Starks' Reality (9 page)

Her body stilled.

His hand moved up to her belly. As he released his hold, her legs took over, shaky but accepting the weight.

He pressed his mouth to her ear and stepped back. “Hands on the wall,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky.

She uncurled her fingers, pressed her palms to the wall, and straightened her trembling arms.

His searing palms slid around her sides and were gone.

Heather listened to his footsteps as she collapsed against the wall. She turned and watched him walk out without looking back.

Her body tingled and her heart raced.
             

Maybe she
wasn’t
ready for his world.

~~**~~**~~

Jake pulled the squad car into the parking lot at Coop’s. It was only noon, but he could barely keep his eyes open and his nerves were raw. He’d spent all night staring at the damn ceiling.

After leaving Heather’s house, it hadn’t taken long to relieve the obvious pressure that holding her had caused, especially with her scent so fresh on his hands. But a pressure seemed to be building in his soul that he couldn’t so easily alleviated.

He knew Coop was right; he needed to leave Heather alone. She deserved to be courted by men who took her to movies and bought her flowers. He had no right to take those things away from her just because he wanted her.

God, he
really
wanted her.

Yet, as soon as he’d made the decision to stay away from her, he’d found himself thinking about all that could have been. He
’d thought about her face as she slept in his bed, her warm body against his, her smile in the morning over coffee, her arms holding their nursing child. It had shocked him to realize just how oddly strong his feelings for her were.

He watched Heather walk out the front door of Coop’s Place, sweeping sand across the threshold, and he grinned at the memory of her orgasm.

But the joy faded as he realized he’d made a gigantic mistake. What the hell had he been thinking? One of them would get hurt. Or both of them.

He took a deep breath and blew it out quickly,
and then climbed out of the car, the desire firmly hidden.

She started toward him with a smile that faded as she studied his face.

“Good afternoon.” He kept his voice even and businesslike.

“Good…
afternoon.” She looked stricken.

He nearly buckled and reached for her, but he had to be strong
, for both of them. “Any news from Yarro?”

“Yes. We’re opening the kitchen now.”

“What about the oysters?”

She led the way to the bar, withdrew a piece of paper from behind it, and dropped it on the counter in front of him.

Jake read the form. “Ten percent of one-hundred and forty-five point four kilograms of mollusk shells were tested for the presence of bacteria. Fifteen percent of the shells tested were found positive for—” He frowned at the names he couldn’t begin to pronounce. “What does this mean?”

“It could mean that some of the oysters were taken from an area contaminated with human waste.” She snatched the paper away and tucked it behind the bar
. Then she looked at him. “Do you want something?”

“Coffee, please.”

She filled a mug, placed it on the bar, and crossed the room to continue cleaning, her back to him.

Coop walked in the back door, dragging. He brightened when he saw Jake.

“Chief, how’s it going?”

They shook hands across the bar.

“Good,” Jake said. “And how are you?”

“I’m still here.” He lowered his head a bit. “Look, I’m sorry I was a pain last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. We all have our bad nights.”

Coop studied Jake closely. “Yeah.”

There was something about the way the man said it that made him feel a little sick, as if Coop knew exactly how bad some of Jake’s nights had been.

Coop sighed. “You hear about the Health Department report?”

“Yes. What are they doing about Tran?”

“They’re watching him. He’s worried they’ll close him down, but I talked to one of the Parks and Wildlife guys. He says they have to either catch him with contaminated oysters on his boat, or witness him pulling them up from the wrong spot before they can do anything. Of course, the news that he sold us bad oysters will ruin his business.”

Jake nodded. “I can imagine. Have you heard from the Taylors’ lawyer?”

“Not yet.”

“You’re serving dinner tonight?”

“Yep,” Coop said. “The special is redfish. No oysters.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

The man straightened. “Are you here for lunch?”

“Are you open for lunch?”

“If you’re ready to eat, I’ll put something on the grill. How about a burger?”

“Sounds good.”

Coop left for the kitchen.

Jake drew a newspaper over from the end of the bar and opened it. Then he watched Heather work. Damn, she had the most gorgeous legs he’d ever seen. As long as she didn’t know he was watching, what harm could it do? He couldn’t stop fantasizing about her, even if she never spoke to him again.

~~**~~**~~

Heather sighed with relief when Starks finally left. Just the sight of him made her jittery.

Horror had replaced the excitement of being near him. The attraction she felt hadn’t faded, but the knowledge that he couldn’t care less made her queasy.

What had gone wrong? He’d seduced her in her own house. He obviously felt the same attraction. Didn’t it? Had she done something wrong? How had she turned him off?

Heather’s face burned at the thought. Maybe he had expected her to play the helpless, shocked female and struggle. Most guys seemed to have a hard time with her standing on her own two feet. Maybe that’s how she’d messed it up.

Or maybe this was part of his control game. Talk about humiliating!

And now she had to see him every day.

She hated living in a small town. She hated that she knew so little about men and dating. If only she had someone who could give her advice.

“Coop?”

“Yeah?” He leaned through the kitchen doorway.

For a moment, she considered how her father might react to questions about men. Would he be shocked? Or upset?

She couldn’t do it.

“I’m going out for a walk,” she said. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Okay. I’m almost done with the salad.”

“Have you talked to Skeet?”

“Yep. He’ll be in at four.”

That gave her at least an hour of solitude. She hurried out the backdoor and raced along the path to the house. She’d put on her bathing suit, pick up a book and a towel, and soak up a little sun on her private strip of beach.

And she wouldn’t think about Jake Starks. At least, not any more than absolutely necessary.

~~**~~**~~

“Chief, I have some forms for you.” Helen Potts wandered into Jake’s office and placed papers in front of him. He scanned the letters and invoices and signed each.

“Thanks, Helen.
” He returned the papers to the gray-haired woman. “Have you heard from Red?”

“Yes. He called in about one from the highway, said he was taking off for lunch.”

Jake checked his watch and discovered it was after two.

The phone rang, but before he could answer it, Helen snatched up the receiver
. “Port Boyer police department.” She listened for several moments. “Please hold.” She pressed the receiver to the middle of her ample chest. “Tommy Jackson says someone stole the battery out of his truck. You want me to try Red on the radio?”

“No, I’ll take it. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Chief Starks will be right over,” she said. “Don’t you go anywhere, now, you hear?” She hung up the phone.

“Where does Tommy Jackson live?” Jake asked.

“He’s the first driveway to the left, north of the dock. There’s three houses. Tommy Jackson’s is the one closest to the road.”

“Okay, thanks, Helen.”

Jake followed the woman from his office, plucking his hat from the stand by the door as he passed it. “I’ll be back.” He hurried out into the warm sunshine and climbed into the cruiser.

He had no trouble finding the house and parked behind an ancient blue pickup with the hood up.

An elderly Black man sitting in the shade of an oak tree rose slowly. He walked hunched over, bringing his height down to about six feet, and met Jake in front of the truck.

“Mr. Jackson?” Jake shook hands with the man.

“Yes, sir, the name’s Tommy Jackson.”

“I’m Chief Starks.”

“Yes, sir, I know who you are. I seen you once.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir, you was coming out of your office and I was in the store across the street. Someone said, ‘That there’s the new chief.’”

Jake nodded and looked at the truck. Cables stuck out sideways as if the battery had been ripped out in a hurry. One of the terminal ends had been broken off and the other twisted.

“When did you discover the battery was missing?” he asked.

“About a
n hour ago, when I tried to start my truck. I turned the key and nothing happened.”

“The hood wasn’t open like this?”

“No, sir.”

“When was the last time you drove it?”

“Yesterday.”

“Have you been
here since then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hear anything last night?” Jake asked.

“M
y dog barked a couple times. I didn’t think nothing of it. He barks every night at some old skunk that lives back in the pasture.”

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I’ll write up a report, but we don’t have much to go on. I don’t see any fresh tire prints in the driveway. It looks like someone had car problems and took your battery.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want a ride down to the gas station to get another battery?”

The elderly man’s eyes widened. “That would be fine.”

Tommy Jackson started to get in the back seat of the squad car.

“Mr. Jackson, you can ride up here with me,” Jake said.

The man looked stunned, but nodded and climbed in the front.

~~**~~**~~

Casey and Lou Johnson showed up about four, sat at the corner table, and motioned for two beers.

Heather popped the tops on the bottles and delivered them. “Anything else?”

“We heard y’a
ll opened back up,” Lou said.

“Yep.”

“You ain’t serving poison beer, are you?” Lou guffawed and his brother joined in.

Heather returned to the bar.

Coop and Tran walked in the back door. Coop rang up a
no sale
on the register and handed Tran cash.

“Write it down,” Heather reminded him.

Chairs skidded across the floor as the Johnson boys jumped to their feet.

“What the hell’s he doing in here?” Lou yelled.

The other four customers turned toward the commotion.

Lou
pointed at Tran. “He’s selling poison oysters.”

“I’m buying redfish,” Coop said, “not oysters.”

“You shouldn’t be buying nothing from him. He’s a foreigner. People like you and him are ruining this country!”

Coop walked toward the table. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.”

“You’d
appreciate
it?” Casey said, mocking him.

Heather’s heart beat wildly as she reached under the counter for the shotgun.

The brothers froze, and then started backwards as Skeet rounded the corner of the bar. He stood behind Coop, his hands tightened into fists, monstrous muscles flexing in his arms, a formidable presence.

As the brothers turned, Coop took another step. “That’s four bucks for the beers.”

Lou glared, pulled a five from his wallet, and threw it to the floor. “Keep the change, you stinking faggot. You’re gonna regret this. You and that damn
yellow
friend of yours.”

Lou flung the door open so hard it crashed against the outside wall, and he and his brother stomped out, leaving a deafening silence behind them.

Coop turned to the room. “Sorry, folks.”

The customers returned to their drinks, discussing the scene in hushed voices.

Coop grabbed Skeet’s arm. “Would you please escort Mr. Duc to his truck?”

“Sure,” the man said.

Heather watched Skeet and Tran walk out the back door. If she hadn’t been terrified, she would have laughed at the sight of the two mismatched men. Tran’s head didn’t reach Skeet’s chest.

She returned the double-barrel shotgun to its hooks under the bar.