by Cox, Suzanne
The lab technician opened another bag from a different box. “Not much surprises me anymore.”
Two hours later, Jackson steered onto the highway toward Cypress Landing. The man in charge of ballistics hadn’t been much help, either. None of the guns found in the bag had been used to shoot the guys at the river. No surprise there. Today he officially learned zero. But he felt like he was right on the edge of something and just couldn’t quite see it. The whole thing smelled like DePaulo and he didn’t like that scent at all.
FOR THE SECOND TIME this week, Emalea’s day had been uncharacteristically quiet. When her two evening appointments canceled, she finished her paperwork and locked the tiny side street office. Afternoon sunlight glinted through her windshield and, before her driveway came into view, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.
Twenty minutes later, wearing a pair of faded jeans and an orange shirt, she pulled her motorcycle onto the highway. With the wind snapping her ponytail, the bike devoured the miles along the country roads. Here she could feel freedom and hope for her future. Hope that she could find the piece of herself she had lost long ago.
After an hour, a rumbling in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and she steered the bike in the direction of Sal’s. Going home to cook a meal this late in the evening wasn’t exactly appealing, nor was the idea of sitting alone at her kitchen table. Not that solitary dining usually bothered her. She relished the tranquillity, the peace of mind it afforded. But lately, her serenity kept being interrupted by nagging thoughts of Jackson. Sal’s was a good place to stop when you were by yourself but didn’t want to feel like you were.
Atop a bar stool, Emalea sipped a soda, shouting an order to Mick, who was wiping the counter at the other end of the bar. A deep rumbling outside had her twisting to peer through the door.
Automatically her hand went to her head to make sure she had smoothed her hair after she’d gotten off her bike. Was it possible he had planted a homing device on her? For the second day in a row, Jackson Cooper appeared, seemingly out of thin air. Yesterday morning he’d arrived at her aunt’s restaurant five minutes after she’d sat down. They’d had breakfast together, which had pleased Aunt Alice immensely.
“I’m starting to think you’re following me.” She wiped drops of sweat off her glass as he slid onto a seat beside her.
“Nah, you’re just lucky I’ve happened by the same places you chose to eat.” Jackson waved at Mick, who seemed to know what he wanted and yelled back to the kitchen before filling a mug and setting it in front of him.
She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Come here a lot, do you? Or let me guess, Mick is lucky enough to be able to read your mind.”
“I have to admit I’m a frequent customer. Don’t get me wrong, I can cook, but remember, I’m still getting used to all this peace and quiet. Occasionally, it’s just a little too quiet at my house.”
By the time Mick brought them their food and they had managed to eat most of it, Emalea was having a hard time convincing herself that Jackson was remotely like any other man she’d known. Funny, charming and undeniably gorgeous, he put her at ease rather than making her nervous to distraction.
“You two gonna ride some more before it gets dark?”
Emalea glanced at the bartender as he took her plate. “I don’t know, Mick. I haven’t even considered it.”
“You need to take Jackson to the Bluffs. I bet he ain’t been there yet.”
Jackson leaned against the bar, but Emalea focused on the second button on Mick’s shirt. The Bluffs, not really a place she was interested in going with Jackson in tow. Her throat tightened. “I don’t know, Mick. It’s kind of far and I doubt if he’s interested in a bunch of washed-out dirt.”
“It’s only eight miles from here, Doc.”
“Yeah, Doc, and I’d like to see these bluffs.” Jackson leaned closer but she continued to ignore him. Mick’s mood was evident from the way the second button on his shirt jiggled up and down. But she still couldn’t manage to look him in the face. If she looked at either one of them, they’d see her fear. Deep concentration was required to get her fists unclenched. With that accomplished, she wiped her palms on her jeans. How hard could it be?
Dropping money on the bar, she got to her feet. “I guess we’re going to the Bluffs.”
Jackson gave a little whoop, as though she’d said they were going on a Caribbean cruise, before following her to their bikes.
THE BLUFFS SOUNDED like an unthreatening place but, judging by the rigid set of Emalea’s jaw, Jackson was beginning to believe they might have to do time in purgatory to get there. At the first turn he’d almost shouted to tell her to forget it, but she had shot ahead and he decided to keep going. The woman was hard to get close to, and he wasn’t even sure that was what he wanted, except when he was with her. Then he came alive again. A certain amount of risk was involved, especially for his heart. But he hadn’t reached the point where he felt he was risking too much, not yet.
Emalea dropped behind him and, before he realized it, she had stopped completely. He glanced back then made a slow turn. Pulling alongside her, he killed the engine and the sound of frogs, crickets and birds filled the air. They were at the end of an overgrown driveway. Grass and weeds had long ago covered all but a few spots of gravel. Through the thicket, he spotted a house nearly obliterated by tree limbs and vines. A porch ran the length of the front and wrapped around one side, but it had rotted and collapsed in several places. Across the roof, a tree limb rested. The hole it had made was clearly visible.
Emalea’s hand covered her mouth, and Jackson held his breath for a moment as he noticed the slightest trembling of her fingers. He took her other hand in his and held it. For a few moments she was unaware of him, lost again.
“This is where I lived.”
The statement was made without a quiver in her voice. Unsure how to respond or even if he should, Jackson remained quiet. He only knew her mother had died in an accident and her father “hadn’t been around.” Having dealt with death more closely than he wished, he didn’t want to press her. At times, words had a way of bringing ghosts to life, but sometimes talking was the only way to put them to rest.
She turned to him at last with an uncharacteristic sneer. “The place hasn’t changed much.” With a shrug, she reached toward the start button on her handlebar. He continued to hold her other hand and she paused. “You could say I come from meager beginnings.”
“That doesn’t mean much to me. From where I’m standing you’ve done well.”
“You couldn’t imagine how well.”
“So tell me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I have the energy for it.” She glanced at the old house again. “Besides, some things are just better left in the woods.”
He let go of her hand. Her motorcycle roared to life and she spewed rocks into the weeds in her eagerness to get going.
Within minutes they rounded a curve and the river came into view. They bumped along a dirt road before stopping in an open area where the grass had been worn away from the cars that had parked here. Live oak trees spread their branches wide and several, unable to support their own weight, had wooden braces placed under them to keep the heavy limbs from breaking off. At the river’s edge, the clay-rich earth dropped away below their feet. The setting sun sent streaks of pink, yellow and red onto the bank leading to the muddy water below.
“This is spectacular.” Jackson found the white cliffs rising from the brown depths to be like a ray of light.
“Yeah, it’s hard to describe. You have to see it. We’re lucky to be here just as the sun is setting. That’s the best time. The colors really come alive. I used to come here when I needed to be alone. It wasn’t a bad walk from my house. There was a path.” She shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun sinking low on the horizon and pointed to a tree farther up the bank. “I’d climb into that tree and sit for hours. Often, I’d bring a book to read. I could
n’t tell you how many sunsets I’ve seen from that tree.”
“Your parents didn’t mind you being here by yourself after dark?”
She laughed, a brittle and unhappy sound. “It wasn’t your average household. There was a lot more to worry about than whether or not I was home by dark.”
For a moment, he thought she shivered as she moved closer toward the rail that had been placed at the edge. No more information would be forthcoming. He could see the wall she’d erected to keep that part of her life private. Stepping behind her, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. His chin fit nicely on top of her head.
She was stiff against him, and he moved his mouth near her ear. “Relax, I’m not going to throw you over.”
The tenseness leaked from her muscles. He held his breath as quietly, slowly her body eased against his. If it were possible, he’d freeze this moment. Her hands rested on top of his, which were still clasped at her waist. He loosened his grip to weave his fingers with hers. Her back pressed closer into him, her bottom fitting tightly against his hardness. Exactly when he’d become so aroused he wasn’t sure. Was it when he’d put his arms around her? No, it had been before that. It might have been at Sal’s. He was beginning to think he couldn’t remember a time since he’d met her that he didn’t want her.
From behind him a horn honked. He turned to see three cars loaded with teenagers stopping near their motorcycles. He groaned and Emalea sighed audibly, before stepping away from him.
“We better go. I’ll see you at the meeting Thursday and we can finish planning that training program for Saturday.”
He nodded and possibly said yes. He wasn’t sure if he’d spoken because his mind was busy debating if he should ask her to his house or invite himself to hers. He matched her stride, trying to read her expression. He couldn’t—continue this tonight, that is. Reading her expression had been a breeze. It said, “See you later,” in really big letters.
He knew he should leave whatever brewed between them alone. If he got closer to her, he’d be responsible for her and he didn’t need to be responsible for anyone ever again. He’d proven himself as a failure in that department. With Emalea, he almost felt invincible again. He craved that feeling even though he knew he’d never truly been invincible. Not once.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KENT USUALLY WENT STRAIGHT home on Tuesday or at least to his dad’s shop to help. On this particular Tuesday, Mrs. Wright, who taught art part-time at the schools and owned her own art-supply store, Picture Perfect, had asked him to help do odd jobs after school. She would pay him, which had kept his father from complaining when he’d called from school to say he’d be late coming home.
He’d unloaded boxes in Mrs. Wright’s storeroom and rearranged several shelves, all with Megan Johnson’s help, which made him feel like he was getting paid twice. Right now, on the sidewalk, cleaning the front display-case glass with Megan a few feet away, he almost felt like he’d won a prize.
He heard footsteps approaching and he stiffened. Trouble was coming. He could feel it.
“Megan, what is this backwoods redneck doing here? Is he bothering you?”
Kent took a deep breath, hating Gary Johnson, even if he was Megan’s cousin.
“Stop it, Gary! Kent is working for Mrs. Cecile today, so why don’t you go away?”
“Why doesn’t he tell me to go away?”
Kent tightened his grip on the rag he’d been using to clean the glass. “Save it for another time, Gary. Mrs. Cecile wouldn’t want trouble at her shop and she’s the sheriff’s wife.”
Mentioning the sheriff put a damper on Gary’s fun, but only briefly. Kent didn’t see the punch coming, but it was poorly aimed and glanced off his shoulder, sending him slamming against the glass, which, thankfully, remained intact.
He’d never wanted to hit anyone so much in his life, except his father. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight—his dad made sure he knew how to use his fists. But for Kent, hitting people was a last resort. Doing so on the street in the middle of the afternoon was unacceptable. Instead, he stood his ground and Megan stepped between them.
“Go home, Gary. If you want to hit someone, you’ll have to hit me.”
“You wait till I tell your dad what kind of trash you’re hanging around with, then we’ll see who gets in trouble.”
If Kent had thought this situation bad, worse arrived just when he believed the incident might be over. Appearing as if from nowhere, his two cousins, Randy and Dennis, shouldered their way into the scene.
“Gary, I know you’re not over here picking on Kent again after we told you not to.” Dennis stood an inch closer to Gary than was polite.
The two boys were tall and lanky, but everyone knew their reputation. They were both two grades behind in school and could care less. They’d likely quit as soon as their mothers stopped holding on to the slim hope that they would turn out better than their fathers. A part of him appreciated their taking up for him, but mostly he wished they’d just go away.
Randy shoved Gary into Dennis and Gary raised his fist. Kent frowned, seeing that violence and stupidity were not confined to poor white trash.
“Randy, Dennis, you guys give it a rest. We don’t need this trouble right here on Main Street.” Kent might as well have been talking to the sidewalk because his two cousins completely ignored him.
A short bark of squealing tires stopped the three boys poised to fight. A sheriff’s car had spun neatly into an empty spot right in front of them. Sheriff Wright himself stepped from behind the wheel and a man Kent had never seen before climbed from the passenger side.
“What’s going on here, men?” The sheriff crossed his arms in front of his chest but all the boys cringed when the other man stepped onto the sidewalk. There’d be no arguing with him. The man looked like a Mack truck.
A lot of nothings were mumbled and Randy kept his gaze on the ground. With two visits to juvenile court already, he didn’t need a third. A bell tinkled as Cecile Wright pushed through the shop door.
“This boy,” she pointed to Gary, “came along and started bothering my employees.”
“I just wanted to visit my cousin Megan.”
Cecile Wright frowned. “Visit with her when she gets home. Right now she and Kent are supposed to be working for me and I don’t want people, cousin or not, coming along bothering them.”
Gary hung his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Okay, you guys, go home. I don’t want y’all taking this fight elsewhere. If there’s more trouble, Mr. Cooper and I will find you, and we won’t be in a good mood. I have to tell you, when Mr. Cooper’s not in a good mood, it’s really bad.”
The man appeared ready and willing to break them all into bite-size morsels. The other boys slunk away while Kent focused his attention on a crack in the concrete.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cecile. It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kent. I watched the whole thing from inside. Gary wanted to cause trouble. I called the sheriff’s office right after he came.”
“He never would have stopped if I hadn’t been here. Maybe you should get another kid to help you. It might be less trouble for you.”
Mrs. Wright gripped his arm, forcing him to look at her. “Kent, I’ve never been one to worry much over trouble. I want you to work for me every Tuesday.”
Kent smiled with relief. “I’d like that.”
“Good enough. Now you and Megan go get things ready to close. If we have more problems, I bet Mr. Cooper here can take care of them, don’t you think so?”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe he could take care of several at one time.”
The big man laughed, and he didn’t seem nearly so bad. Kent left with Megan following him, glad that he’d stayed on the right side of the law. He wanted to keep it that way. Maybe he could even be a deputy when he got older.
TAKING A BITE of her chicken-salad sandwich, Emalea listened to Lana reprimand
a second grader who had just tossed a roll across the aisle. The elementary cafeteria was not her first choice for lunch, but if she wanted to eat with Lana this was the only place they could do so with school in session.
“Will summer break ever get here?” Lana groaned.
Emalea smiled, admiring her friend’s patience. This many kids in one room would send her screaming out the door but Lana seemed to handle it all very well.
“So, have you made plans this weekend with a very large and handsome man we both know?”
Washing her sandwich down with a swig from her bottled water, Emalea tried to remain calm. “Lana, you know I have that training exercise at the lake for new volunteer search-and-rescue divers.”
Her friend chewed at her own lunch without speaking and Emalea hoped that there would be no more discussion of Jackson Cooper. But of course Lana had to gnaw that particular bone to death.
“Do you mean to tell me that the sheriff department’s SAR coordinator is not even going to ride by and see how things are going and at least make sure you’re not drowning one of your students?”
Lana would get to the truth sooner or later on her own, but Emalea still squirmed on the little plastic stool for a few seconds.
“Actually, we’ve got so many volunteers that he’s going to help with the training.”
“Woohoo…” A few little heads turned to see what had their teacher shouting.
“Stop it, Lana. It’s just work.”
“Yeah, that’s the kind of job I’d love to have. So tell me, are you going to give this guy a break or what? From everything I’ve seen, he’s a dream.”
Emalea’s first reaction would be to say Jackson Cooper was more like a nightmare, but it wasn’t true. She still felt like she couldn’t figure him out and, with her training, she should be able to put the guy in a box and label it. Historically, that kind of problem had often meant trouble for her. She had liked men before and read them completely wrong because of it.
