The Cove (16 page)

“I joined the Army, didn’t I?” he said.

“That sounds like out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Ben didn’t reply.

“It was pretty horrible over there, wasn’t it?” Julia said, her eyes narrowing with sympathy. The look melted his heart, and once again — as was so often the case whenever he was with her — he had to hold himself back from hugging and kissing her.

“I don’t really like to talk about it, but — yeah, some serious shit went down.”

Thankfully, Julia didn’t press him on it. He knew he was never going to forget what he had seen and done, but he didn’t need a constant reminder. Just thinking about it stirred up things he didn’t like.

“So have you decided this is it — you’re going to stay in to be a Cove-ah for the rest of your life?”

Ben noticed the strain in her voice. She sounded nervous … tense … like she was holding something back from him. He wondered what it was she wasn’t saying. He kicked a divot in the sand with the heel of his sneaker as he stared out across the vast blue expanse of the ocean. KY’s boat was long out of sight, no doubt in the harbor after a long day hauling pots.

“Once a Cove-ah, always a Cove-ah,” he said.

“No matter where you go?”

Ben snorted and shook his head.

“I’ve always dreamed of getting out, no doubt, maybe moving to California or Texas or … wherever. Now, I haven’t got a clue what I want to do,” he said at last. “I guess I could always take over the
lobstering
business from my old man. I know that’s what
he’d
like, even though he’s never come right out and said it.”

“What about Pete. I thought he was doing that,” Julia said.

Ben wondered how she knew anything about his family situation. As far as he could recall, he hadn’t mentioned anything about Pete or his father’s
lobstering
business. Of course, she might have picked it up from around town, but she showed an interest and knowledge of his family situation that … well, he didn’t want to think it meant a lot more than it appeared on the surface.

“I have no idea what’s going on with Pete,” Ben said. “I mean — he’s twenty-four years old. Never been to college. Still living at home. No prospect of ever getting married.”

“What’s so bad about not being married?” Julia asked with a sudden vehemence that startled Ben.

“Nothing … Nothing
a’tall
. It’s just with Pete … He’s kind of a sad case. He hooked up with a girl in high school, never dated anyone else, and she dumped him recently.”

Julia looked away and bit down on her lower lip as she nodded.

“You ever go to college?” she asked.

The subtle shift in conversation surprised him, as if she knew as well as he did that they were dancing around a sensitive subject.

“I tried a semester at the community college in Auburn, but —” He shrugged. “It wasn’t for me.”

Julia nodded.

“How ’bout you?” he asked.

Julia’s face went pale. Her eyes narrowed, and the lines around her mouth tightened as if she’d bitten into a lemon.

“Yeah. Upstate New York. Ithaca College.”

“Never heard of it. What’d you study?”

“Guys. That’s where I met my ex-husband. Charlie.” Her eyes took on a glassy stare as she looked out over the water again. “It didn’t last long. Four or five years. I don’t even remember. I guess it was my trial run.”

Ben wasn’t sure why, but he felt a sudden twinge of jealousy, thinking that other men — maybe many other men — had been with her. He wondered if Julia meant what she had said about studying guys and might be the kind of woman who had trouble settling down and remaining loyal to one man.

Not that it matters,
he told himself, flushing with guilt.
Guys like me don’t end up with women like her.

“You graduate?” he asked, hoping to keep the subject light.

Julia nodded and said, “I got a degree in early childhood education, but I never used it. Never got around to it.”

Ben sensed there was more here than she wanted to get into right now, so he let her comment drop, and they were silent for a long time as they both looked at the sky and sea. Finally, after a long silence, Julia shifted her stance and turned halfway around toward him.

“Ben,” she said with a deep-throated huskiness in her voice that made him respond instantly. He raised both hands and gripped her shoulders. After a beautiful moment of tension as they gazed into each other’s eyes, he drew her close.

She didn’t resist. She collapsed into his embrace.

Her arms snaked around his waist and pulled him close until their hips were pressing together … hard. Grinding. He lowered his face to hers, and she stretched up to meet him. Their mouths were open as if they each had something important to say but couldn’t quite phrase it. And then, slowly, Ben moved his head forward until their lips met. As soon as they touched, a hot flood of passion swept through Ben, and he was kissing her desperately.

Within seconds, their hands were all over each other, feeling … rubbing … kneading … touching. Ben’s hands cupped her breasts and felt their soft, warm roundness. She broke off the kiss and, moving closer, moaned as she blew softly into his ear. And then her hands slid down over his hips and around to the front. She started rubbing her hand up and down across the hardness of his groin, sending electric sparks sizzling through him.

Ben nuzzled his face against her neck, intoxicated as he inhaled her fragrance and licked the salt on her skin and nibbled the lobe of her ear. For a moment … a moment that crackled like lightning in the air … they pulled away from each other and smiled, their gazes locked. The liquid glow in Julia’s brown eyes was all Ben could see as slowly … slowly … they knelt down together on the sand, and then she was in his arms again, kissing him and squeezing him while making soft, low moaning sounds.

Ben eased her down onto the warm sand, unmindful of the grit as they slowly, carefully undressed each other, caressing and exploring and reveling in each other’s body as each new part was exposed. And then, with the sea hissing on the sand beside them, they made love for the first time.

“C
hief says he wants to see you.”

It was a few minutes before his shift, and Tom was seated in the canteen, his feet propped up on the table as he sipped a cup of coffee that had obviously been on the burner a few hours longer than it should have. It might taste like crap, but at least it was hot and had caffeine. In an instant, Charlie Evans’ words instantly turned the warmth he’d been feeling into ice.

“Right now?” Tom asked. He dropped his feet to the floor and tried to control the tremor in his hand as he placed the Styrofoam coffee cup onto the table.

“No,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. “He was thinking sometime next week … or whenever you’re in the mood.” He paused, then added, “Of
course
right now.”

“Any idea what this is about?” Tom asked as he got to his feet.

“Not a clue,” Charlie replied, and then he ducked back out the door.

Tom stood beside the table for several seconds, feeling light-headed. His knees were rubbery, and he was afraid they would fold up on him like a fifty-cent lawn chair if he took a single step. Steadying himself with one hand on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in, he stared at the closed door Charlie had exited.

What the fuck …?
he thought.
They gotta be onto me.

He was convinced he was going to be busted … He’d go to trial … maybe even do time in Warren. Just great. A town cop in the state pen. How many men had he arrested and helped put there? He’d never come out alive.

“Screw this,” he muttered as he picked up his cup and dumped the contents down the sink. He tossed the cup in the general direction of the trash can and missed, but he didn’t bother to pick it up.

He could always run.

He didn’t have any ready cash. He would have, if Ben hadn’t been such a dick about his proposition. Still, why not go home, pack a few things, get the suitcase with the drugs, and take off? Maybe go to Boston … or Providence to unload it. He knew people in Rhode Island. Hell, if Ben hadn’t been such a prick and hooked him up with Richie Sullivan, maybe Richie would have hooked him up with someone down there. He might not get the best price, certainly not what it was worth, but it’d be something. And right now,
anything
was looking better than what he was facing.

“Jesus Harold Christ on a rubber crutch,” he whispered.

He was still wondering if he should bolt or not when the door opened, and Chief Harlan walked in.

“Hey. You coming up to my office?” he asked. It didn’t matter what he said or who he was speaking to, whenever Harlan spoke, the flat, emotionless pitch in his voice always sounded threatening.

“Yeah … I’m on my way.”

“Make it snappy,” Harlan said, and then he left, the door whooshing shut behind him.

Tom turned to the sink, ran the water until it was good and cold, and splashed his face several times. The cold shock numbed him, but it felt good. It cleared his head … helped him focus. He had to face whatever was going to happen, no matter what kind of shit came down.

A minute later Tom knocked on the police chief’s door, a few quick raps.

“I’m in. You’re out,” Harlan shouted.

The metal doorknob was slick in the palm of Tom’s sweating hand as he turned it and pushed the door open. He saw a man wearing a dark blue suit in a chair next to Harlan’s desk. They both rose to their feet when Tom entered the room.

“Shut the door.”

Tom did as he was told and lingered by the door

“Come in … Come in. Have a seat,” Harlan said, indicating the empty chair next to the mystery man and his desk. Tom walked over to it and sat down.

“So,” he said, his voice dry and flat. “What’s this all about?” He was amazed that he could speak at all

After a short pause that seemed to stretch out forever, Harlan sat down behind his desk and said, “Tom. I’d like you to meet Jerry Lincoln. Jerry’s with the DEA. Jerry. This here’s Tom Marshall.”

Even before the introductions were over, Tom felt his stomach clench. Sweat popped out on his forehead as he nodded to the man. Jerry extended his hand for Tom to shake. Tom’s arm felt as limp as a twisted dishtowel as he reached out to shake hands. Lincoln’s grip was strong and firm enough to hurt as they shook.

“You see, Jerry’s got a bit of a problem,” Harlan went on, “and I think you’re just the man who can help him out with it.”

“I — Yeah. Sure. I’ll do whatever I can,” Tom said, confused and worried about the direction this conversation was taking.

Tom took a moment to ease back in the chair, trying to look perfectly relaxed and comfortable as he tried to gauge the man.

If anyone looked like a
narc
, it was Jerry Lincoln. He was thin as a rail, muscular, with blond hair cut in a severe crew cut that exposed his pink scalp beneath the short bristles. His face was thin and lined. There was a cold, flat gleam in his pale, blue eyes that Tom found genuinely unnerving.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I need some information,” Lincoln said, “about some people around town.”

“Information?”

“It’s common knowledge there’s a network of people working with organized crime in this area.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s all that organized,” Tom said, trying to inject a bit of humor to smooth over his initial nervousness. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought.

“We know some local fishermen bring drugs in from boats off-shore,” Lincoln said without the slightest trace of a smile.

“Yeah …” Tom shifted in his seat. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect …”

“We’re trying to crack that ring, and I need someone — a local who’s willing to give me information.”

Tom sat up straight as if a jolt of electricity had passed through him. He raised his eyebrows and slowly smiled, relieved that he wasn’t in the world of shit he’d been imagining. What he really wanted to do was throw his arms out wide and whoop for joy.

Lincoln was looking for a snitch.

It was almost too good to be true, but Tom cautioned himself not to overplay it in case this was a setup.

What if they were trying to lull him into a false sense of security?

“Since 9/11, we’ve gotten increased funding through Homeland Security,” Lincoln said, “so we’re expanding our investigations into some of the off-shore activity here and up the coast all the way to Canada. I understand you have significant contacts with various local fishermen and lobstermen.”

“Well … yeah. Sure. I know all the guys down at the wharf,” Tom said with a shrug as much to relieve the tension inside him as acknowledge what Lincoln had said. “I know everyone ’round here.”

“And you wouldn’t find it a problem to inform on some of them if you were to, say, find out some of them were running drugs?”

“The law’s the law,” Tom said. “My job’s enforcing it.”

“What if it were even someone you know well like, say, your father-in-law, for instance?”