by Cox, Suzanne
He took a half step toward her. “He pass out?”
She nodded, quickly shutting the door. Kent returned to his bed, using the sheet to wipe away the beads of perspiration on his forehead. They were hurtling toward a point he couldn’t exactly see. He only hoped they’d survive.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATE SPRING HAD BEGUN to feel like midsummer. Emalea wiped the perspiration from her upper lip. The air-conditioning she’d had Uncle John install in her truck had been whining and barely blowing cool air all week. To make her Friday a little more interesting, it had died its last death this morning on her way to the prison to do her evaluations.
She pushed the door open with her foot while trying to see through the garage doors of her uncle’s shop. If she was lucky, Uncle John would be able to fix the truck’s air this evening, although the number of cars parked both in and around the garage didn’t seem very promising. Movement at the back of the shop caught her attention, so she set off in that direction only to come to a halt at what she saw.
Her uncle John was bent over a familiar-looking motorcycle. Squatting next to him in a tight red T-shirt with the sleeves cut off was Jackson Cooper. Did the man have no decency? First he showed up at every outing she attended; now he was making himself at home with her aunt and uncle. Even if the only outings she’d attended were the ride last Saturday and a search-and-rescue meeting on Tuesday, wasn’t that enough?
Jackson glanced back, noticed her standing there and straightened. “Emalea, Mr. Berteau didn’t think you’d come by this evening.”
Her uncle stood as well and tapped Jackson’s shoulder with a wrench. “I’ve told you ten times it’s no Mr. This or Mr. That. The name’s John.”
The big man smiled and her uncle grinned right along with him. It was a conspiracy to test her patience. She was going to fail the test.
“Jackson here came by to have me work on this bike of his so you won’t be outrunning him anymore.”
Jackson managed to look a little sheepish, which had to be hard for such a bear. “I really just came by for a tune-up.”
She ignored him, directing her words to her uncle. “My air-conditioning broke this morning. I was hoping you might have time to fix it, but since you’re busy, it’ll wait.”
Uncle John let her take three strides before stopping her. “Emalea!”
When she turned back, the older man’s dark gaze told her just how much she sounded like a churlish five-year-old. He paused, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ll be checking on your air right now and you’ll start behaving so as not to embarrass your aunt. You and Jackson gonna stay for supper. Your aunt Alice made a big pot of gumbo. She’s been trying to call all evening to invite you.”
She hung her head. “I was at the prison and I left my cell phone at home.”
Uncle John patted her arm, making Emalea feel even worse for her snippy comment. “While I check your truck, take Jackson around to the house. He needs to wash up and you can help Alice get the food ready.”
He headed out the front of the garage while Emalea steeled herself to try and be polite for the next few hours.
“I’m not trying to intrude on your family dinner but your aunt and uncle insisted I stay and eat.”
“Of course you should stay. Aunt Alice is a great cook and they love to have company.”
He moved closer. “What about you? Would you like some company, too?”
“My aunt and uncle can invite whoever they want to eat with them. It’s not up to me.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. I thought we’d developed a kind of understanding last weekend, but the other night at the meeting you didn’t have much to say to me. Has my secret split personality been harassing you again?”
“No, I just had a lot on my mind the other night.” She didn’t say she’d been trying to remind herself of all the reasons she didn’t need to like Jackson Cooper. Unfortunately, she was finding him more likable by the minute.
“Come with me, the house is just through this back door and across the yard.” Thankfully, he followed without further comment.
JACKSON TOOK UP the entire kitchen, or at least it felt that way to Emalea. She seemed to bump into him every time she turned around while preparing a loaf of French bread with garlic butter.
Her aunt was all over him. Offering him iced tea and digging into his family history. Emalea learned more in five minutes than she’d heard in all the other time they’d spent together. It was a lot more than she wanted to know. His mother was an elementary school teacher as was his sister. Jackson’s father had worked his whole life in the police department and one brother was a lawyer, the other a fireman.
He sounded so normal, but she didn’t trust that. If only she could be sure why she was attracted to him. Was it because of how nice he seemed? Or because there was a dangerous side of him that her rotten-man magnet was able to detect? A bad side that she was inevitably drawn to.
By the time she and Jackson had put the last dish in the dishwasher, Emalea had begun to believe she could have been wrong pegging him as a brutish man. She wasn’t yet ready to admit to a total error, but the man did deserve further observation. He insisted on straightening the kitchen after their meal and had carefully written her aunt’s gumbo recipe on a scrap of paper, although he was under strict orders not to attempt to cook it without returning for a lesson in making the perfect roux. He finished the evening at the table, talking cars and motorcycles with her uncle until even Emalea had had enough. She found her aunt in the living room watching television.
“What a nice boy.”
Emalea flopped onto the sofa beside her. “He’s hardly a boy, Aunt Alice.”
The older woman frowned, which reminded Emalea to be more polite. “He may be a big man on the outside, but he’s got the boy’s heart.”
“You’ve only just met him, how do you know he’s got a boy’s heart, whatever that is?”
Her aunt’s face stiffened, and Emalea knew she was in for a lecture. She’d seen that look on more than one occasion, many more. “Now, it seems to me, you hardly know him, either, so how can you say he doesn’t have the boy’s heart? The boy’s heart is a good heart, kind and gentle. I like him way better than the man who sells the drugs.”
Emalea’s eyebrows bunched up as she tried to figure out who her aunt was talking about. “The man who sells… Oh, you mean Paul Jones. You make him sound like a criminal. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not dating either one of them.”
“Well, you should be.”
“What, dating both of them?”
Her aunt slapped her leg lightly. “You know I’m speaking of this man here.”
Emalea smoothed a few wrinkles in the linen pants she’d worn all day. “Do you really think he’s a good guy? What if he’s pretending or hiding something?” She continued to study the material of her pants, not meeting her aunt’s gaze.
Firm fingers lifted her chin. “Not all men are like that, Em.”
“He reminds me of a few bad men I’ve known.”
Her aunt nodded. “Maybe on the outside that’s true, but I don’t see it on the inside. If you do, maybe it’s because you’re wanting so badly to find it.”
Emalea grasped her aunt’s hand. “Maybe you’re right.”
In the other room, she heard chairs scooting across the floor and she smiled.
Her uncle entered the small living room with Jackson behind him. “Em, I forgot to tell you earlier, but I already started on your truck. I had to take a few parts out to get to the air, so you’ll have to leave it here. I’ll run you home when you’re ready.”
“I’d be glad to take Emalea home,” Jackson interrupted. “That is if she wouldn’t mind.”
Emalea tried not to give Uncle John a look of panic. Maybe her uncle would say, “No stranger’s taking my niece home.” But he didn’t. He only smiled, thanking Jackson for his kind offer and giving Emalea a hard stare that said, “Be nice.” In all fairness to Uncle John, it was near
ly ten o’clock and Jackson wasn’t exactly a stranger. The man was employed by the sheriff’s office. No good reason existed for her or her uncle to refuse his offer. If she were honest, which she didn’t really want to be, she’d admit Jackson wasn’t the one she was afraid of. She was scared of herself and how he made her feel. Alone with him, she might lose control, she might start to fall for him, and the nightmare would begin. However, a small voice deep inside her whispered, a fantasy might begin. For once, it might be wonderful. She stood, thanking Jackson for the offer and, after a quick hug from her aunt and uncle, she followed him through the door.
THE DARK INTERIOR of the truck shadowed Jackson’s face as he turned into her driveway, still praising her aunt and uncle. Moonlight shone between the branches of the trees and Emalea leaned forward to peer at the sky.
“Full moon,” she said.
“Not afraid of ghosts and goblins, are you?”
“Only on Halloween.”
He laughed, bending across the seat in front of her. The cushions pressed into her back as she tried to widen the distance between them. She wondered what he was thinking. He paused for a moment, smiling as if he knew he had sent her into a panic, then pulled the handle to open the door for her.
“I didn’t figure you’d sit in here until I walked around, and my mother did try to teach me manners, like opening doors for ladies.”
He climbed out on his side and she realized he was going to follow her to the front door.
“Your place is so peaceful. I know I’ve only been here at night but I bet you can really relax here.”
“I do. I have a screened porch on the back with a daybed and when the weather’s good, I’ll sleep there, where I can hear the creek running.” She almost sighed just thinking about it.
“There’s a creek behind your house?”
She smiled. “Sure, do you want to see?”
“Absolutely.”
He stayed at her shoulder as she led him around the house and down a slight incline to the creek, where the water flowing among the rocks made a swishing sound that always helped her unwind.
“This is nice.” Jackson motioned to the wooden bench with a decorative ironwork inlay in the backrest. In front of the bench was a small wooden table with a stone top. “It’s like having your living room outside.”
The rush of pleasure his words brought surprised her. It was her special place. She hadn’t expected to be happy that he liked it, too.
“I could make coffee, if you’d like to sit for a while.”
In the shimmering light, his smile was barely visible. “I’d like that a lot. Do you need help?”
“No, it’ll only take a minute.”
He sat on the bench and propped his feet up on the table. “I’ll wait here.”
Throwing coffee into the filter, Emalea didn’t even try to analyze what she was doing. She ought to have said goodbye at the truck. Curiosity killed the cat was the old saying, and the only memory she had involving a cat wasn’t a very good one. Despite the warnings her brain kept giving her, she was curious. So far, Jackson didn’t fit the image she’d had of him and, in all honesty, he had enough sex appeal to make her toes tingle.
Frogs and crickets chorused in a never-ending concert as she carried her stainless-steel carafe and two coffee mugs to the creek bank. She’d never sat here at night with a man. This was her sanctuary, but Jackson didn’t feel like an intruder.
He took the carafe from her and poured while she held the cups, praying her hands wouldn’t shake. Sliding to one side, he made room for her on the bench. “I can see why you would want to sleep on your porch, at least until it gets really hot.”
She nodded. “I opt for the air-conditioning as soon as summer sets in.”
“Thanks for not being mad at my eating with your aunt and uncle. I went by for the work on my motorcycle, but they really insisted I stay.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why should that make me mad?” The moonlight cast odd shadows across his smiling face, making her chuckle. “All right, I’ve been a little testy around you, but like I said, it’s not personal.”
“Hostile is more like it. And it feels very personal to me.”
Emalea paused. She’d never spent much time considering how she was making him feel. “I guess what I mean is it’s not about you.”
“Who is it about then?”
“I really don’t think we need to get into all that now.” She might be giving herself room to be interested in Jackson but she wasn’t ready to spill her life history right here on the creek bank. A cool breeze lifted her hair into her face, but before she could grab it herself, Jackson caught the wisps between his fingers and tucked them behind her ear.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.”
She pretended not to hear him; instead she concentrated on not noticing how his touch lingered on her cheek.
“You know, you don’t have to tell me more than you’re comfortable with. I’m not pushing for information, just trying to talk to you.”
Emalea watched the wisteria swing back and forth. Comfortable? She didn’t think she could be more comfortable with anyone, but it was an ugly story and when told it would probably leave him with a less-than-favorable opinion of her. Holding on to his respect, for at least a little longer, had somehow become important.
“I’m not sure how to say it. I guess I’ve just had really bad experiences with certain men and you have some of the same central traits.”
“What exactly are central traits?”
She rubbed her hand along the wooden seat. “They are things that influence an outsider’s impression of a person, leading to assumptions of the presence of other traits. For instance, big, strong men with that bad-boy appeal. They tend to be overbearing and set on having things their own way.”
He studied her face before he responded. “And you think I fall into that group?”
She shrugged, beginning to feel a bit guilty, but she didn’t have reason to be, did she? “You do look the part.”
“If you didn’t make it all sound so negative, I’d say I was flattered, at least by the strong-man, bad-boy part. But you can’t actually believe any of the rest of that describes me. You’re generalizing.”
“Like I said, you look the part.” She didn’t want to tell him how she’d been duped by that kind before. How she’d believed a man had been special only to find he could hurt her without a second thought.
He sighed. “Haven’t you ever heard that appearances can be deceiving? It’s a very old adage.”
She smiled. “I’m having difficulty deciding what’s the appearance part and what’s the real you.”
He twisted on the bench, closing the distance between them. “How do you mean?”
In the milky light, his eyes appeared dark with occasional glimmers. She wanted to look away, stare at the dirt under her feet, but she couldn’t bring herself to break what felt like the beginning of a special connection between the two of them. “I guess I’m not sure if the real you is the nice guy you often seem to be, or the bad boy I see on the surface.”
He buried his hand in her hair, grabbing a fistful, letting it drift through his fingers. Her mouth was dry but she couldn’t seem to bring her coffee cup to her lips.
“Why can’t I be a nice mixture of both? Everyone you meet in life is not going to fit into a prescribed slot.”
“I don’t expect everyone to. There are people who fall into the slot all by themselves. I don’t put them there.”
He leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her ear. “You’re trying to put me there, but I promise, I’m not going to fit. If you keep hanging around me long enough you’ll find that out.” His hand covered hers and her fingers intertwined with his of their own accord. The air around her warmed with the heat of his body and he seemed to draw every breath with her. She was afraid he would kiss her, while at the same time dying for him to get on with it.
“I’d like that.”
“What?
” He seemed distracted as he fingered a strand of hair with his other hand, touching it to his lips.
“To hang around you enough to see the real you.”
“I can make that happen, but I have to be honest, you’re seeing the real me right now.”
His lips touched her cheek, the side of her neck while her hand clung to his with desperation. Then he was gone, walking away from her. “I’ll see you at the lake next weekend for SAR dive training, if I don’t see you before.”
He disappeared into the moonlit night and she didn’t move until she heard his truck accelerating onto the highway. If Jackson Cooper was a mistake, she couldn’t remember making one before that felt so right.
A STRONG SMELL OF CHEMICALS and cleaning fluid stung his nose. Jackson watched the lab technician hold the plastic bag up to the light and shake it slightly.
“It was crystal methamphetamine, just like we all figured.”
He placed the bag into a box with several other bagged items. Driving all the way to Baton Rouge to the state crime lab hadn’t been necessary but he’d wanted to talk to lab personnel firsthand about the results they’d had on the evidence from the shooting. A bag of white powder had been discovered, sealed and completely dry, in the bag with the guns.
“So we’re talking about someone who’s selling drugs and guns?” He leaned over the counter to take one last look at the bag.
The lab tech shrugged. “Maybe they’re trading guns for drugs. Who knows? You’re in the middle of a big militia area. Anything’s possible. I can run some more tests, but that won’t help you trace where the crystal meth came from. It could be anywhere. There’s huge operations making this stuff, as well as idiots cooking it up at home. We’re talking over-the-counter sinus meds, fertilizer and good old battery acid. Stuff you can get anywhere.”
Jackson sighed and straightened.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help. Maybe they came up with something on the guns.”
Taking his pad, he made a few notes then looked back at the tech. “Yeah, maybe so.” He picked up the bag and shook it, staring at the off-white powder. “Battery acid, huh? Amazing what people will willingly put in their bodies.”
