by Sarah Storme
Understanding came slowly.
Tucker wasn’t out for a joyride, and he wasn’t alone.
Hoping he was wrong, Jake ran back to his house, hopped in the Trans Am, and sped north. If Tucker had taken Heather out on the bay in the rising wind, he would throttle both of them.
By the time he ran through Tucker’s house and out to the dock, Jake’s anger had taken charge. How could Tucker be so damned careless? How could he go out in a storm and risk not only his life, but, more importantly, Heather’s?
Tucker used the engine to hold the bouncing boat alongside the dock, and Heather struggled to tie the ropes around cleats. Rain had drenched them both.
“What the hell were you two doing?” Jake yelled as he strode down the pier.
“Ace,” Tucker said, waving. “Glad you’re here. We can use—”
“Son of a bitch, what’s the matter with you?”
“Whoa, Ace, back off,” Tucker said.
Jake whirled around to Heather. “Didn’t I tell you to wait at the house?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, but—”
“Was there something about that you didn’t understand?”
“No, but—”
He spun on his heels and walked to the edge of the dock, wrestling with his bubbling rage.
Tucker, already in the chair that waited on the lowered platform, hit the button to raise the chair to dock level. A tiny motor buzzed.
Jake curled his hands into fists. “What the hell were you going to do if something happened out there? What if she had gone overboard? What the hell would you have done?”
“Jake,” Heather said, touching his arm.
He shrugged off her touch.
“This was my idea,” she said. “I talked Tucker into helping me. My father’s out there.”
Jake stepped back as he realized he’d lost control. The woman he loved had risked her life on a boat in the middle of the night with a man who couldn’t have helped her if something had happened. His heart pounded at the thought.
“Damn,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
Tucker wheeled past him and up the ramp to the house.
Heather stood, watching Jake for several long moments. Then she turned and followed Tucker.
They’d both disappeared inside before Jake felt like he had a grip on himself. He was still upset, but a hell of a lot more controlled as he marched up the ramp.
Heather stood at the front door near Tucker, and they watched him enter.
“Thank you,” Heather said to Tucker, and then she left.
“Heather, wait.” Jake hurried across the room and ran after her. He caught her before she reached her car. “Heather—”
She spun around and her anger stopped him in his tracks. “What gives you the right to treat me that way? To scold me. You’re not my father. And how could you possibly talk to Tucker like that? He was trying to help me. At least he treats me like—,” she swallowed hard, “—like an adult.” She turned, got in her car, and sped away. Wet sand spewed up behind her.
Jake took a deep breath and blew it out. At least Heather was safe. He’d talk to her later—smooth things out, make her listen to him. Now he needed to go back inside and apologize to his former partner.
Tucker sat at the far window, staring out at the bay. Jake crossed half the room and stopped.
“Tucker—”
“You know,” Tucker said, without turning around, “just because my legs don’t work doesn’t mean I’m useless. Of all people, I thought you knew that.”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
Tucker spun his chair around and glared. “About what, Jake? About yelling at the woman who just left here? Or about calling me a parasite?”
Jake flinched. “I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. That’s exactly what you meant.” Tucker rolled forward. “Or maybe you’re sorry you got me shot. Is that it? You figure this is your fault? Well, I got news for you, buck-o. This one had nothing to do with you. It happened to me, not you. And it had to happen, sooner or later.” He moved closer. “You know what karma is? It’s the way the universe sets itself right. I had to pay for breaking the code. This is my payment.”
“What code?”
“The code. The one we lived by day and night together for six years, you stupid bastard. The one that says you cover your partner, no matter what, you never do anything to hurt him.”
Tucker rolled up and stopped right in front of Jake. Anger burned in his eyes like Jake had never seen before.
“I’m the one Serena was having an affair with. Are you listening? I was screwing your wife.”
All the air suddenly left the room, and Jake stumbled backwards. “What?”
“That night, the last time you two were together before Karen was born. She told me about it. She was with me that night. You were supposed to be at work. Are you listening, bro? We had a room at the Motel Six. I was banging your wife just an hour before—”
“Shut up.” Jake backed into the wall and followed it to the door, upsetting a chair and a potted plant in the process. “Shut the fuck up!”
Tucker stopped, clasped his hands together in front of him, and nodded. His mouth turned up on one side in a smirk.
Jake found the door and fell through it, then he ran down the ramp and to his car, gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe, and his heart felt as if it were tearing itself apart. He stumbled against the door of his car, and then turned and looked back at the house.
It couldn’t be true. But why would Tucker have said it if it wasn’t?
It was true.
How the hell could he have done it? The one man he’d trusted with his life had betrayed him. Why?
Unable to think, Jake climbed into his car, started the engine, burned a donut in front of the house, and bolted up the driveway. He still couldn’t breathe, but he had to get away before he shot Dave Tucker.
CHAPTER 17
“Coop, please come back.”
The gusting wind swallowed her voice as Heather sat on the beach in the cloudy darkness, hugging her knees.
Her father was lost in the angry Gulf, maybe hurt and waiting for help.
She heard his voice in her head, singing, “She’s my little Deuce Coop, you don’t know what I got.” When she was young, she’d thought he’d made it up for her. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she found out the song, “Little Deuce Coupe,” was about a car. It didn’t matter; it would always be their song.
She saw her father’s face, lined with worry when she came home scraped from head to toe after her first bicycle wreck. Tears filled his eyes as he tried to patch and comfort her. How could any parent have been more tender?
And yet, she’d been the adult in the relationship since she was six and first found him passed out on the floor. She’d learned early that she couldn’t depend on him to show up for the school play, or buy things she needed, or even remember what day it was.
Was that why her mother had abandoned them?
The question had always been a stinging nettle in her soul. Even as an adult, old enough to know better, Heather’s heart still answered, “You weren’t good enough. She didn’t want you.”
And now the man she loved had lashed out at her when she needed him most. How ironic was that? The man who was her father needed her to be the adult, and the man she loved as an adult treated her like a child.
She understood that Jake had been worried, but that didn’t give him a right to yell at her.
Had it been a mistake to fall in love with Jake Starks?
It wasn’t as if she had any control over her feelings for him. All her life, she’d been analytical, able to work out problems, in control, an engineer to the core. Yet, when it came to Jake, no amount of reason or logical thought seemed to help.
Heather raised her face to the sharp, wind-driven rain. Scattered drops hit first her cheek, and then her shoulders, but they felt cool against her burning skin.
It didn’
t matter that she was miserable. What mattered was that her father was lost, and she had to rest so she could search for him at first light. She’d paddle a canoe out into the Gulf if necessary.
Jake Starks could go to hell.
Wiping drops from her face, Heather rose and started on the trail. A silent flash of lightning lit the ground in front of her for a moment. She had no idea how long she’d been on the beach, but it must be getting late. Weights of exhaustion tugged at her ankles as she walked.
Lightning flashed again as she approached the back steps to the bar and Heather jumped, choking back a scream. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the dim streetlights illuminated a man sitting on the steps.
Jake.
She stepped closer.
He sat on the fourth step with his elbows on his knees, clutching a bottle, studying it, oblivious to the rain. His gaze darted up to her and then back to the bottle.
“I should have been the one shot,” he said.
The total lack of emotion in his voice sent a shiver through her. She took another step forward. “Jake—”
He glared at her as he pulled the cork out of the bottle and upended it, taking a long drink. Then he held the bottle in both hands and stared at it.
“We got the call, shots fired. I remember it like it just happened this morning. No big deal. We got calls like that sometimes. But that night, I was drunk.
“You know why I was drunk? I was drunk because I couldn’t handle the fact that my wife had found someone else and left without giving me one last chance.
“So, there I was, plastered, trying to sneak along the wall. The first shot just missed me. The second hit Tucker.
“He fell right next to me, staring at me. I can still see the look in his eyes.”
Jake raised the bottle and took a longer drink, then he sighed.
“All these years, I hated myself for that night. Hell, I tried to eat a bullet so I wouldn’t have to live with it, but I couldn’t even do that right. And now, eight years later, I find out that Dave Tucker was the bastard who was screwing my wife. I should have shot him myself.”
He huffed a horrible-sounding laugh. Heather wrapped her arms around her stomach where a sour knot grew. “Jake…”
He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed and glistening like ice crystals. “I should have known better than to trust anyone.” His upper lip raised in a snarl. “I know now. How will you betray me, Heather? Huh? Get tired of me and go find some college kid to fuck? Is that what you’ll do?”
She tried to yell at him to stop, but his brutality stole the sound from her voice. She’d watched her father drink all her life, and she’d even seen him angry, but nothing had ever approached this. She stepped back.
“Yeah, that’s what you’ll do. I don’t need this crap. Save us both the trouble. Go on, get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
He looked at the bottle again, dismissing her from his life.
Heather stumbled as she turned, but recovered her footing and ran. She ran to the road, turned, and ran faster until there was no place left to go. She clung to the dock, gasping for air, shaking uncontrollably.
How could she have thought she was important to him? How could she have thought she loved him? How could he talk to her like that if he cared at all?
~~**~~**~~
Jake stared at the frozen fire, glistening in his hand. When the sky flashed, the bottle jumped to twice its size for an instant. He raised it to his mouth and closed his eyes.
The first taste had scorched his throat and his soul, and hit his stomach like a fist. The second was easier. He waited for the alcohol to work its way into his brain, reaching out like a numbing spider, spinning buffering webs around the pain.
“Dammit, Ace,” Tucker whispered, “you’re gonna get us shot.”
Jake popped the snap on his holster, drew his weapon, and held it at his side as he hurried through the yard toward an alley. Brick apartments rose on each side of a twelve-foot-wide access like fortress walls, their windows dark. At two in the morning, people slept even in this neighborhood. Traffic noise from I-30 hummed in the background.
He slowed and approached the alley's left wall, narrowing his eyes to check deep shadows for movement. A gust of night air on the back of his neck sent a shiver through him. He reached out for steady, damp bricks as he listened.
Behind him, Tucker's clothes rustled and his holster squeaked as he positioned himself against the right wall.
Jake glanced at him and Tucker nodded, his blond hair glowing in the darkness.
With his weapon raised, Jake started forward.
In spite of the liquor, adrenalin flooded his muscles with tingling heat and quivered through his stomach. He loved the excitement, savored it, thrived on it. Let the bastard shoot at him. It’d be the last thing the punk ever did.
Two steps in…nothing. Jake studied upper windows for activity. His shoulder to the wall, he took a step, and then another.
When his left foot struck a trashcan, the container banged against the brick wall. He reached for it, but hit it instead. The trashcan fell onto its side and cans and bottles smashed and clanged on concrete. He reached again. Something slipped under his foot—the lid, maybe.
He tumbled forward and hit the ground hard. His .357 skidded out in front of him, spinning across the dark alley floor. The trashcan rolled away.
A dog barked, then a baby screamed.
Wet, slick mush beneath his hands smelled like decaying fruit.
Garbage. He’d fallen in rotting, stinking garbage. Damn.
Jake recoiled at a pop. Pieces of brick rained down on his head. He searched the alley. Where the hell was his weapon? All he could see in the darkness was the lime-green trashcan. How could he have missed it before?
“Jake.”
The ground spun beneath him. Had he been hit? He couldn’t feel anything, but that didn’t mean much. He rolled to his side.
Tucker crossed the alley in a crouching run. “Jake,” he whispered, “are you—”
The second shot echoed off the walls and Tucker dropped, his eyes wide. Even in the gloom, Jake could see the confusion on his partner’s face.
Another shot pinged as it ricocheted off concrete and bricks.
Jake scrambled across the alley, grabbed Tucker’s shirt, rolled him over, and pulled him backwards as fast as he could. Two more shots followed them, striking walls. He heard voices finally, and doors slamming.
In wet grass, safely around the corner, he stopped and pulled Tucker up beside him. His partner didn’t move, but stared at him.
The smell of blood bit into the back of Jake’s throat.
“Oh, crap,” he whispered. “Hold on.”
“I’ve been shot,” Tucker said, through gritted teeth.
Jake raised Tucker’s shirt and felt wet, torn flesh. Blood covered his hand with blackness in the dim light. He reached around his partner and pressed his palm to the wound.
Tucker’s breath came out in shallow gasps and his body shook. “Damn…it’s cold.”
“Bastard. I should have let you bleed to death.”
It was Tucker’s fault he held this bottle in his hand. Tucker’s, and Serena’s, and Heather’s. It was their fault the fiery liquid filled his mouth. It was their fault—
Jake, don’t do this. Serena’s cold, calm voice echoed from a distant night.
Dammit, Ace, you’re gonna get us shot.
The past closed around him like a plastic bag.
Jake lowered the bottle and stared at it as he turned his head and spit out the mouthful of whiskey. What the hell was he doing? Hadn’t he learned anything in the past eight years?
The bottle shook in his hand.
No one else put it to his lips. No one made him drink. He did it to himself. They weren’t to blame; they were his excuses.
Yelling through gritted teeth, Jake hurled the bottle at the tree in the yard. It hit the trunk and shattered in the darkness.
This time t
he pain was his own, and he’d take it. No more goddamn excuses.
Christ, it hurt. He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. How could he ever trust anyone again? How could he ever let anyone in?
He’d let Serena in years ago. He remembered the terror on her face the first few times he’d lost his temper. The terror had transformed quickly into pain, and then, over the years, faded to indifference. That was it; that was how he’d driven her away. It was his fault she’d sought comfort in the arms of another man. He’d known it then, he just hadn’t known who the other man was. And when she’d left, he’d built a wall around his heart.
Until a few short days ago, no one had ever penetrated that wall.
Sweet, beautiful Heather. He’d driven her away now—betrayed her trust just as Tucker had betrayed his. She’d caught a glimpse of his darkness, and she’d never drop her guard again.
Good. They’d only end up hurting each other.
Like he hurt now.
His thoughts blurred into a whirlpool of sickening emotion that he couldn’t sort out, much less deal with.
Jake stood. Rain fell in earnest, drenching his clothes and bare head. He turned to face it, searching the night for the control he needed.
Staring out into the darkness, he focused on the immediate problem: Coop was missing, and it was his job to find the man. That had to be the most important thing now. The rest would have to wait.
Yes, he locked it all away for later.
Now he had work to do.
He’d left the Trans Am in the bar’s parking lot. Wiping water from his face, Jake walked around the building, climbed into the car, and drove the short distance to the dock. He parked on the top of the ramp, got out, and walked toward the shadow at the end of the pier.
Heather stood staring out at the bay, shivering. She stiffened as he approached, but didn’t look back.
His heart ached at the sight of her. How in the hell was he supposed to give her up?
The downpour had eased to a drizzle again. He stood behind her, aching to touch her but knowing better.
“You can’t stay out here all night.”
