The Debra Dilemma (The Lone Stars Book 4)

The Debra Dilemma

The Lone Stars

Book 4

Katie Graykowski

Copyright © 2015 by Katie Graykowski

All Rights Reserved.

Formatting by
Anessa Books

No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.

The Debra Dilemma
is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.

For the parents of Angel Babies…my heart breaks for you.

I love it when a book writes itself…this wasn’t one of those books. There are so many people that helped make this book happen that I hope I remember them all. First and foremost, Catherine Arvil Morris: Thank you for sharing your life and your beautiful baby boy, August John, with me. His life was short but his impact on mine is everlasting. Lady, you amaze me with your strength and generosity of spirit. Thank you to my cheerleader, Jane Myers Perrine, for never giving up on me even when all hope is lost. Marlena, thanks for listening to my endless griping about my hero and heroine. You are a lifesaver and a dear friend. Thank you to Nora who works for Tiffany & Company for answering all of my art deco jewelry questions when I clearly wasn’t going to buy anything. Thanks to ARWA and my Ruby Slippered Sisters because y’all remind me every day that writers are loving and generous people. Thanks to my mother who is my biggest fan. And as always, thanks to my loving husband and daughter who finally gave up asking me what’s for dinner and just ordered takeout. I love you both so much.

If you’ve been reading the Lone Stars series, you’ll notice that I’ve taken some liberties with the timeline and ages of recurring characters. Please forgive me. Debra was never meant to have her own story, but she insisted.

Debra Covington uncapped another can of red spray paint and put the finishing touches on her masterpiece. She underlined “CHEATING” several times to emphasize the word, and then she outlined the letters spelling “BASTARD” on the DeMarcus Johnston’s perfectly groomed front lawn. Unfortunately the front of his house was lined with Dwarf Chinese Holly with points as sharp as needles or she would have gladly written her message on the bay window. She glanced back at the front door. That hadn’t even been an option. In addition to it already being red, it was way too small to accommodate the three-foot-tall letters.

She stood back and took stock of her artwork. It needed something. The scale was wrong. There was so much empty lawn that it practically swallowed the “CHEATING BASTARD.” She walked across the three-foot-wide concrete walkway and around a very awkwardly placed clump of eight-foot-tall oleanders.

Damn it, she’d gotten red paint on the toe of her brand-new black Prada boots. She shrugged. Looked like she was going shopping for new ones. What the hell, she was loaded. Maybe she’d buy five pairs just because she could. In her world, money grew on trees and there was plenty to burn. Make that ten pairs. She’d wear them once and throw them away. Come to think of it, she’d start doing that with all of her shoes and clothes. No need to do laundry, she’d only wear things once. That should make her dad roll in his grave. She smiled. Since her father was dead, wasting his money was the only way to make him pay for being an asshole.

After shaking the spray paint can to make sure the paint was mixed, she spelled out, “KISS MY ASS.” And just to drive the point home, she drew some butt cheeks in front of the “ASS.”

She stepped back to take a look. The butt part kind of made it look like “KISS MY BASS,” but DeMarcus would get the point. After all, they’d been dating exclusively for two whole weeks and he’d already cheated on her. Why couldn’t men keep it in their pants? It’s not like she wasn’t satisfying his every need.

She rolled her eyes. Men sucked.

DeMarcus could go straight to Hell for all she cared. After all, he was only a third stringer. She mentally crossed him off of the team roster hanging on her refrigerator. She’d made it her mission to sleep with every single player on the Austin Lone Stars football team. Did she love them? Nope, they were just a way to get back at the team owner, Warren Daniver. Almost a decade ago, he’d accused her of sleeping around even when he’d known she hadn’t just to piss her off and so she’d broken up with him. Well, it had worked. She was still good and pissed off.

From the corner of her eye she caught red and blue flashing lights. No sirens…that was good. It was just Wharton, the security guard. Oh God, she’d probably have to screw him so he’d keep his mouth shut. Imagining his hands all over her body, she shivered in disgust. Every time she pulled up to the gate to be let in, he’d looked down her shirt. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince him to let this slide.

Or she could avoid him all together and hide.

On the off chance that he might actually get out of his car, she jumped into the clump of oleander. Thank God for the strangely placed bushes or she’d have had to hide in the holly.

A black and white Austin Police Department sedan pulled up to the curb.

Crapola. What happened to the security guard working the gated entrance to the community? She hadn’t counted on the actual police showing up. Well this just sucked ass.

A lone officer, no doubt one of APD’s finest, shined his flashlight around, sweeping back and forth across the yard. He turned off the engine, opened the door, and stepped onto the curb. Slowly, he made his way to the oleanders.

“Ma’am, please come out of the bushes.” The officer shined a flashlight directly in her face and her retinas felt like they were on fire. “I can see you.”

She went completely motionless in case he really couldn’t see her and this was just a bluff.

“Right now, I have you on a Class C Criminal Mischief which is a misdemeanor, but if I have to climb in and get you it’s Resisting Arrest, which is a felony.” The officer shook his head. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”

“Fine.” Debra huffed as she stomped out of the oleander. DeMarcus was a huge pain in her ass. Not only had he cheated, but he was now the cause for her arrest.

It seemed that the world was picking on her…was always picking on her.

“Please put your hands behind your back.” The officer reached behind him and came back with a set of handcuffs. “I’m taking you into custody for Criminal Mischief—”

“Really? You’re going to handcuff me over a can of spray paint?” This was ridiculous. DeMarcus was the one who’d cheated and now she was paying the price. Wasn’t this always her luck? Men screwed her over and she was the one left holding the bag.

He clicked the handcuffs around her wrists and then began patting down her legs. “Do you have any weapons, drugs, or anything sharp on you?”

“Usually, I make a guy buy me dinner before I let him feel me up.” She grinned. “You have very strong hands.”

Damn it, he was all business. His hand made it to her left butt cheek and followed the outline of the key fob in her back pocket. Carefully, he reached in and took the fob out. “Anything else in your pockets?”

“Why don’t you pat a little harder and find out?” She cooed. “It could be fun.”

Ignoring her, he turned her around and pulled a business-card-sized laminated card out of his left shirt pocket. He read from the card. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right.…”

His voice droned on and on.

Now what? She was being arrested for something that wasn’t her fault. If DeMarcus had only kept his hands on her instead of on someone else, she wouldn’t be in handcuffs and on her way to the police station.

“Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you? Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us…err me now?” Deputy Dumbass¬—she glanced at his name—Officer Daniel Morris appeared to be over-eager and a little young. Fresh out of the academy?

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth.

Just her luck to get an over-achiever just waiting to prove himself. Why couldn’t she have gotten the fat, lazy, ready-for-his-shift-to-end Barney Fife type? Was it even worth it to offer this moron some money? He probably made what…fifty, sixty grand a year? Please? She’d spent that on caviar last month. And she didn’t even like caviar.

“I don’t suppose we could come to some sort of arrangement?” She threw him a sexy little half smile. Would sex or money work better with him? He was a man, so sex would be the way to go. She licked her lips and struck a pose that showed off her breasts. With her hands behind her back, they were already sticking out, but her hip-cock gave them a little jiggle. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

“Ma’am, if you keep this up, I’ll be glad to add solicitation to that Criminal Mischief charge.” No-nonsense Officer Morris took her arm and led her to his police car. Flashing red and blue lights danced on her wide expanse of exposed creamy chest.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” It was time to pull out the dumb blonde routine. She shook out her platinum locks and arched her back, sticking her chest out even further. “Call 9-1-1 and make a cop come. Let’s make that happen.”

“I strongly suggest that you exercise your right to remain silent.” He lightly pushed her head down so that she wouldn’t hit it on the doorframe as he helped her in the backseat. Debra focused in on the grid of bars separating the front seat from the back seat. The car door slammed shut.

Twenty minutes later, Officer Morris gently helped her out of the police car and walked her into a back entrance of the Austin Police Headquarters. Somehow, she’d always imagined a more glamorous perp-walk, with lots of paparazzi camera flashes and her defense attorney in a flashy suit yelling, “No comment.”

In actuality, she didn’t have a defense attorney—well not yet—and the only people hanging outside of APD were a couple of cops sitting at a picnic table catching a smoke. Talk about disappointment.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a row of light gray plastic chairs lining the walls of the hallway. “Booking is a little behind so wait here. Give me a second to sign you in, and then you can make your phone call.”

Phone call? Crap. She’d left her phone and her purse in her car. She didn’t know anyone’s phone number. It was all saved in her contacts. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was two sixteen in the morning. Who exactly was she supposed to call?

DeMarcus certainly wasn’t an option even if she could remember his phone number. Maybe Chord Robbins? He would probably come and get her…maybe. He was a decent guy, but he was dating someone new and she’d tried to slap his daughter. On second thought, Chord was out. Clint Grayson? No, he hated her and he was married. Even if she could remember his phone number, his wife was sure to answer and hang up on her. That would be a waste of her phone call. Searching her memory for anyone on the Lone Stars who she was at least on speaking terms with, she came up with absolutely nothing. Not a single one of the players or the coaching staff or the business office wanted anything to do with her.

She thought about the contacts in her phone. No one came to mind. Okay, alphabetically, starting with A. Let’s see…there was…um…ABC Pest and Lawn. They weren’t going to be any help. Oh…what about her hair stylist, Andrea?

Debra’s shoulders deflated. Last week, she’d complained that her color had turned out ashy and then refused to pay. Andrea had asked her to find a new stylist. Clearly that was a dead end. She wracked her brain trying to think of anyone she knew that was in her B, C, or D contacts. Maybe Devon Harding? He was a pretty decent human being. Did he still hold that whole car-keying thing against her? She’d only keyed his car after he’d broken up with her. It wasn’t all her fault.

No, he wasn’t likely to come bail her out of jail. Her mind went through the remaining letters of the alphabet. It hit her like a two-by-four to the head.

Debra had no one. No. One. She was all alone. No one would climb out of bed at two sixteen in the morning or any time of day or night for that matter…not for her…because no one cared whether she lived or died. Years of bad deeds settled around her like cinderblocks walling her in. No one would come for her. No one would help her. There was simply no human being she could call who wouldn’t immediately hang up on her.

For the second time in her life, hopelessness seeped in, kicking hatred’s ass to the curb. She had no one to call.

Tears burned her eyes and stung the inside of her nose. Through a watery haze, she looked around. This is where she’d ended up. She had a Master of Arts in Counseling from St. Edward’s University. Ten years ago, she’d been on fire to change the world and this is where she’d ended up. With her hands cuffed behind her back and sitting in a plastic chair, she was about to be booked with a misdemeanor crime. And…the reality slapped her in the face once again…she had no one to call.