Starks' Reality (12 page)

Heather closed her eyes. The poor children were about to find out that their father was dead. How could she not have thought about them before?

She watched Jake walk out, then poured a little more whiskey in the glass and drank it quickly, cringing at the pain.

~~**~~**~~

A drizzle started to fall as he pulled up to Tran’s place. The small, one-story wood-frame house had been freshly painted, and had a picket fence and roses growing around the front. Huey stood in the doorway, arms stiff at his sides.

Jake took a deep breath before getting out of the car. This was his least favorite part of police work
. Ducking against the rain, he hurried to the porch.

“
Huey.”

The young man’s eyes widened. “You found him?”

Jake nodded.

“Is he…?”

“Yes.” Jake placed his hand on Huey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son, he’s dead.”

Jake followed Huey inside. Four children—two boys and two girls—sat around the living room. They all stopped what they were doing and watched.

Huey turned in the middle of the room to face Jake. “Who found him?”

“I did.”

“Where was he?” Huey wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“He was on the shore, just north of the bay.”

“What happened?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Was he…murdered?”

Jake looked around at the children. “I believe he was,” he said, quietly.

“Do you know who did it?”

“No.”

Huey swallowed hard. “What will happen to my brothers and sisters?”

“Your mother’s not with you?”

“She died four years ago.”

Damn
. That made the whole thing even worse. “The state will probably send someone from Protective Services.”

“They have to stay here,” Huey said, his voice raised in urgency. “I’ll take care of them. It’s what our father wanted.”

Jake’s heart went out to the young man who stood bravely facing what would surely be a difficult future. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

Huey
nodded. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything tonight?”

The young man shook his head.

“We’ll work on getting the boat back tomorrow. If you feel up to it, I could use your help.”

“Yes,” Huey said, “I’ll help.”

Jake nodded
and glanced around the room at the stricken faces. There was nothing he could say to make it better, so he left them to grieve together. He didn’t hurry through the rain, which now came down as more than a drizzle. It washed away some of the misery.

Back at the empty station,
he wrote up his notes and locked them in his desk. Then he picked up the phone and called Tucker.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” Jake said, “it’s me.”

“Ace. Glad you called.”

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me use you and your boat.”

“And make sure I wasn’t still stuck out at the dock, flailing around, waiting for help?”

Jake smiled. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I’m not. Did you find out anything?”

“Not really. But the sheriff’s office took Coop in.”

“Coop? Bill Cooper? They arrested him?”

“Yes.”

“Why in the hell would they do that?”

Jake pressed his fingers to his forehead as he spoke. “A bunch of circumstantial evidence. For one thing, they found blood in his boat.”

“The man fishes. It’s probably fish blood.”

“That’s what I said. Unfortunately, he was convicted of assaulting Tran last year.”

“That was bullshit. No way in hell Coop assaulted Tran. More than likely, it was Boudreaux who threw the punches.”

Jake sighed. “I know.”

“Is Heather okay?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Ace, you
certainly
need to keep a
real
close eye on her.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Oh, touchy, are we?”

Jake shook his head. “I better go.” He looked up as the lights flickered and the building shook with a
jolt of thunder. “Looks like we’ve got a storm moving in.”

“Yep. We haven’t had a good thunderstorm in ages. Listen, why don’t you stop by tomorrow for
dinner?”

“I will if I can. I’ll let you know.”

“Stay dry.”

“You, too.” Jake hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

He couldn’t believe it was already eight o’clock. And he hadn’t eaten a bite all day. His stomach suddenly burned.

In a burst of motion, he jumped up
. He checked the office, locked the door behind him, and hurried into the Trans Am. As he rolled down Main Street, lightning flashed, outlining storefronts in eerie strobes that froze raindrops in midair.

Coop’s Place was dark and closed. Jake stopped at the corner and checked Heather’s house where a kitchen light shone through the front window.

He turned right and drove home.

Dog didn’t even run out to greet him as he dashed through the yard. Inside, he shook
his hands to get the water off and brushed his sleeves. The resulting pool of water darkened the wooden floor.

It didn’t take long to get into dry jeans and a T-shirt. He checked windows and found one on the street side that he could leave open a little without letting rain in. Then he fixed a sandwich and ate it in five bites, washing it down with a glass of milk.

So much for being the chief of police in a small Texas town where nothing ever happened. So far, the tally stood at one death, one murder, three men in jail, with the week not nearly over. This was not what he’d planned.

Jake crossed the living room and stood in front of windows facing the Gulf. Lightning flashed and wind-driven rain pelted rattling panes.

Actually, he hadn’t planned anything, beyond making sure Tucker was okay. Guilt over the shooting still smoldered in his gut, although maybe a little less so now.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

His life had stopped three months earlier. He couldn’t go back to Dallas; he couldn’t live with the nightmares of dead children. But what he’d told Heather was true. He was a cop, and he’d always be one. Funny, maybe he’d stepped in the right direction without knowing it.

Jake glanced
back at the kitchen clock. It was still early enough to check on Heather. He clipped his thirty-eight to his belt, pulled a windbreaker out of the closet, and hurried out to the car. He felt ridiculous driving a tenth of a mile, but rain coming down in buckets precluded a leisurely stroll.

He found Heather’s door unlocked. When she didn’t answer his knock, he walked in.

“Heather?”

“Yes? Who is it?” She leaned into the kitchen, holding the walls of the hall with both hands.

“It’s me. Jake.”

“Oh? It’s Jake?” She stepped forward, stumbling and catching herself on a kitchen chair. “Well, dear Jake,” she said, her speech badly slurred, “what do you want?”

He noted the empty bottle on the table. She’d consumed nearly half of a fifth of whiskey.

“You here to frisk me again?” she asked.

When she tried to walk, her feet got tangled. Jake dove forward and caught her as she fell, pulling her up in front of him. She held his shoulders.

“Oh, you’re right, we should dance.” She rested her head on his chest. “Yes, this is nice
.”

He reached down, and scooped her up. The woman was more solid than he’d realize
d; she wasn’t light.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as she rested her head against his shoulder,

“You’re going to bed.”

“Oh? Do you plan to ravish me, Jake?”

“No, not tonight.” He worked his way down the dark hall, heading for the only room with a light on.

It had to be the right room because it was warm and cozy, and looked like Heather, with beige walls, plain earth-tone curtains, and a big brass bed. Books lined the walls, and photos covered a bulletin board and the edges of a mirror.

“Why not tonight?” she asked.

Jake placed her on the bed and sat beside her. She looked up at him with eyes half closed. He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Because, when I ravish you, you’re going to want to be awake for it.”

She laughed a little. He sat up and pushed her hair back.

“Jake,” she said.

“Yes, Heather.”

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

She was drunk, but the eyes that looked up at him held raw sorrow. The emotion her sorrow produced in him was the desire to protect; he wanted to shield her from the world, no matter how impossible that would be.

Damn, that meant he’d let her closer than he’d intended. But how could he refuse her now?

“Sure.”

Jake took off his windbreaker and weapon, pulled off his boots, and stretched out on his side on the edge of the bed. Heather turned over and he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She fitted herself into the curve of his body.

“Thank you,” she whispered, yawning.

He drew her closer and pressed his lips to the back of her head. She smelled sweet, even with the hint of whiskey clinging to her. He listened to her breathing as it slowed and felt her body relax as she quickly fell asleep.

Cheating just a little, he held her until the arm he was lying on began to ache. Then he climbed out of bed slowly and kissed Heather’s cheek before picking up his thirty-eight, jacket, and boots and tiptoeing from her room. In the kitchen, he stopped to dress.

Good thing she’d finished off the bottle, because he suddenly wanted a drink.

Shaking his head to rid it of the urge, Jake turned off the kitchen light and left, locking the door behind him. He splashed through puddles to get to his car.

The night had turned wild. Trees branches reached for him as he drove home and ran inside. Thunder blasted through his house, echoing off his ribs. Somehow, it all seemed to reflect the nervous energy brewing inside him.

He prepared for bed. Then he turned out the lights, lay on his weight bench in the spare room, and lifted dumbbells from the floor. He pressed them up and eased them down, again and again, as lightning periodically illuminated the textured ceiling, until every muscle in his arms, chest, and back burned.

It didn’t help. He ached for her.

After all he’d been through, how could he be so damned foolish?

~~**~~**~~

Heather jumped up. She stood in the darkness, shivering. Where was she?

Lightning flashed and she realized she stood in her own room with a storm raging outside.

Swaying, she reached out and found her bed. She turned on the lamp and sat on the edge of the bed.

The room was empty.

Had Jake really been there, or had she dreamt that?

She checked the clock. Almost four.

God, her head hurt. When she lay back, the room spun around and around. She closed her eyes and rolled to her side, and worked at holding the world still.

Then she smelled him—just a trace of his scent on her pillowcase. She pressed her face to the pillow and inhaled. Yes, it was definitely Jake.

She smiled, gave in, and let the room spin.

CHAPTER
9

L
ou Johnson stood behind her—she knew it. Yet, as terrified as she was, she couldn’t get her feet to move fast enough to escape. Fog rolled across the ground, tugging at her ankles.

Heather recognized it all as a dream, but the knowledge didn’t help. She couldn’t make herself wake up, and she truly felt the terror.

“Heather.”

Jake.
She heard his voice, but she couldn’t see him. Where was he?

Lou’s feet tapped behind her like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.

“Heather.” Jake’s voice echoed softly in her head and his hands covered her body, holding her back, sending erotic ripples through her fear.

“Heather, wake up.”

“Huh?” She lifted her head from the pillow. Pain pounded through her head.

Jake stood outside her window
, a silhouette glowing yellow. “Open the door,” he said.

She groaned and eased her head back onto the pillow.

He tapped on the glass. “Heather, get up.”

The facts came back slowly, one at a time, until she’d remembered the previous day. She opened her eyes, eased her feet over the side of the bed, and pushed herself into something resembling a standing position. Then, holding on to anything she could reach, she tiptoed down the hall and across the kitchen.

When she opened the door a little, a spear of sunlight ripped through her skull.

“Ooh, God.
” She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut as she backed to the table. Catching the back of a chair, she eased herself onto the padded seat.

“Heather—”

“Shhh,” she pleaded, covering her ears against his trumpeting voice.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Feel bad, huh?”

She started to nod, but quickly realized she shouldn’t. “Yeah.” She opened one eye.

Jake wore a brown uniform she hadn’t seen before.
If she hadn’t been in such pain, she might have examined him more closely. He looked good.

She, on the other hand, must look like
microwaved death.

The c
ups and dishes he crashed together shot pain through her skull at first. Then it all seemed to get a little more bearable as the scent of brewing coffee filled the room.

Jake placed a glass of milk and two aspirins in front of her. Slowly and with great effort, Heather swallowed the pills and drank the milk. By the time she’d completed the chore, he had replaced the milk glass with a mug of coffee.

“Thanks.” Her voice was a sad croak.

He didn’t answer, but sat across from her and sipped coffee.

The world sped up to a more normal pace as she consumed the steaming, liquid caffeine. Holding the mug in both hands, she leaned back in the chair and squinted at Jake.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost eleven.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Eleven? O
’clock? Oh, Jeez, I can’t believe I slept this late.”

He grinned. “Sleeping Beauty wakes.”

“Hey,” she said, “it’s your fault I drank that junk.” She swallowed the burn that rose in her throat at the memory.

“I suggested you have a shot, not a fifth.”

She took another sip of coffee.

“I take it you don’t drink,” he said.

“Not very often. I don’t know how Coop does it.”

He looked down at his mug. “It gets easier as you go along.”

She studied his frown until his eyes snapped up to hers. Pain darkened the blue to a metallic gray.

Feeling like an intruder, Heather looked away.

“I spoke to Deputy Sagin this morning,” he said. “The initial tests on the blood from Coop’s boat show that it’s human, type O. Tran had type O.”

“Don’t most people? Maybe Coop cut himself.”

He shook his head. “Coop is B-positive.”

She looked at Jake. “That doesn’t mean he did it.”

“I know.” He reached over and touched the back of her hand. “I don’t believe he did anything, either. I just wish we knew what happened.”

“What am I going to do?” Panic oozed from her stomach to her chest.

He rose and paced a circle in the kitchen, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m too close. I need someone more distant.”

“Who?”

He stopped. “I need to talk to Tucker.”

Heather stood, holding the table for a moment to regain her balance. “Wait for me,” she said. She
guzzled the rest of her coffee as she hurried down the hall.

~~**~~**~~

Heather emerged from the house wearing jean shorts, a white cotton blouse, tennis shoes, and sunglasses. Her hair was braided, but not as neatly as usual.

Even hung over, she looked fantastic.

She climbed into the front of the squad car without speaking, and Jake slid in behind the wheel. They pulled out of the driveway and started around the bay.

“Thanks for checking on me last night,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

They didn’t speak again during the ride.

Tucker met them at the door with a wave and a smile.

“Come in,” he said. “This is a nice surprise.”

Jake guided Heather in front of him, and dropped his hat and glasses by the door. “You got a few minutes?”

“For you, Ace, I’ve got more than a few. And, hey, the uniform looks spiffy.”

“Gee, thanks.” Tucker knew how much he hated the word
spiffy
.

Tucker laughed as he spun his wheelchair around and rolled into the main room. Heather and Jake followed.

“Two more for lunch?” Lydia stepped out from the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Jake said. “I’m afraid we can’t stay.”

The woman nodded and retraced her steps.

Jake sat in a chair to Tucker’s left and Heather sat on the sofa across from him.

“I need some objective help,” Jake said.

“You? You’re kidding, right?”

He gave his former partner his best cold stare.

“Okay,” Tucker said. “Fire away.”

“I told you last night they hauled Coop in.”

“Yeah, but they’ve cut him loose by now, right?”

“No. The blood in his boat was human, and the same type as Tran’s.”

“Are they running
DNA?”

Jake nodded. “But it takes a while
, as you know.”

Tucker propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “S
tart at the beginning.”

Jake thought back
, trying to decide where the beginning was. “Tran went out night before last to see if he could catch someone seeding the oyster beds with contaminated oysters. He left at eight o’clock, planning to return within a few hours, and he didn’t come back. Coop left the bar at, what?” He looked at Heather.

“Around seven.”

“Then,” Jake continued, “Coop came back at three in the morning. He said he remembered being out at the dock, but that’s it. Yesterday afternoon, his boat was found tied to the main dock instead of in its slip, and there was quite a bit of blood inside. You know where we found Tran.”

Tucker frowned. “Okay, so we know that Coop and Tran were both out near the dock sometime between eight and three in the morning. Have they done the autopsy yet?”

Jake shook his head. “It’s scheduled for this afternoon.”

“What we’re lacking is motive. Why would Coop hurt Tran?”

“He wouldn’t,” Heather said.

Jake glanced at her,
and then returned his attention to Tucker. “He has flashbacks.”

“That’s absurd,” Heather said. “Just because he has bad dreams doesn’t mean he’d hurt anyone.”

“He told me he’s afraid he might make a mistake someday.”

She leaned forward. “But—”

“Heather, flashbacks are more than just bad dreams.” Jake sighed. “You’re back there, in another time. It can be a powerful reality, especially when it’s mixed with booze. Coop said he’s afraid he’ll find himself in the jungle and strike out. His biggest fear is that he’ll hurt you.”

She blanched. “He’d never hurt me.”

“Not on purpose.”

Tucker held up his hands. “Okay, so the only reason we have for Coop is a flashback. What are the other possibilities? Tran was in the bay to see if anyone was messing with the oysters, right?”

Jake nodded.

“
Maybe he interrupted them doing just that. Who would profit from Tran’s misfortune?”

“The Johnsons,” Heather said. “They fish the bay, too, but haven’t been able to make a
living at it because Tran does so well.”

“So, where were the Johnsons?”

Jake sighed. “I traced their steps this morning. They have witnesses to their whereabouts all evening until twenty minutes before they showed up at the bar. It’s not enough time.”

Heather’s hands curled into fists. “Well, someone is lying. That’s all there is to it.”

“Heather—”

She jumped up and marched out to the balcony.

Jake leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “She’s upset.”

“Understan
dably,” Tucker said. “Coop has that little bass boat, right?”

“Yep.”

“Why would it have Tran’s blood in it? It looks like someone killed Tran in or near his own boat. Why else would he have been where we found him? And Coop’s boat is too small to tow Tran’s.”

“True. We flipped Tran’s boat over this morning and hauled it in. It doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong with it.”

Heather returned, stopping behind the sofa. “I just remembered something. Yesterday morning, when Coop got up, he had a cut on the back of his head.”

Jake looked up. “What kind of cut?”

“It was about two inches long. It wasn’t deep, but it was on top of a big lump. I assumed he’d fallen and hit his head.”

“Maybe he did.”

“Or maybe someone else hit him and stole his boat,” she said.

Jake
glanced at Tucker, who nodded. “That would explain why he doesn’t remember what happened.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “or the booze might have erased his memory.”

“No,” Heather said. “He wouldn’t have forgotten the whole night.”

Jake
recalled a few of his own blackouts. “He could have.”

Just thinking about that part of his life put
Jake on edge. He rose. “I need to use your bathroom.”

“Sure,” Tucker said. “Just leave a
buck on the counter.”

~~**~~**~~

Jake strode down the hall and disappeared. Why was he suddenly trying so hard to make Coop look guilty? Heather glanced at Dave Tucker and found him studying her, his expression unreadable.

Skirting the end of the sofa, she sat. “He’s wrong,” she said. “He’s not being fair.”

“If there’s one thing Jake Starks is, it’s fair. With everyone but himself, at least.

“When I met Jake, I was fresh out of the academy. He was one hell of a cop back then. The other guys called him the Blue Knight, because he was always on a crusade of some kind. Man, he was good. He was tough, but cool-headed, and he never backed down. We made more good collars than any other team.”

Tucker sighed. His face darkened, and Heather’s stomach tightened at the knowledge that there were things he wouldn’t say—things about the past she’d likely never hear. And she probably didn’t want to hear them.

“I know it seems like he’s being tough on Coop,” Tucker said, “but he’s just doing what he’s supposed to do. Sometimes, even good people end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t assume anything, no matter how much you want to. Jake’s still a good cop.”

Heather looked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Jake frowned, but not quite as much as before. After perching on the edge of the chair, he glanced at both of them, narrowing his eyes as if trying to decide what he’d interrupted.

“You know,” Dave said, “oysters are a pretty big business out here. There may be other people who would profit from Tran going under.”

“Could be.”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything else.”

“Me either. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing something obvious.” Jake rose, stopped beside the wheelchair, and slapped Tucker’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll do some more digging.”

“Anytime, Ace. I’ll chew on it, too. You know I want to help.”

The two men smiled at each other briefly, and Heather was struck by the deep bond they seemed to share, unlike anything she’d ever seen between two men.

Jake looked at her. “Ready?”

She nodded and rose.

“Hey, watch this guy,” Tucker said, nodding toward Jake. “He’s a devil.”

Heather’s face burned as she walked toward the door. Jake certainly had a devilish side, which only served to heighten the allure.