by Sarah Storme
She’d wanted him to do it again.
Instead, he’d walked away.
As soon as she’d had her composure firmly in place, Heather had returned to the party and mingled just enough to keep an eye on Coop.
Her father definitely worked on inebriation. Fortunately, Coop wasn’t a loud or angry drunk. In fact, he mostly stood in one spot, swaying from side to side, pretending to listen to someone.
Starks stayed in the kitchen for a long time. He finally emerged carrying a tray of tamales, accompanied by a young Hispanic woman Heather recognized but didn’t know. The woman laughed and smiled up at him. When she returned to the kitchen, Starks moved on to another group of people.
Heather didn’t want to be obvious about watching him, so she kept her back to the room, hoping he’d walk up and whisper in her ear. But he didn’t. In fact, whenever she spotted him, he always seemed absorbed in conversation, totally unaware of her existence.
What was he doing? There was no mistaking the intention of his kiss.
Or maybe there was. Maybe the pass he’d made at her wasn’t to let her know he was attracted to her, but to let her know he was in control. He could grab her and do whatever he wanted, and she wouldn’t object.
The fact that it was true made it all the more pathetic. However, he wouldn’t discover that if she could help it. She controlled her own life, just as she had since she was a kid, and she definitely didn’t need a domineering male in it.
“Hey there, my lil’ Deuce Coop.”
Heather turned to her father’s voice and caught him as he fell into her.
“Havin’ fun?” he asked, his speech badly slurred.
“Can we go now?”
“Oh, no, the party’s just gettin’ good. Wanna beer?”
“No, Coop.” She held his arm and lowered her voice. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
He grinned patiently. “No.” Then he started toward the back door.
A mild disturbance accompanied the arrival of the newest guests, Red Daily and his female companion. Red wore his uniform, and the woman accompanying him wore very little. With heavy eyelids and a crooked miniskirt, she puffed on a cigarette.
Red made a show of shaking hands and greeting people with a wide smile. Heather’s skin crawled.
When Coop returned, he walked right past Heather and headed across the room. She grabbed for him, but missed.
She couldn’t quite hear what Coop said to Red, but the officer’s smile turned into a sneer.
“I think you better go home, old man,” Red said, “before you fall and end up—”
Red didn’t finish his sentence. Heather followed his gaze to where Starks stood near the kitchen door.
“At least you got what you wanted,” Coop said, pushing his finger into the bigger man’s chest.
Red knocked Coop’s hand away and glared at him. “Go home.” The cop searched the room and spotted Heather. “Can’t you keep a leash on him?”
All conversation in the room stopped. Heather glanced around and found most of the guests watching her.
She walked to her father’s side. “Coop.”
He pushed her away, nearly falling when he did.
Starks appeared out of nowhere, wrapped his arm around Coop’s shoulders, and spoke softly to him as he guided him past the annoyed patrolman.
Tucker wheeled up to Red. “Hey, man, chill. There’s beer on the back porch.”
Red led his loaded date across the room.
Heather closed the front door behind her and quickly caught up with Starks and Coop partway down the ramp.
“I know he did something,” Coop said. “He hates my guts.”
“Why?” Starks asked.
“‘Cause, I’m still here. ‘Cause of this.”
Heather nearly ran into the two men when they stopped. Coop raised his shirt and pointed to his side.
“Gunshot?” Starks asked.
Coop shook his head. “Grenade.” He pulled up the sleeve on his oversized shirt. “Got shot here.”
When Coop fell sideways, Starks caught him, held his arm, and walked him the rest of the way down the ramp.
“You know, I should take you home,” Starks said.
Coop shrugged. “I don’t wanna go back.”
“Where do you want to go?”
Coop suddenly jerked his arm free, staggered backwards a few steps, and pressed his hands to his head. “I don’t fuckin’ know,” he wailed. Then he turned away from them. “Son of a bitch,” he said softly. “I can’t go back.”
Starks grabbed Coop’s shoulders. “I won’t make you go back,” he said, calmly. “You want to go for a ride?”
“Where to?”
“Down the road somewhere.”
They stopped in front of Starks’ car.
“What’s it got?” Coop asked.
“Three-twenty, V-eight.”
“Six speed?”
“Yep. You want a ride?”
“Sure.”
Starks put Coop in the passenger’s seat, closed the door, and turned to Heather. “I’ll drop him off at home in a little while,” he said, his expression calm and reassuring.
Heather hugged her arms against the night air. Her entire body shook, but not from cold. She’d never seen her father quite like he was at that moment.
Starks touched her arm gently, his thumb intimately stroking her skin. “Don’t worry,” he said. Then he walked around and climbed in the driver’s side.
The car pulled out of the driveway, and the engine whined as it raced into the night.
She looked around. The house, perched up on pilings, vibrated with music and voices, and blazed in the darkness like a lighthouse beacon. But without Starks, she had no reason to return.
CHAPTER 6
Jake stood with one hand on the car and one on Coop’s shoulder. Coop vomited for the second time, and then sat with his hands on his thighs. “I can’t ‘member last time I did this.”
Emptying his stomach hadn’t cleared much of the alcohol from his system.
“Come on,” Jake said, helping the man to his feet. “You need some fresh air.”
They’d driven twenty miles south along the coast, and then turned around and gone forty miles north. They were parked in a small lot beside an empty stretch of beach that was, judging from the number of footprints in deep sand, heavily used during daylight hours.
Jake led the way toward the water and sat before they reached wet beach. Coop stood beside him for a moment, swaying, before he plopped down.
They sat quietly for a long time, watching waves break and crawl up the shore. Sand crabs scurried along before lines of sea foam, shadows in the moonlight, checking for food in the slack between waves.
“Poor Ed,” Coop said, dropping his head into his hands.
“People die.”
“I’ve had enough of death.”
“You can’t get away from it.”
They were quiet again.
“Tell me about Red,” Jake said.
Coop raised his head and sighed deeply. “It’s not his fault. He’s like the rest who don’t know for sure.”
“Know what?”
“What they’ll do under fire. They have to make up for it by acting tough.”
Jake nodded. He’d pushed punks around when he first got out on the street. Fear of a sort had made him rough—a fear that he’d turn and run when tested. Many of the punks sported bullet and knife scars. They knew how they’d react.
That first firefight, a year and a half after starting on the force, had been on a cold night in the middle of January. Domestic dispute, a hostage situation. A man had a gun on his girlfriend and her young son. Hell of a time to be paired up with Charger, always the first one in.
He’d followed Charger in through a back window and they’d rushed the perp. They would have gotten him without any trouble if the boy hadn’t given them away. Seeing the child’s eyes widen, the perp had spun around shooting. One bullet, whizzin
g past Jake’s ear, had splintering the doorframe less than two inches from his head, and he’d ducked into the kitchen. As soon as the revolver dry fired, he and Charger had jumped up and tackled the man.
They’d handled the case poorly. If the perp had pulled the trigger on the hostages instead of firing at them, Charger would have gotten more than a reprimand.
That had been the last time Jake rode with him.
A year and a half later, his training complete, Jake had been assigned a rookie: Dave Tucker.
Funny, he could still smell the garbage in the alley from the night Tucker got shot. Garbage and blood.
Coop fell back in the sand and flung his arms out to his side. “God, I hate this! When I get nearly drunk enough to forget, I either throw up or pass out. If I pass out, I have nightmares. You think the nightmares ever go away?”
Jake looked back at the older man. “Maybe not.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, there’s only one thing that scares the crap out of me,” Coop said.
“What?”
“That somethin’ bad will happen to Heather. Or that she’ll be unhappy. That scares me, too.”
“That’s two things.”
“Yeah.” Coop sat up and poked Jake’s arm. “You better take care of her, Chief. Promise me you’ll take care of her and make her happy.”
Something about sitting on a beach as dark as the memories caused them to bubble to the surface.
The house in the quiet Dallas suburb had been dark when Jake slipped in after an unusually long shift. He’d chased a kid halfway across town on foot, worked two bad traffic accidents, and had a mother call him every name in the book as he cuffed her son. He’d been beat. He’d planned to kiss his sleeping daughters, and then climb into bed and lie in his wife’s arms for a few hours before her day started.
But she hadn’t been there. Instead, he’d found a letter she’d written about the years of agony, about the nights he came in reeking of booze and perfume, of the yelling matches and temper tantrums, of all the tears she’d shed after he’d left for the bars. She’d told him she’d never forgive him for making so much of her life miserable.
He’d never felt such pain as he did that night, reading that letter and knowing every word was true.
Jake shoved the heels of his boots into the sand. “Why me?”
“Because, you can take care of her.”
There was no point trying to reason with Coop; the man was bombed. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about my little girl,” Coop said. “She deserves something good in her life. If it’s not you, then you leave her alone.”
Jake looked out at the water where moonlight shimmered in the swells. Coop’s words burned in his chest.
“Damn, it’s beautiful,” Coop said. “Reminds me of the moon on rice paddies. A clear sky with a moon was bad for night missions, but it sure was pretty.”
Jake listened to Coop, but he thought about Heather.
~~**~~**~~
The black Trans Am pulled into the driveway shortly after midnight. Heather watched from the kitchen window. She’d jumped up and peered out at every noise for the past three hours.
Starks climbed slowly out of the driver’s seat and pushed the door closed. He walked around, opened the passenger’s door, and, with some difficulty, extracted Coop.
Heather started down the steps, but Starks already had Coop halfway up the drive, holding him with one arm around his waist. Coop’s feet left crooked lines behind them.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Just lead the way.”
In Coop’s room, she helped Starks stretch her father out on the bed. She pulled off Coop’s tennis shoes, and covered him with the summer bedspread. He didn’t even stir.
She followed Starks back to the kitchen. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “He just needed someone to talk to. Someone who could understand.”
Anger surged through her at the accusation. Starks made it sound like she wouldn’t understand anything that wasn’t simple and wholesome, like she hadn’t spent her whole life with her father. “He has me. I’m not some naive kid.”
Jake frowned at her for a long while, and then turned toward the door.
Her anger fell apart and she crossed the room after him. “Do you want a drink or something? Tea? Or a soda?”
He stopped in front of the door, but didn’t look back. “It’s late,” he said, his voice cold.
It’s late? That was it? After the way he’d kissed her at the party, that was all he had to say? What an idiot she was. She’d just thrown herself at a man who obviously cared nothing about her. It had been just some kind of power game with him.
Her anger returned with a vengeance.
“Damn you, Starks, you can go to hell.”
He nodded slowly and glanced back over his shoulder. “Probably will.”
“How dare you come in here and tell me I don’t understand my father? I pay his bills, I run his bar, and I take care of him every single day. You think I don’t understand him?”
“You know nothing about his world,” Starks said, his voice suddenly angry. “Or mine, for that matter. Don’t play at it, Heather. You’ll get hurt.” Then he opened the door.
His patronizing tone infuriated her. She grabbed a dishtowel from the counter, wadded it, and threw it at him. “You jerk!”
The towel hit him in the back with a loud, wet thwak.
He froze. Then he closed the door and turned. “That’s assaulting an officer, you know. I could arrest you for that.”
“Yeah? Go ahead and try.” She spun around and started toward the hall, headed for bed. He could let himself out. Never again would she make a fool of herself because of him.
Starks caught up with her on the second step, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her around.
“It wouldn’t be an easy arrest,” he said. “I’d have to be extra careful handling you.” He pulled her closer.
His anger had disappeared, and his blue eyes flashed with dangerous playfulness in the dim light.
Heather’s stomach quivered as she worked to maintain her own fury.
“Yeah? You can’t handle me at all. I’ve taken self-defense classes.”
She tried to wrench her wrist free, but he held on.
“Yeah?” He stepped forward, backing her in front of him. “I’ve taught self-defense classes.”
She backed into the wall.
“Yeah? Well…” She couldn’t think of anything to say.
His eyes held hers as if she were truly a prisoner. He moved forward, towering over her, and his purely masculine scent left her hungry.
As he lowered his mouth toward hers, she closed her eyes and raised her face, wanting nothing more than to taste him. She felt his breath on her skin and thrilled at the prospect of kissing him again.
But he didn’t kiss her.
“I’ll show you what happens,” he said, his voice low.
He spun her to face away from him, grabbed both her hands, pushed them up high against the wall, and held them there.
“Spread your feet,” he said into her ear.
“Starks—”
“Spread ‘em,” he growled.
He moved her feet with his own, carefully, forcefully, one at a time, until they were apart and out from the wall.
Her heart raced. She had no idea what to expect, but couldn’t find the resolve to protest whatever it was he had planned.
His hot breath warmed the side of her neck. As his heated hands started slowly down her arms, she tried to turn around. His hands returned quickly to flatten her palms to the cool plaster.
“Don’t move.” His voice, a gruff whisper, raised goose bumps on her neck and back.
His hands started down her arms again.
Heather closed her eyes. His breath grew heavier and hotter on her skin, and she rolled her head to the side to expose her neck t
o him.
His palms traveled down her shoulders and sides and hips, down the outside of her legs, making her muscles tingle, and then back up the front of her thighs and hips, and under her T-shirt. He hands warmed her breasts and he traced the nipples with his fingertips through the cotton sports bra. Pressing his mouth to the top of her shoulder, he growled as he pushed the bra up, giving himself access to her skin. He caressed her gently, with expert pressure, sending waves of excitement through her body. Her head fell forward.
He stepped closer until she could feel his heat on her back, and his hands started down the front of her body. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jean shorts. What did he think—?
His right hand slid down into her shorts.
Heather gasped.
He raked his fingernails up the front of her panties, and kissed her neck, moving his mouth to her ear.
“Now you’re in my world,” he said.
Then his fingers slipped into her panties.
She couldn’t quite catch her breath. She wanted more of him. His scent surrounded her, pulling her from the wall.
His hand moved farther down until he touched her swollen heat. She gasped and fell forward with her forearms on the wall and her forehead pressed between them. His fingers moved gently back and forth. The small motions took command of her entire body. As her knees buckled, he locked his arm around her waist and pulled her into him, grunting quietly.
The bulge of his erection pressed against her backside was an arousing shock. She threw her head back to his shoulder, searching for his mouth. She wanted his mouth.
His fingers slid into her as he covered her mouth with his, and tightened his arm around her waist. She drew on his tongue, urgently needing more. Her whole body tensed.
He moved in and out, the rhythm slow and deliberate, stroking her, until she couldn’t stand it. Her existence collapsed to a point as she tightened around his fingers. Her hands curled into fists and waves of ecstasy crashed through her. She cried out into his mouth.
She had no control. The tide pushed her into him and pulled her away. He held her, groaning softly, and she felt as if she were drowning in savage pleasure.
The frantic movements finally slowed, and his hand rocked gently against the pulsing muscles between her legs.
