hero of some gothic novel.
    He was good-looking enough for the part, she decided, but up close he seemed more sad than bitter.
    Too bad really. Bitter was more her style.
    He'd handled himself, she'd give him that. Rolled with the insult— that asshole Bing—said his piece and after a little hitch, moved on.
    She supposed if they had to have a police force poking around Lunacy, they could've done worse. Didn't matter to her, as long as he didn't stick his nose in her business.
    Since she was in town, she decided to run a few errands, load up on supplies.
    She saw the Closed sign on The Corner Store, sighed heavily. Then fished her ring of keys out of her bag. She found the one marked CS, then let herself in.
    Grabbing a couple of boxes, she began to work her way through the aisle. Dry cereal, pasta, eggs, canned goods, toilet paper, flour, sugar. She dumped one box on the counter, filled the second.
    She was hauling over a fifty-pound bag of Dog Chow when the door opened, and Nate walked in.
    "They're closed," Meg huffed out as she set the bag on the floor by the counter.
    "So I see."
    "If you see they're closed, what're you doing in here?"
    "Funny. That was my question."
    "Need stuff." She walked behind the counter, picked out a couple of boxes of ammo to add to her box.
    "Figured that, but generally when people who need stuff take it from a closed store it's called stealing."
    "I've heard that." From under the counter she took a large record book, flipped through. "I bet they arrest people for that down the Lower 48."
    "They do. Regularly."
    "You intend to implement that policy