That Thing You're Good At (A Starview Novel Book 1) Read online

  He sighed, cracked his neck, and decided he needed a refill of cold water. The ice jumped out of the fridge and clinked on the bottom of the glass before he filled it up to the brim with cool water. He’d almost died, in his dream, in the midst of Holly’s gorgeous tits. God, he had to get a grasp on this. Tits, out of everything. There had to be something else, something better.

  He thought for a long time and came to the same conclusion he always did: no, he had a thing for tits, Holly’s to be exact, and he couldn’t shake it off. Oh, he could shake himself in the shower, thinking of them, of her, but each time after he’d finished they were still there right in the smack of his mind.

  Jake’s week had gone from bad to worse. Jake’s second date took place two nights ago. Drew had told him it had to. He couldn’t stand seeing him “unlaid” anymore. If he waited any longer, he might become a virgin all over again and it wasn’t worth it. With all the sex he’d gotten as a professional hockey player, late-night parties, magazines covers, million worth deals for advertisement—where drinking cow’s milk had been his favorite and any political shit had been his least favorite one—he should be fine taking a rest from it all. Drew disagreed, especially taking notice on how Jake made his concern circle back to Holly. And not just for the case. But for the tits and curves.

  For his date, he’d put on a proper button-down shirt his mom would approve of for a first date. And for the first time since his professional career in New York, he didn’t give a shit about the brand name, the cost, or who might have sponsored the purchase. Heck, nobody sponsored Starview’s police department. Correction, once a month the ladies from the bridge club went all in with the money they say came from their husbands’ “can recycling” when the rumor went they really played poker the moment no one was looking. He sighed at the memory and had since long decided that case would have to take a step back for other issues deteriorating their community. $50 poker gambling didn’t make the FBI list of serious crime. Murders did.

  The date went well, as Jake checked the time above the outdoor fireplace he’d lit for the evening. He’d set the table in advance and cleaned off the back porch with a blower. It looked nice, truly nice. Not a neighbor in sight apart from any wild animal taking a short-cut to the forest across the very back of his spacious backyard. He let them, he always had, his parents too when they lived here. Tonight's creatures were possibly related to the ones his parents had fed and cared for throughout the years.

  Jake leaned back in his chair and watched the lips on his date, Lyndsey Grover, move like tachyons. He was amazed her mouth didn’t stop. It. just. didn’t. stop. He knew women spoke more than men, but Ms. Grover could take a medal for her feat. He struggled not to recoil when she boasted her father still paid for greater expenses and had her car refueled for her when she desired to. “So you and your dad are pretty close, yeah?”

  “Best buddies. I’m his little girl,” she smiled, and he winced. Daddy’s girl all the way. Hell to the no. While he loved his parents he’d known to cut the apron string when it was time, the sooner the better. His mother had told him to be out of the house by 25 or she’d use her foot and kick him out. He’d followed through on that and had been lucky to seize that sports scholarship to New York at 19 and the rest was history.

  “I do nothing substantial, not only money-wise unless I go to my daddy first. He’s the wisest man I know.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nope,” she smirked and drunk some wine. “He’s tough to beat, you know, so I’m giving you a heads up.” Jake swallowed and shoved his chair away from the dinner table. He gathered the tableware in his hands and stepped inside. “Daddy, who the fuck calls someone daddy if they’re over ten?” he murmured and put a load of dishes in the sink for later. Tonight had not progressed successfully. Lyndsey’s toe-playing underneath the table hadn’t made him anymore hot than he was from the outdoor heat. The word daddy had echoed in his head until she’d left the house and he’d walked her down the swerving walkway to her waiting taxi and kissed her on the cheek. Her maroon lips had curved and lingered for more, but he just couldn’t, such a relationship might include ‘daddy’ giving her the go-ahead to move away from him and become someone else’s financial burden. Hell no.

  Instead, here he was, sitting at his office desk contemplating life and he couldn’t find much to grab at. Retiring from professional hockey and going back into the field of law enforcement hadn’t panned out exactly as he wanted. No one thanked him for his hard work anymore, no one threw money at him, and absolutely no one took off their clothes for him at any time of the day. No, cross that out. The drunk guy at the grocery store had done that earlier, when he’d been caught red-handed with a bottle of Vitali Vodka, claiming it went down the smoothest when mixed with the 6-pack of Coke someone had donated to him earlier during the day.

  Chris, the store supervisor, whom he’d known since sixth grade had called the station when he’d found the man not only stealing the booze but having jeans that constantly fell to his ankles each time he tried to hide the bottle in his pants.

  “I’d take him down myself, if he only wore underpants,” Chris said over the phone and hung up. So, not only had Jake provided the less than happy gentleman a belt, but also a lecture in "how not to steal" from others. Especially booze if you’re already drunk enough not to realize you're showing your junk to the shoppers in the store.

  After he returned to the station, having dropped off the drunk gentleman who’d introduced himself as Johnjohn Sr, at the local church’s AA meeting, he’d found no obvious lead in the murder case penetrate his mind. He sat for a second at his desk, his fingers drumming a pen on his thigh, and thought through any possible reason why the man had ended his days on Holly’s doorstep.

  “Meditating or practicing for a drummer position with Iron Maiden?” Drew’s voice caught him off guard and he swung his chair around to the sound.

  “How come you’re so good at sneaking up on people, does it come with the job?”

  “Probably not, since you don’t have the same skill set. Must be you’re too used to having those skates on, no need for lifting your feet off the ground to the get somewhere. You just glide through life.”

  “Hey,” Jake hollered and threw the pen across the room aiming at his friend who stood to watch the pen bounce off his muscular chest and fall to the floor at his feet. “Tsk, tsk,” and you claim to have been scoring goals for the Rangers?”

  Drew shook off his jacket and hung it at the back of his chair before he filled up a cup of coffee from the pot Jake had made. Jake watched him stir the sugar coming out of the packet into the liquid. “Anything new on the case, Jake?”

  “I wish I had something—“The phone on his desk rang and cut him short. He pulled up the phone to his ear and listened, at the corner of his eye he watched Drew inhale his coffee. He put the phone back down and locked gaze with Drew.

  “Let me rephrase that,” he murmured and pushed his hand through his hair. “I have something.”

  “What?” Drew answered between bites of bagel and coffee.

  “A new body.”

  ***

  HOLLY

  Timothy’s hands worked the fabric over like a sewing machine but smoother. The man’s fingers were nimble, small to the size, which fit perfectly for the needles going in and out on either side of the flimsy fabric in his control. He hadn’t glanced up much for the 30 minutes since they opened. She’d observed him choose a red file containing a request, studied it with great concern while rubbing his hand slowly across his clean shaved cheek, sighing, before he’d chosen the fabric of the roll along the wall and began the touching and stretching of its qualities.

  He was in the zone, the creative zone, and just like yesterday he might not surface until coffee time which she and Reena usually planned around 10:30, whenever the doughnut store had opened and Joe, the master-in-chief at the very same bakery, dropped off his still hot masterpieces for the day. It was one perk of working close to
other stores; you got to know the owners, might sew their daughter a magnificent prom dress, and forever be blessed with doughnuts. A deal made in paradise.

  “Tim,” Reena shouted from the front door, balancing the pink paper box filled with a billion calories, “time to drop the needle and join us in getting fat with a touch of caffeine high.”

  Holly worked the Keurig machine in the narrow kitchen and balanced three filled cups with vanilla flavored cappuccino. “We need this to finish that pile of orders,” she nodded to the very same pile Timothy had just grabbed a folder out of earlier in the day. The box opened and Holly eyed all the goodness inside. “Tim, you’re the newest employee here, you get first pick, but if you take the strawberry pink one with sprinkles, I might have to kill you.” Reena gave him her most serious look and held a fork tightly in her hand as evidence of her intimidation.

  “No need for killing anyone today,” Timothy mumbled and grabbed a sugar doughnut on the opposite side of the box to keep the peace.

  Holly sighed at the flavor of the doughnut melting in her mouth and savored her cup of coffee.

  “So, I want to know what’s happening between you and Mr. Hotstuff-Hockeyplayer? I know you mentioned to him you were great in sack last time you got him in private.”

  Holly choked on her coffee and with Tim’s excessive banging on her back she eventually got both the coffee and piece if dessert back up on the table. “Gross!” Reena muttered and backed away from the scene to get some paper towels.

  “Sorry, everyone!” Holly mustered and snatched the paper towels out of Reena’s hand as she got herself back in somewhat order.

  “Thought it would get you going by talking about him. He’s hot both in uniform and hockey outfit. Ever seen him without either one?”

  “No!” Holly gasped and apologized to Tim who’d chosen to take up his hand sewing once more as details unfolded on the case of romance.

  “He’s lucky to be alive.” Holly took in Tim’s statement as she pictured the dead man that had descended on her when she’d opened the kitchen door. She’d been taken to the hospital in the back of Jake’s car when he’d come by Mrs. Peterson’s later that evening for further questions. He’d found her too pale and decided maybe she could ask someone for a sleeping pill or a psychologist. The harsh scent of antiseptic and trauma had now faded in her memory, but Jake’s worried eyes and the strong hand on her lower back still filled her dream. Whenever he was right there, next to her, touching her, she felt safe and calm. His towering height and muscular body made her feel protected even when no words were shared.

  A sound of someone clearing his throat came from the door made all three inside turn their heads. She watched the said tall man, deliciously muscular beneath his uniform exude authority as he strode up to Holly. A coil of sexual tension built inside Holly as Jake placed his large hand on the table by her coffee cup and tilted his head.

  “May I have a word with you, Holly?” He offered his arm. She held on tightly as they stepped outside the back door to the facility.

  “What’s going on?” Holly turned to Jake as he kept a steady hand on her upper arm as he examined her face.

  “Thank you for helping me with this case, Holly,” he began, stroking his large hand down her arm, holding on to her wrist when he got there. “I need you to help me again.”

  “Sure, yes, anything. What can I do?” she babbled and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He smiled faintly and crooked his finger to her as she walked after him to his parked the police car a few spaces away. He held open the passenger door and motioned for her to sit. He gave her the belt, in silence, before seating himself behind the wheel. As the car rolled off, she heard the locks engage to the doors, and she turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry to say, but there’s been another homicide and—“ Holly tried her door but it wouldn’t open as he continued. “And because I know you’re a little skittish after what happened at your place I locked the doors. I really need your help, Holly. Please take a deep breath and I'll let you know when we get there.”

  Chapter 11

  HOLLY

  Holly sat on the chair Reena had pulled out from the flower shop and rubbed her hand in gentle motions over Holly's back. Holly watched the police do their work, and the yellow plastic stripe wrapping around the area fenced them in.

  “Here,” Timothy said. “Just grabbed us some coffee.” He walked up on the sidewalk where they sat and handed over the warm cups of steaming coffee.

  “Sorry, to bother you, Holly, but I have a few questions.” A pair of large black shoes came into her view on the asphalt and she followed the length of his leg, up his torso, all the way to his face.

  “Did I ever mention you’re tall, Jake,” she mumbled and squinted to him in the sun. He hunched at her feet and put his large hand on her knee and held it there, warming her up. Heating everything inside. She felt the tip of her ears glow of warmth, and Reena coughed slightly behind her. Busted.

  The metal chair he’d brought over in his hand scratched the ground as he seated himself once again facing her. “Would you mind?” he mumbled quietly to Reena and Tim who sighed and squeezed Holly’s shoulders as they walked a bit further up the sidewalk, out of eavesdropping range.

  “So, here we are again,” Holly sighed and snorted nervously, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs to control the anxiety she felt burning and bubbling through her body. If she didn’t get to scream soon she’d go mental.

  “Holly,” Jake’s dark voice brought her back and when he placed his large hand over hers, covering it completely, she looked to him. His blue eyes, not as cobalt as last they met, but light blue. Like the Andromeda Galaxy if she stared too long. Oh, gosh they were gorgeous. He was gorgeous. What the hell was he doing here in Starview, cow-country extraordinaire when he could walk the red carpet in New York and eat Chinese takeout whenever he wanted to, and sleep with supermodels by just picking up the phone.

  “Holly,” his voice nudged her senses, and she noticed she’d placed her other hand on his in her lap.

  “Yes, Jake.”

  “Are you able to answer some of my questions?” He watched her and his eyes softened.

  “Is Drew letting you doing all the hard, emotional stuff now that he doesn’t have to do it all?”

  “Not really. Or maybe he is, I—“

  “No need to worry, we all know Drew can’t even spell the word emotion, pardon my French.” She watched his mouth tug into a faint smile and just as quickly it was gone again.

  “Pardonne ton français, mon amour.” She gulped at his answer and looked at his hand still in hers. “You speak French?” she gasped and shook her head. “The world is at your feet, Jake. What the hell are you doing here in Starview, America?!”

  “I’m liking this new side of you, Holly.” His grin widened at her bewilderment.

  “Huh,” she faltered and inhaled the rest of any fowl alphabet back into her vernacular and kept it there. “I’m ready for the questions. If you are?”

  Jake tried to remove his large hand out of her grip, but instead of letting him go she kept his hand in place. If there was ever a chance to have his hands, correction hand, on her it was now. And she’d used it to her advantage.

  “Holly, do you know the man we found here today?”

  “Don’t say found here . . . it sounds too . . . dead.”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you’ve been correctly informed. He happens to be de—“

  “I know he is dead, Jake! No need to hammer it into my head. Second body, dead. I get it! I really do, but please make it stop. Make the bodies stop, Jake?” she wailed and noted a few heads turning to where they were sitting.

  “I’m working on it, Holly,” he muttered. “We are trying. I’m just struggling to figure out why you are involved, again.”

  “Well, isn’t that the question of the century?”

  “It kind of is,” he proceeded and held up a piece of paper, ripped from a notebook from what it
looked like, and waited for her to read it. She took a deep breath and squinted. Not that she needed to squint as the words were written in capitals and the note only held two words. “Holly Winters . . . that’s my name.”

  “Bingo.”

  * * *

  JAKE

  Jake handed over the paper bag he’d stored in his pocket as he helped Holly bend her head down between her knees, breathing away her panic attack into the bag covering her mouth. He rubbed the soft fabric of her shirt on and decided not to say another word until her face regained color and the probability of vomit anywhere around his vicinity was eliminated.

  “How was he found?” she murmured and rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, leaving it rumpled and it made her look devastatingly honest and pretty. He had to get a grip on this attraction.

  Jake coughed. “Well,” he began. “How much of a strong stomach do you have?” He watched Holly’s face turn a grayish white and brought the bag to her hand again, but she pushed it away and closed her eyes.

  “No sugarcoating, Jake. Just rip it off like a bandage.”

  He sighed and pursed his lips before he sat down and placed a hand on her trembling knee. “The gentleman was holding flowers in his hand and the knife through his heart held this note.” Jake pulled out a plastic bag, labeled Forensic Material, and placed it in Holly’s view.

  “It’s my name,” she echoed, and he’d since long stopped repeated his yes and held his hand steady on her back.

  “Holly, how do you know him?” Jake murmured as he watched her sit back up, wishing he could help her push a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. In uniform his hands were tied, without it, no question about where his hands would be. Which made him consider them both without anything on and he had to conduct a slight body shiver to get the heat out of his system, fast.

  “His name . . . I can’t remember, but he was number three.”