Chapter 5
Gabe straightened slightly and nodded once at the mop-wielding woman across the restroom from him. Sure. Of course. Murphy’s Law was bound to make its presence felt today. “You’re Eddy?” he asked.
She blinked. Eyes more fresh mint than asparagus now, they were as wide as a doe’s and doll-bright. “Put down the pistol.”
He should probably do that, he thought, but couldn’t quite manage to make his muscles unclench. ‘Cause the kicker was, he might be entirely wrong about the mop-wielder’s identity. Again. “Eddy,” he repeated, still holding the ASP’s cool grip in both hands. “You know Captain Reynolds?”
“Eddy!” Someone pounded on the restroom door again. “Hey! Everything okay in there?”
She scowled, the affronted expression that of a toddler. “Captain Reynolds?” She straightened a little, too. “You mean Uncle Lou?”
Uncle Lou? Uncle Lou? He felt his breath catch in his throat. Captain Reynolds stood six feet, eight inches in his stocking feet. If he ever had stocking feet, which he did not because he’d been gestated in combat boots. Probably was born with six mags of ammo packed into his pistol belt, too. Gabe had known Reynolds for fifteen years and had never once called him anything more personal than “sir.”
Edwards’ scowl darkened, going from petulant toddler to angry teenager.
“Eddy! I’m coming in,” someone yelled from the hall.
She drew a deep breath, never breaking eye contact. “Just a minute.”
“Your uncle Reynolds said I might find you here,” Gabe said. The idea of Captain Reynolds being avuncular would have made him laugh if he weren’t pretty sure a show of humor would get his nuts kicked into his larynx.
“Did he tell you to attack me in the ladies’ room, too?” she asked.
He shrugged, going for casual, but the motion pulled the aching muscles tight across his shoulders and back. “Actually, he suggested the men’s room, but I thought…what the hell…a change of venue might be nice.”
“Eddy?” The voice from the hall sounded more quizzical than frantic now.
“Everything’s fine, Walt,” she said and dropped her voice. “I think.”
They had reached what used to be called a Mexican stand-off in less pc times. Gabe drew in a lungful of air and forced the muzzle of the ASP toward his knees.
Relief or something like it shone on the girl’s farm-fresh features. “I’ll be out in a second,” she called, then sotto voce, “if you give me my sidearm.” She narrowed her aspen green eyes at him. “Otherwise, I’ll see that you’re court-martialed before sunrise.”
“I’m afraid my schedule’s kind of tight right now.”
She tilted her head at him.
“I don’t have any time to spend in the brig.”
Her cheeks were flushed, her expression determined.
“I don’t want this to get messy,” he said.
“Well…” She shuffled her feet a little. “You should have thought about that before you stole my ASP and threatened my life.”
He watched her carefully, assessing her weaknesses. She longed to be tough. No doubt about that. But would she risk the lives of others? He didn’t think so. “Walt seems like an okay guy. I wouldn’t want him to get hurt,” he said and did his best to sound ominous.
Apparently, it worked because she inhaled sharply. “If you give me my sidearm we can walk away unscathed. No one the wiser. We’ll never have to see each other again.”
He gave it a moment’s thought then lifted the ASP, dropped its ammo into his pocket, and handed her the pistol.
She took it in a hand as slim as a lightning rod then tucked the weapon back into the waistband of her trousers.
“After you,” he said and nodded toward the door.
She raised her chin a notch as if considering his challenge and turned, back straight, movements stiff.
“I’m sorry, Walt.” She was apologizing before she reached the hallway. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just…feeling a little dizzy.”
“Hey.” Walt’s voice was as deep as a well. “Guess I better cut Mindy off. She thought you was with some guy but—” He stopped, brows ricocheting off his receding hairline as Gabe stepped up behind Edwards.
“Oh…” She cleared her throat. “This is...ah, Gabriel.” Even the tips of her ears were red now, and her voice had lost a little of its velvety rasp. Maybe thinking you’re about to die in a ladies’ room on the seedy side of town will do that to a girl. “He uhh…” She paused, dropping the verbal ball.
Gabe fumbled for a second, then picked it up and dashed for the end zone as best he could. “I followed her in to make sure she didn’t faint.”
Walt narrowed his eyes. He was approximately as wide as he was tall, and would have made a kick-ass drill sergeant if he decided against being an attack dog. “So everything’s all right?” he asked.
“I’m sorry if I worried you,” she said. Her tone suggested that she felt guilty about troubling him, despite the fact that she’d been fighting for her life just moments before.
It could be that Jenny Edwards had an overdeveloped conscience.
Walt narrowed his eyes, gave Gabe a warning glare and shifted his attention back to Edwards. “Well, I guess I’ll see you next week then, Eddy.”
“Next week,” she said and turned woodenly toward the door.
Gabe wasn’t sure if he should follow her or stay behind and let Walt beat the crap out of him. He delayed momentarily, debating that, but following her seemed marginally better. He turned and did just that. She’d left her coat, a cute little red number, on a hook near the door and stopped to swing it over her shoulders. He reached up to assist as Walt lumbered back behind the bar.
“Don’t touch me,” she snarled then smiled at Walt as she tugged her hair from beneath the plaid collar. “Good night,” she called and pushed through the door.
Gabe followed her outside, careful not to crowd. He might be wrong, but he thought he sensed a little bitterness. “Don’t you want to know what this is about?”
She kept walking. “Seek help,” she suggested.
He almost laughed. “Wish I could, but if Shep’s not dead already, he doesn’t have much time left.”
She took another few steps then stopped and pivoted toward him. “Did you lie about your name?”
That wasn’t the gambit he’d expected. “It’s Gabe. Gabriel Durrand.”
“What branch?”
He paused a second, doing his best to keep up. “Army.”
She swiveled away with a snort. He stiffened at her derisive tone and wondered why? It wasn’t as if the Army had made all his dreams come true. Nightmares more like. Lots of nightmares. And that was only when he was lucky enough to be able to sleep at all.
“I need a language specialist,” he said, striding up beside her.
She kept walking.
“And somebody with computer skills.”
“Because this Shep’s in trouble,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“Where is he? In the brig for attacking an innocent woman in a restroom?”
He didn’t bother to tell her that his leg still throbbed where an innocent woman had kneed him. It seemed a little petty, considering the circumstances.
“Colombia,” he said.
Her brows lowered a little. Two snowflakes and some other snotty form of precipitation settled onto her honey-toned hair.
She stopped finally. The abruptness of the motion suggested she might still be a little tipsy. “You a Ranger?” she asked.
He felt an instantaneous swell of pride. A flush of embarrassment followed close on its heels. Some day, maybe after he was dead, he would grow up and realize that Ranger might be synonymous with chump. “Yeah.”
“Shepherd, too?”
He nodded and felt his throat seize up at the mention of the man’s name. “He was working a private op.”
“Is he your brother or something?”
For a fraction of a second, he considered trying to clarify their relationship, but since Shep’s latest idiot move, Gabe couldn’t have been madder even if the dumbass was blood kin so why bother with lengthy explanations.
He simply nodded.
She turned away. “Not interested then.”
He stepped up after her. “Why the hell–”
“Psychoses tend to be hereditary.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and ended up deciding that he’d do best to avoid both. “I was told you were a decent terp.”
She raised her brows.
“An interpreter. I heard you were pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” She stopped short, Nyquil eyes blazing.
He drew back a little. “I believe adequate was the word used.”
“Vete al diablo,” she said and pivoted away.
The words sounded kind of sexy coming from her tart strawberry lips but he had to assume they weren’t complimentary. “Listen, I know we didn’t get off to the best start but–”
She spun back toward him. “What part of vete al diablo don’t you understand?”
“All of it.” Frustration burned him like acid. “That’s why I need a damned translator.”
She stared at him a second then ground her teeth and pivoted away.
He grabbed her arm, but she jerked out of his grasp and faced him with a snarl. “Don’t even–”
“Sorry.” He raised his hands again. “Listen…” He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to slow down. “He’s not my brother. He’s just a… He’s just a guy who keeps making stupid decisions.”
She glared at him. “You lied?”
“He’s the ‘or something’ you mentioned.”
“You lied.”
He ground his teeth. “It’ll be an easy job. Safe. I just need help for a couple weeks. Just long enough to get him out of trouble.”
“My father used to say that you’ll never learn to stand on your feet if you don’t spend a little time on your knees…with an AK-47 pressed to the base of your skull.”
Was that sexual? Or spiritual? God, he wished he were just a little less drunk. “Well, I’m sure that’s very…prophetic, and as soon as I find Shep I’m going to give that due consideration, but right now—”
“Why do you even care about him if he’s such a loser?”
He glanced to the side and blinked, but not because he was going to cry. God no. “We go back a ways.” She was staring at him. He felt his hands shake and tried to refrain from saying more. “And it might…there might be some danger.”
She pursed her Blow Pop lips at him. A trio of young women were laughing as they crossed against the light. Laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
She nodded crisply. “I’ll think about it,” she said and turned away.
It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to let her go. But nothing could have prevented him from speaking again. “We’re out of time,” he said.
She didn’t glance back. “You’re out of time,” she reminded him and kept walking.