Starks' Reality (10 page)

Her hands shook for an hour.

~~**~~**~~

“Chief Starks?” Antonio Hernandez leaned across the desk, hand extended.

Jake rose and shook it. “Good to see you again.”

Hernandez took a seat.

Jake returned to his own chair. “What can I do for you?”

“You’ve probably heard that we’re watching Tran, checking which oyster beds he’s using.”

“
Yes,” Jake said.

“I was approached by a man who said he’s willing to swear, under oath, that he saw Tran taking oysters from the closed area at the north end of the bay Friday morning.”

“Really? Who?”

“A Louis Johnson.”

“Oh.”

Hernandez shifted in his chair. “I take it you don’t think much of his statement.”

“No, not much. In fact, I had to break up a run-in Tran had with the Johnsons Friday afternoon.”

“I see.” Hernandez nodded. “I didn’t have a good feeling abo
ut him. I’m glad I stopped in. I’ll file the statement with a note attached. But I still have to keep an eye on Tran, and I’d like to request the assistance of your department.”

Jake smiled. “We’re not exactly a big department, but, then, we’re also not super busy. I’ll be glad to do what I can.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They rose together and Jake followed the younger man to the office door.

“I better clock out,” Hernandez said. “I’m already on overtime.”

Jake nodded. “I remember those days.”

They shook hands.

Returning to his desk, Jake pulled a folder
forward, opened it, and read,
Reginald Trahan, a.k.a. Skeet Trahan. Convicted of four counts of aggravated assault and one count of aggravated rape. Served twenty years in Angola
.

Angola. Definitely hard time.

~~**~~**~~

By seven, more customers had wandered in than Heather had expected on their first night. Everyone loved the baked redfish, of course, and no one mentioned the oysters.
At least, not to her.

Coop pulled a beer from the bar cooler. “I’m going out for some air.”

“Don’t be gone too long,” she said.

He waved over his shoulder, took a swig from the bottle, and walked out the back door.

An hour later, Starks arrived and took a seat at the bar. “Something smells good.”

“Baked redfish,” she said.

“Is there any left?”

“Yes.”

“May I have some? And a Coke?”

Fighting shaking hands, she filled a glass, put it in front of him, and hurried to the kitchen. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to ask Starks what kind of salad dressing he wanted, but she wasn’t about to go back, so she chose
Bleu Cheese. If he didn’t like it, tough.

He didn’t complain. After cleaning his plate, he paid his bill, said good night as if talking to a stranger, and strolled from the bar.

Her heart still beat wildly as she watched him leave.

Getting back to school would be a relief. If Mrs. Taylor didn’t sue, and the customers continued to show up, she just might be able to do it. And then she wouldn’t have to face Jake Starks again. Or think about him.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. At one, Heather leaned into the kitchen. “We’re closed,” she said to Skeet.

He nodded as he scrubbed a countertop.

She flipped the sign in the window around and wiped the last table.

Skeet waved as he walked out the back door.

“Good night,” Heather called after him.

She
put away the clean glasses and tucked the cash drawer into the safe. The only thing left to do was lock up.

Coop hadn’t come back from his
walk
. More than likely, he’d passed out in bed already. If not, she’d probably find him out back. Why couldn’t he just act like everyone else? It frustrated her that he always seemed to be living in the past. How could anyone let something that had happened forty years ago, no matter how tragic, rule his life?

As Heather reached for the deadbolt on the front door, the door flew open, shoving her hand into her stomach and sending her stumbling backwards.

“Well, now, ain’t this cozy? Where’s your old man?”

CHAPTER 7

H
eather gulped and backed away from Casey Johnson. “We’re closed.”

“No shit?” He slammed the door behind him. “I think I’ll have me a beer anyway.”

She backed all the way to the bar, watching the man sneer. Two large gaps in his front teeth matched the rest of his scraggly, dirty face, and he reeked of motor oil, stale beer, and cigarettes.

Keeping one eye on the intruder, she filled a glass. He pushed his ball cap back and leaned across the bar, leering.

Her entire body shook with fear, but she had to do something. She couldn’t just cower in the corner. Mustering all the strength she could find, she held out the beer. When Casey reached for it, Heather tossed the contents at him.

The man staggered b
ackwards, wiping his face. “You
bitch
!” Snarling, he ran around to the end of the bar.

When he spotted the shotgun, he skidded to a halt, his eyes wide. Beer dripped from his chin and greasy hair.

Heather held the gun hard against her side. “Get out,” she said. “And don’t even think about trying anything. I swear I’ll pull both triggers.”

Casey Johnson backed to the front door, fumbled with the doorknob,
and then backed outside. Heather followed him to the porch.

“Now get in your truck and get the hell—”

Someone grabbed her and spun her in a circle. When she stopped, an arm had locked around her neck and a man stood behind her. He pressed the shotgun barrels against her skull.

“What’s the matter, bro? This little girl get the drop on you?”

Heather cringed at Lou’s foul breath in her face. He walked down the steps, carrying her in front of him.

Casey laughed and shook his head. “
She ain’t got it no more.”

Lou tightened his arm over her windpipe. Heather cl
awed at it, trying to breathe. She tried to kick Lou’s legs, but couldn’t connect.

“I think we got us a real good piece of bait,” Lou said.

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to do first, torch the place, or have a little fun?” Lou pushed his face to hers.

If she could have screamed, she would have, but she couldn’t get any air.

“Let’s have us some fun first,” Casey said, stepping forward.

A distinctive series of clicks rose from the shadows past the porch, accompanied by a voice. “Freeze.”

Lou and Casey stopped and turned.

“Who’s there?” Lou asked.

“Police.” Starks stepped out from the shadows, his eyes narrowed, holding his gun in both hands. “Let go of her.”

Lou pulled Heather up closer. “Now, ain’t this a kick? I think you better drop your gun, or I’m gonna blow her pretty little head off.”

“You’ve got three seconds before I put a thirty-eight slug right between your eyes,” he said, his voice calm and cold. “Then I’m going to d
o the same to your brother. One…two…”

“Wait!” Casey held both hands out. “Lou, he’s gonna shoot.”

“Listen to him, Lou. You’re first, and he’s second. And if you happen to hurt your hostage, I’m going to shoot off your nuts instead. You’ll wish like hell you were dead.” Starks stepped forward. “Three.”

“No! Don’t shoot!” Lou released Heather and stepped back.

She fell forward to her knees, gasping for air.

“Put the shotgun down,” Starks said. “
Now!”

Heather looked up. He stood in front of her, his left hand extended. She took it, and
he pulled her to her feet and around behind him as he walked toward the Johnson boys.

“Hands on the truck, feet apart.”

She watched as he shoved each man forward and kicked their feet into place.

“Heather, are you okay?” He didn’t look back as he spoke, but kept his pistol pointed at the men.

“I think so.”

“Call nine-one-one.”

~~**~~**~~

“I sure wish I’d seen that,” Deputy Sagin said, shaking his head slowly. The man removed his hat, revealing a head full of prematurely gray hair. “Those Johnson boys have caused their share of trouble and then some. We just haven’t been able to pin anything solid on them.”

“Well, you’ve got assault now,” Jake said, leaning against the deputy’s car.

“Looks that way. Is Miss Cooper okay?”

Jake nodded. “I think so. I’ll
get her statement to you tomorrow with mine, if that’s all right.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” He stepped forward and shook hands with the officer.

The two cars pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway with Lou and Casey Johnson cuffed in the back seats. Jake walked slowly up the steps and into Coop’s Place.

Heather stood behind the bar, cleaning something. She didn’t look up, but wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

He sat across the bar from her. “Tell me what happened.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I was locking up when Casey came in. I told him we were closed. He said he wanted a beer anyway, so I poured him one and threw it on him. That gave me time to get the shotgun.”

Jake picked up the shotgun. “I haven’t measured this yet, but I’m pretty sure these barrels are less than eighteen inches.”

“So?”

“So, it’s illegal.
Where did you get it?”

Heather frowned. “It’s been under the bar for years.”

“It belongs to Coop?”

She shrugged. “He owns the bar, but he never touches the shotgun. He hates guns.”

“How long has it been since you’ve cleaned this?”

“
Cleaned it? What do you mean?”

Jake put the shotgun down and shook his head. “What in the hell were you doing pulling a weapon you had no idea how to use?” Anger drove him to his feet.

“I know how to pull the triggers.” Her eyes narrowed.

“You think so? Do you have any idea what would have happened if I hadn’t been out there?”

“Of course I do,” she said, raising her voice. “Don’t you think I know? What do you want me to do?” Tears ran down her cheeks and she visibly shook.

Jake took a deep breath. He wanted to reach across the bar, grab Heather’s arms, and shake some sense into her. “I’ll be back,” he mumbled, as he turned and marched to the men’s room.

Inside, he slapped the wall, then leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. Adrenalin still pumped through his veins. When Lou put the shotgun to Heather’s head, Jake had seen red. It had taken every bit of willpower he’d had not to shoot Lou Johnson even after Heather was safe.

After Jake washed his hands and dried them, he
wadded the paper towel and zinged it at the trashcan.

~~**~~**~~

Heather wiped her eyes on the dishtowel. Damn Starks. She knew she’d nearly died out there, and that he’d rescued her. She didn’t need a scolding on top of it.

He returned from the restroom looking a little calmer. He didn’t stop at the stool, but walked around to the end of the bar and leaned against it, studying her severely.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he said.

He’d
been scared? “It certainly wasn’t on purpose.”

Starks
sighed. “No, I guess it wasn’t. What were you doing here alone?”

“I was closing up.”

“You close up alone?”

“Sometimes.”

“Christ, Heather, don’t you understand how dangerous that is?”

She raised her arms and dropped them, slapping them against her thighs. “Obviously, I know
now
. Just stop…chewing me…out.” She gulped at sobs and wiped tears from her face, refusing to give in to the desire to collapse in a bawling heap.

He closed his eyes for a moment,
and then opened them again and stepped forward. “Heather.”

Somehow, the sudden softness in his voice hastened a new flood of tears. She wiped a counter she couldn’t actually see. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

He stood too cl
ose, confusing her.

Before she realized what she was doing, she fell into his arms, clung to his shoulders, and pressed her face to his chest. He held her without a word or a sound, his body trembling slightly under taut muscles.

When she regained a measure of control, he stepped back. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, picking up the shotgun as they passed the bar.

They didn’t speak as he followed her down the path to her house. At the steps, she stopped and looked back.

Something had changed. With the iciness in his eyes gone, he looked at her as if he really cared. She wanted to say something, but she had no idea what.

“Good night,” he said, his voice warm in the
cool darkness. Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.

~~**~~**~~

Jake wound his way through his house, leaving the sawed-off shotgun on the table and his service revolver on the dresser. His body still shook as he tried not to picture what would have happened if he hadn’t been at Coop’s at the right moment.

Sometime after midnight, he’d given up reading and gone for a walk. His walk
hadn’t been aimless; he had wanted to see Heather. He’d wanted to fill his head with her movements so he could carry her back to his dreams. He had just turned toward home when the Johnsons pulled up.

Lou had worried
him, so Jake had positioned himself to keep an eye on the man. When Heather emerged from the front door carrying the shotgun, his heart had risen into his throat. He had known Lou would grab her and had been too far away to prevent it.

Jake sighed and turned on the shower. He needed to quit thinking about it, and about
her.

God, she felt incredible in his arms
, even when she was crying. What the hell was he going to do now? His defenses had crumbled; she knew he cared.

~~**~~**~~

Heather lay in her bed, listening to the night. Crickets chirped under the house, and wind whistled through open windows.

The memory of Jake’s arms warmed
her from the inside out.

She understood why Lou had backed off. Jake’s eyes had been cold and ruthless as he pointed the gun at them. She knew he would hit Lou, and that he wouldn’t miss, but the sight of a gun barrel
aimed in her direction was something she’d never shake.

She had no doubt now that he’d pulled the trigger before.

Heather frowned at the sound of someone climbing the outside stairs. The door opened and closed. Unsteady footsteps crossed the kitchen and followed the hall. Bedsprings protested as Coop fell into bed.

She glanced at the clock. Three-eighteen? She’d thought Coop was already in bed, and in all the excitement, she’d forgotten to check on him when she came in. He must have passed out somewhere. Thank God he’d made it home safely.

Scolding herself, Heather turned onto her side and squished the pillow into a ball under her head. At the moment, she needed sleep. She’d decide what to do about Jake later.

She smiled into the pillow when she realized she’d started calling Starks by his first name when she thought of him.

“Jake,” she whispered.

The name suited him and caused her belly to tingle as it had when he’d seduced her the night before. What would he do next time they were together, now that the wall between them had crumbled? Or would he rebuild it before he appeared again?

~~**~~**~~

The morning slipped away
before Jake finished the report. After it printed, he would proof it, take it over to Coop’s for Heather’s signature, and then he’d deliver it to the sheriff’s office. He saved the file, hit print, and turned his attention to papers on his desk.

It took three tries to get through the page on top of the stack—an accident report, written too precisely.

Jake frowned as he carried the report into the main office. It was dated Tuesday at four-thirty, and had been signed by Kenny.

“Helen?”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Why did Kenny take this call?”

She took the paper from him, put on her half-moon glasses to study it, and then handed it back as she dropped the glasses to her chest where a silver chain held them in place. “I tried to reach Red on the radio, but didn’t get him. You’d just left, and Kenny was on call. So, I called him.”

“When did Red clock out?”

“I don’t know. I left at five.”

He nodded. “When Red comes in, tell him I want to see him.”

“Sure, Chief.”

Jake didn’t relish the thought of firing Red, but couldn’t deny that the deck was
quickly stacking against the man. Returning to his desk, he thumbed through the rest of the pile of wanted posters and newsletters. Then he took the report off the printer, checked it over, and tucked it into a folder.

“Helen, I’ll be back in an hour or two.
” He grabbed his hat at the door. “I have to run this report up to the sheriff.”