Spring Tide (9 page)

Stef tossed her towel on the bench. “It’s nice of you to bring me this stuff, but what are you doing? Why do you keep showing up here?”

“Just trying to be friendly.”

Stef hesitated, then frowned. “You’re one of those annoying, perpetually cheerful types, aren’t you?”

“And you’re one of those moody, sarcastic types,” Jackie shot back, defensively.

This wasn’t going as planned. Jackie had been hoping to improve on their first meeting. Instead, she was now trading insults.

Standing with her shoulders slack, her hair unruly, looking smug and impudent, Stef looked incredibly hot. Her sulking lips were parted slightly, asking for trouble. Jackie tried to ignore all the signals going off in her brain: ping-ping-pinging like a pinball machine.

“I was just trying to make you feel welcome,” she said. “Since you’re new around here and don’t know anybody.”

“So you’re the self-appointed Welcome Wagon? Should I make a pot of coffee and we can sit down and have a nice chat?”

Being mocked rankled Jackie. “Look, I just thought you might be lonely out here by yourself all the time.”

“I’ve got Deuce.”

Jackie glanced at the dog lying on a throw rug. “You know, so far I haven’t heard enough out of him to get what a fascinating conversationalist he is.”

“What I really like about his company is how little he has to say,” countered Stef. “And how little he expects me to say in return. We’re very casual and undemanding here, and that’s the way I like it.”

“People have things to offer that dogs just can’t. Essential things.”

“Like crawdads?” Stef chuckled.

“Like humor,” Jackie returned. “Like culture. Understanding.
Humans are a highly social species. We need each other.”

Stef took a step closer, her gaze making the rounds of Jackie’s face. “I’ll admit there are needs only another human can satisfy.” Stef’s voice was soft and deep, incredibly alluring. “Is that why you’re here?” she taunted. “To satisfy my needs?”

Excited and nervous, Jackie took a step backward, backing up against the table. Stef came closer, her eyes full of amusement. She’s teasing me, Jackie decided. Though that realization angered her, she still wanted Stef to touch her.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Jackie whispered, acutely aware of Stef’s body so close to hers. Their mouths were only inches apart.

“Okay, then” said Stef quietly, raising her hand to Jackie’s face, letting the backs of her fingers graze her temple. “Be friendly.”

Stef’s hand slid to the base of Jackie’s skull, holding her head stationary as she leaned in to press her lips to Jackie’s, briefly. She pulled a couple of inches away and Jackie saw a cloud of uncertainty pass through her eyes before she kissed her again, lingering, urging Jackie’s lips apart. As her kiss deepened, their bodies moved closer, solidly against one another, overwhelming Jackie with the sensation of heat and pressure and a delicate smell of shampoo or shower gel. Her arms went around Stef’s neck, letting her deeper into her mouth. Stef’s arms circled her waist and pulled her in tighter as her mouth grew hungrier. Desire sprang up in waves in Jackie’s body, rising and falling as the tabletop pressed into the back of her thighs. Stef’s mouth moved to her neck and Jackie let her head fall back, melting, as Stef planted breathy kisses in a line down to the base of her collarbone.

The grip around her waist unexpectedly relaxed.

“You’d better get outta here,” Stef whispered, “before your Welcome Wagon makes an unscheduled delivery.”

Stef released her and stepped away. Her eyes were smoldering, but her expression was disdainful. She shook her head in a mildly disapproving way, as if disappointed.

Jackie recovered her footing, feeling foolish. Stef was playing with her. Like a cat with a bird. Everybody knows a cat loses interest in the bird when it stops struggling. Had Stef been expecting, hoping for, a struggle?

“You’re right,” Jackie said with as much composure and dignity as she could manage. “I should go. I’m sure you and Deuce have a lot to talk about.”

She swept past Stef and out the door, stumbling on the deck before skipping down the stairs and out to her pickup. She was sure Stef was laughing at her, if not aloud, then at least in her mind. How humiliating! Why had she been so compliant? She didn’t usually go around letting strange women kiss her. At least not without going on a couple of dates, having a few conversations, getting to know her and finding out if there was the promise of some genuine feeling between them. This was so primal. The way she’d felt, so helpless, overcome by physical desire. The woman touched her and she collapsed, devoid of will and embarrassingly passive. Like an old-fashioned heroine in a romantic movie, swooning and breathless.

Jackie slammed the door of her pickup and spun out of the driveway in a cloud of dust.

Molina rounded the corner two seconds behind Needham, his shoes hitting asphalt as sharp slaps that echoed down the street. Stef lagged behind. She was having trouble breathing, gasping to take in each breath. She didn’t know why. Something was wrong with her. Heart attack? she wondered, as she labored to catch up.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Molina slam Needham face down onto the road, a knee in his back. She stopped and trained her gun on Needham as Molina cuffed him.

No longer running, Stef still couldn’t catch her breath. She felt like she was drowning.

Out of nowhere, somebody jumped her, knocking her sideways and grabbing for her gun. As she lost her balance, her body went into slow motion. She took her left hand off her gun to fight off the attacker, catching him under the chin and pushing his face back as hard as she could.

Why hadn’t she heard him coming?

She fell to the ground under the weight of her assailant, desperately trying to hold onto her gun as he tried to wrench it from her. She managed to get her finger on the trigger, and fought to turn the barrel toward her attacker. His face, now directly beside hers, was sweaty, his teeth were bared, his breath was hot on her cheek. The gun barrel was facing his body. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger and it would be over. Just one muscle contracting. That’s all that was required to kill a man.

He grabbed her wrist and slammed her hand down hard on the pavement, trying to knock the gun loose.

As her index finger pulled the trigger, she knew it was too late. He’d deflected her in time and now had her pinned down. She wouldn’t have another chance.

She looked toward Molina to see if he was coming to her aid. He was! He was on his feet, running her way, but his boots made no sound on the road.

Then she saw the bullet sailing toward him, sailing straight and slow, the bullet from her gun, misfired and heading for her partner. Molina, still coming, didn’t see it. She tried to yell a warning, but her tongue was like stone. She tried to stop the bullet with her mind. She could call it back if she tried.
Try harder
, she urged herself. This time she would stop it. She had to stop it!

But once again, like every time before, the bullet continued determinedly on its way. As it struck Molina in the forehead, time returned to normal. Blood poured down his face. He looked confused, reeled backward. His gun slipped from his grasp. He fell to his knees.

Stef’s attacker was momentarily distracted by Molina. She took the opportunity to shove the barrel of her gun into his gut. She squeezed the trigger. The gun jerked. The man jerked. She squeezed again and he went limp. She shoved him off. Blood covered her hands and stomach. She stared at her hands until she heard the sound of shoes clicking out a rhythm on the asphalt. Looking up, she saw that Needham was on his feet and running away, his hands still cuffed behind him. She could hear again, she realized, as the screaming of sirens overwhelmed her.

Molina lay on his side in the alley, his eyes staring unblinking at her.

“You’re not dead,” she asserted forcefully
.
“You’re not dead! You’re not dead!”

Suddenly he lifted his head, then got up and walked over to her. He reached down to help her up, his forehead smooth and unmarred. He smiled his cocky smile, his thin mustache stretched out straight across his upper lip.

“Course I’m not dead,” he said. “How many times have I told you, I’m indestructible?”

She threw her arms around him, holding tightly and squeezing with all her strength. But she couldn’t hold him up. He slid from her grasp and fell at her feet like a car crash dummy, limp and lifeless.

Again she couldn’t breathe. Then she knew, suddenly, that she was awake, gasping for air, her body covered in sweat.

The room was dark. She looked at the glowing red numbers on the clock: 4:00 a.m. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Deuce appeared at her side. She put her arm around him and patted him reassuringly, as if he were the one needing comforting.

There was no point trying to go back to sleep. Besides, there was plenty of work to do, so an early start to the day wouldn’t go to waste. She got up and washed her face with cold water in the cramped bathroom, with its white molded plastic shower stall and two square feet of open floor between the toilet, sink and the wall. She stood with her hands on either side of the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Her thin face looked tired. She tried to smile reassuringly at herself, but it came out false.

Three months and she was still having this nightmare several times a week. At first she hadn’t been able to sleep at all and the department shrink had given her sleeping pills. Erin had said they made her snore and she felt drugged in the morning, so she quit taking them. Erin didn’t mind the snoring, she said, if Stef was able to sleep. But Stef didn’t like drugs, not even painkillers. They always cost you something. In addition to side effects, they cost you strength and independence. She’d flatly refused the antidepressants she was offered. It was better to find other ways to cope with illness or pain or sorrow…if you could. In the long run, it was better to rely on your own mind and body to heal themselves. That was her opinion, but she realized there were times your mind and body weren’t up to the task. She hadn’t decided yet if that was true in this case. She still had hope that she could get her life back. Not the same life, obviously, but some kind of life that didn’t hurt so much so often.

That’s what all this was about, after all. This houseboat scheme. She was used to sailing on the San Francisco Bay and knew how calm she always felt on the water. To live on water, she had decided, would be a way, perhaps, to find some peace of mind.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, Jackie glanced at the wall clock. She and Gail had another hour before Pat came by to take her home. They were playing cards at Jackie’s dining room table, listening to a contemporary pop music station on the stereo. From the living room, the fish tank gave off gurgles at irregular intervals. Rooster was asleep under the table, curled up next to Hobo, Jackie’s old white cat who was easygoing enough to sleep with any of the other animals, including guinea pigs or hamsters, and whom Gail often called “Ho” because she shared her bed indiscriminately.

Jackie examined the cards in her hand, then said, “Do you have any threes?”

“Go fish,” Gail replied. “Speaking of fish, somebody called me a ‘fish cop’ today.”

“Who?”

“Some drunk I gave a ticket to for taking too many bass. He was an asshole. He asked me, ‘What kind of gun is that? Hasbro or Mattel?’”

“You could have shot him with it and showed him.”

Gail shrieked with delight at that idea. “You got any kings?”

Jackie frowned and handed over her two kings.

“People don’t take us seriously,” Gail complained. “They don’t
realize we do more than give tickets to disobedient fishermen. We arrest people. We run undercover operations. There are some dangerous situations out there, like that abalone poaching ring over on the coast. Don’t think those guys wouldn’t have killed a couple wardens if they’d had the chance. And we have the same training as regular cops.”

“I know.” Jackie had heard these complaints before.

“But the pay sucks. Combine that with the public perception and it’s no wonder we’re always hurting for people. Anytime we get a good warden, he’s off to join some police department as soon as there’s an opening.”

“But not you.”

“No.” Gail held out her glass for a refill. “I love my job. Fish cop or not.”