Starks' Reality

by Sarah Storme

  Coop pounded his fist on the table. “What if I did it? How the hell am I going to live with myself?”

  The pain sliced through Jake as he remembered questioning himself the same way. “Look,” he said quietly, “whether you did it or not, you still have a daughter who needs you.”

  “She’d be better off if I were gone. She’d be free to live her own life and not have to put up with her crazy old man.”

  “No, Coop, she needs you because you’re her father. That’s more important than anything else.”

  Coop sighed. “God, I hate being so screwed up.”

  “Do you hate it enough to do something about it?”

  Coop’s gaze rose to Jake’s.

  Jake recognized the apprehension. “I’ll talk to you later. Hang in there.”

  Then he got up and left Coop to consider the question for himself. It was a tough one to answer.

  Jake stopped in to talk to Evans about sending the doctor over to examine the wound on Coop’s head. Down the hall at the Clerk’s office, he checked on the status of the case.

  He was headed out to find Heather when a familiar voice stopped him.

  “Starks! How’s it going?” Deputy Sagin shook his hand. “You talk to Mr. Cooper this morning?”

  Jake nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Told me he couldn’t remember a thing. Is any of it coming back to him?”

  “No, and I’m not holding out a lot of hope.”

  “Well, you never know.”

  “True.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him as much as I can, and let you know if anything changes.”

  Jake shook the deputy’s hand again. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Continuing on his original path, he found Heather lying on a bench in front of the sheriff’s office, her knees up, her hands crossed over her stomach, and her eyes closed. Jake sat at her feet.

  She looked up at him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure. Just great.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She sat up, close but not touching him. “What if we can’t find the real killer?”

  “The evidence against Coop is circumstantial. If we go through it methodically, I think we’ll find enough to clear him.”

  “You think?”

  “Heather, I’m not going to lie to you and guarantee everything will work out like it should. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I promise to do my best to help. That’s all I can do.”

  She studied his eyes intently, and then nodded. “Okay.”

  “I checked the calendar. Coop’s arraignment is scheduled for tomorrow at two.”

  “Will they let him out after that?”

  “The DA will request bail for something this serious.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “There’s a bail bondsman a block away. I have a little cash saved up. I can help you pay for it.”

  She looked away, hiding her face from him. “Thank you.”

  Jake grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, we have work to do.”

  ~~**~~**~~

  “Turn left here.” Heather pointed.

  Jake steered the Trans Am along the winding dirt road that led to the Johnsons’ house. A faded sign declared the place Johnson and Sons Charter. Two cars, the original colors of which were not discernible, helped litter the yard, along with assorted barrels, boxes, and boat parts.

  “How do they get business?”

  Heather shrugged. “I don’t know that they do.”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s around.”

  “As far as I know, they don’t have any relatives. And I can’t imagine they have many friends.”

  Jake turned off the car and opened his door. “Stay here,” he said. “If you see anyone coming, tap the horn once.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m just going to take a look around.”

  “Don’t you need a warrant or something?”

  He raised one eyebrow, then got out and closed the car door.

  A fly buzzed against the inside of the windshield and birds chirped as Jake walked toward the back of the house. He moved carefully, checking his surroundings like a cat on the prowl, and continued around behind the building.

  Heather’s heart sped up steadily while she waited for him to reappear. She leaned out the window, watching the last place she’d seen him and listening. Crickets added their songs to the birds, and cars hummed on the distant highway. Sunshine filled the air with the smell of warm grass and mud.

  “You’re not much of a lookout.”

  She jumped when Jake spoke from right behind her.

  He walked around and climbed in the car, shaking his head.

  “You scared me half to death,” she said, clutching her chest. “I wasn’t expecting you to come around the front.”

  “First rule of police work: always expect the unexpected.”

  “I have no desire to be a cop.”

  He grinned. “It applies to other things, too.”

  Heather took a deep breath as Jake turned the car around. She had a fairly good idea what other things he meant.

  They drove past the bar without stopping.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To the dock. The Johnsons must have a boat.”

  “They do.”

  “I was hoping you’d help me find it. Then I’ll drop you off.”

  Heather wasn’t about to admit to Jake how much she liked being with him.

  He parked the car at the public dock and they followed the catwalk around to the tiny marina. Three piers held a dozen boats, mostly the small outboard variety.

  “That’s it,” she said, pointing.

  The Johnsons had a retired shrimper—minus the nets—rigged for fishing and badly in need of paint.

  Jake glanced around before he turned to her. “You don’t see this.”

  She nodded.

  He hopped into the boat and walked around the deck, checking under and around and behind everything. Just before he completed the search, he leaned over, lifted a burlap sack, and held it up. It sported diagonal black lines.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Jake returned the sack and vaulted onto the dock. He followed Heather back to the car.

  “What I’m not sure of,” he said, as they climbed in, “is why they didn’t take the evidence away.”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe they wanted to make sure they weren’t caught with it.”

  “Maybe.”

  Heather smiled to herself. She was beginning to understand the tone of Jake’s voice. He believed she was wrong.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Jake followed Heather through the back door into Coop’s Place where the heavenly aroma of simmering gumbo filled the main room.

  “I’ll tell Skeet we’re here,” she said.

  He followed her into the kitchen and walked around her when she stopped.

  He’d only caught a glimpse of Skeet Trahan before; the ex-con did a good job of staying out of sight when the squad car appeared. Skeet looked up from the stove, and surprise registered in his eyes for a split second.

  “Mr. Trahan,” Jake said, “we haven’t met. I’m Chief Starks.”

  “Yeah, I know,” the man said, stirring the pot of bubbling stew.

  “I’d like to ask you a question.”

  When Skeet didn’t answer, Jake continued. “Friday night, when the Taylors got sick, you were here?”

  Skeet glared. “Yeah.”

  “Did you see anything or anyone out back any time after you arrived?”

  Skeet Trahan stood defiantly in front of his gumbo, his dark eyes burning with intense hatred.

  Jake turned to Heather. “Will you give us a minute?”

  She frowned, looked at Skeet and back at Jake. Then she turned and left.

  “Look, Trahan, I’ve seen your record. I know you’ve been inside, and I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, you
stay out of trouble and we won’t have to butt heads. And trust me I’ve got one hell of a hard head.”

  Jake stepped closer, leaned back against the sink, and folded his arms.

  “Not many people would give you a job around here, I imagine. You must be grateful to Coop.”

  Skeet glanced up for a moment, his expression softening slightly.

  Jake continued. “I don’t believe Coop killed Tran. Do you?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I want to catch the real killer. I’m guessing you feel the same way. So, did you see anyone or anything unusual out back Friday after the oysters were delivered?”

  Skeet stared at the pot for a moment. “I went out back about six to get a can of peppers, and I seen Johnson poking around under the porch. He says his dog jumped out of his truck and he’s looking for it. I wait until he leaves, then come back in here.”

  “Lou Johnson was out back Friday?”

  “No, the other one. The younger one.”

  “Casey. And you didn’t see him carrying anything?”

  “No.”

  Jake rubbed his chin. “When you brought oysters in from the storage room, did you bring in whole sacks?”

  “I brought in a bucket at a time.”

  “Did you notice anything strange, like there being more oysters than you expected?”

  Skeet frowned at the stove and shrugged. “It was busy.”

  Jake sighed. “Will you make an official statement about Johnson?”

  The man looked up, stared for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Jake left him to his work and walked out to the bar. Heather moved things around without care, making a racket. She didn’t look at him as he sat on the stool across from her.

  “You want to know what I found out?” he asked.

  She glowered. “What, you want to include me now? Are you sure I can handle it? After all, you know how delicate—”

  “Heather,” he said, “stop.”

  When her pout appeared, he tried not to smile.

  “Skeet saw Casey Johnson behind the building Friday night and he’s willing to swear to that.”

  Her pout faded.

  “Now, I’ve got a few more things to do, then I’m going home. You want a ride to the courthouse tomorrow?”

  She nodded.

  “All right, I’ll pick you up.”

  He smiled at her and she looked away. She’d come around.

  Jake drove back to the dock, got out, and walked to the end of the public boat ramp. The launch had probably been used several times during the day. It seemed to be a fairly popular place to put in.

  At the moment, however, he found the bay deserted and the dock quiet. Small waves lapped at wooden piers, the only sound breaking the silence. Jake sat on the edge with his feet hanging over, and studied the horizon.

  Coop had probably been in about the same spot Tuesday night. He saw lights in the bay. More than likely, he saw Tran’s boat without realizing it. If it took Coop about an hour to consume the pint of Scotch on the beach, he would have reached the dock shortly after Tran went out.

  What had he seen?

  Jake frowned, recalling Coop’s exact words. He’d said there were lights in the bay from boats, not from a single boat.

  Had Coop actually seen Tran’s killer?

  “Damn.”

  ~~**~~**~~

  Skeet stuck around while Heather closed up the bar. He tried to look busy, but she knew he didn’t want to leave her alone. She locked the front, tucked away the cash, and walked back to the kitchen.

  “Skeet, are you ready to go?”

  “Yeah.”

  She followed him out the back door and locked it behind them. “Thanks for staying while I closed.”

  “It’s nothin’,” he said.

  At the parking lot, they parted. Heather followed the trail to her house as Skeet headed north into town.

  Her house waited, lonely and quiet. Funny, even when Coop lay passed out in his bedroom, she knew he was there. Tonight she was definitely alone.

  She pictured Coop, miles away, lying in a jail cell. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

  Heather traversed the hall, stopping to peek into her father’s room, which was a wreck again. She’d straighten it in the morning for his homecoming.

  If he had one. There wasn’t much left in the bank for a bail bond, and she couldn’t imagine letting Jake contribute his own money.

  Then again, she’d do anything to get Coop back.

  In her bedroom, Heather changed into a nightshirt. Then she padded to the bathroom and brushed her teeth.

  As she climbed into bed, she thought about Jake. Twice during the day, he’d sent her out of the room. She couldn’t imagine anything more infuriating. The man treated her like a child.

  Why did he have to be so gorgeous? Riding in his car had been…stimulating. And made her a little nervous. She’d halfway expected him to reach over and grab her leg at some point.

  Heather rolled over and stared into the darkness.

  The worst part was that she was sorry he hadn’t. Holding his hand had been comforting and fun, but not the same.

  Expect the unexpected, he’d said.

  Did he practice what he preached?

  Trying not to think too hard about what she might be getting into, she threw back the covers, turned on the lamp and rose. She withdrew a pair of jeans from the dresser, pulled a cotton shirt from a hanger, and tossed them both onto the bed. Then she stripped off her nightshirt.

  ~~**~~**~~

  Jake stood before he actually woke.

  What the hell was that noise?

  He extracted the thirty-eight from the holster on the coffee table, held it at his side, and listened.

  The noise sounded like someone knocking on his door. He glanced back at the kitchen clock. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at two in the morning?

  When he pulled the curtain back and saw Heather standing on the steps, he shook his head and looked again. Hopping over the footstool, he jerked the door open.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She stood with her hands at her sides, dressed in blue jeans and a white long-sleeved blouse that should have been buttoned a little higher.

  “Um, nothing,” she said. “I just thought I’d, um…”

  He relaxed with a sigh.

  She started to back down the steps. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  He leaned out and grabbed her arm. “Don’t you even think about leaving.”

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t resist. He pulled her in and closed the door. Then he returned the revolver to its holster. She waited just inside.

  Jake looked around for the shirt he’d taken off when he was working out. He found it on the floor and was about to slip it on when she touched his back.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  He started at her touch and spun around.

  Heather stood in front of him, lit only by the light from the kitchen. She studied his eyes, and then stepped forward and touched his chest. God, her hands felt incredible on his skin.

  “Jumpy tonight?” she asked. “I thought you always expected the unexpected.”

  “Your hands are cold,” he said.

  “They are not.”

  He stepped closer, held her waist, and pulled her to him. “Something must need warming up,” he whispered.

  As he pressed his lips to hers, her hands ran up to his shoulders, sending a shiver through him. Christ, it seemed like he’d been waiting years to hold her. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her body up to his. She clung to his neck, and her lips parted. He took her mouth, thrilling to her response. Her tongue circled his, drawing him in deeper, demanding more. He groaned as her knee rose slowly between his legs.

  Nearly stumbling, he tore his mouth away. “In a hurry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then, watch where you put that knee.”

&nb
sp; She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

  Holding her with one arm, he stroked her cheek with his fingertips. Her golden eyes, though barely visible, held a simple excitement that made him weak. She was beautiful, and innocent.

  God, so innocent.

  “This could be a mistake,” he said.

  “I’m not a child, Jake.” Her hands moved gently over his skin.

  “I know, but I’m no college kid.”

  She smiled. “Fortunately.”

  He kissed her smile, and then pressed his forehead to hers as he unbuttoned her blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Gritting his teeth to keep from growling, he slid his hands inside the blouse and skimmed her smooth skin, enjoying the way his touch raised goose bumps on her flesh. He started at her waist and moved up, letting his fingers float over each rib, pushing her blouse open with his forearms. Her lungs expanded rapidly, matching the speed of his shallow breathing. When he reached her warm breasts, she pressed them into his palms and dropped her head to his chest.

  He wasn’t going to make it like this. His knees actually shook.

  He pushed her blouse over her shoulders and she loosened her hold on him long enough to shrug it off. He kissed her, grabbed her firm ass, and lifted her until she wrapped her legs around his waist. Somehow, he found the sofa and managed to sit, although he was way too hard to be comfortable. He turned, lowered her to the cushions, and stretched out on top of her.

  When Heather tightened her legs around him, Jake groaned at the pleasure of being where he’d wanted to be since his first sight of her. He rubbed himself against her heat as they kissed.

  This wasn’t working, either. One more minute of humping and he would to lose it. Releasing her mouth, he backed up and kissed the tender places on her neck. She moaned quietly.

  But the distance between them proved useless when he reached her breasts. The slight saltiness of her skin made him light-headed and hungry for more. And her intense reaction didn’t help. She dug her fingers into the muscles in his shoulders, arched her back, and cried out. He wrapped his arms around her waist and circled her nipples with his tongue, enjoying her sweet agony even more than his own. He eased the fingers of his right hand into the back of her jeans.

  When he realized she wasn’t wearing panties, he groaned and dropped his forehead to her chest.

  “Heather,” he said, his voice barely audible, “do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  She lifted his face with a hand on each side of his jaw until their eyes met. “Jake,” she whispered, “I want you.”