Safe And Sound. J.D. Rhoades

house depressed him even further. He turned on the radio.

      He wanted the people he loved to be safe. But life seemed to have other ideas. It had been easier when there was no one to care about, he thought. After losing his men in Saudi to friendly fire, he had drifted through life, not giving much of a damn about himself or anyone else. Then he had started working for Angela. His lack of concern for himself made him fearless in the takedown. He would go places and take risks that other bounty hunters wouldn’t. But as he and Angela got to know one another, he found himself admiring her quiet strength and her particular brand of courage. Before long he had found himself falling for her. She had gently turned him away, the pain of her own experience making her fearful of ever becoming emotionally dependent again. Then he had met Marie. And Ben. Angela had found Oscar. And now everything was complicated. He had lost all sense of fear for himself, but fear had found him again, not for himself, but for the other people in his life. And the fear hurt. It was like broken glass in his stomach sometimes.

      He realized that his aimless driving had taken him to the neon strip of Bragg Boulevard. The bars were crowded, even on a weeknight. He picked one at random.

      The place was smoky and noisy. The tables were full, and it was standing room only at the bar, which seemed evenly divided between couples trying to have earnest conversations and solitary drinkers staring morosely into half-empty glasses. At the back of the room a band with an aging and paunchy lead singer was grinding out a flaccid version of “Honky Tonk Women.”

      Keller insinuated himself between two bar stools and ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. The drinks from dinner had lost their effect, and Keller wanted it back.

      “Well,” a voice said, “look what the cat dragged in.”

      He turned. Carly Fedder was standing behind him, a lopsided smile on her face. She was dressed in white slacks that hung low on her hips and a red midriff-baring top. She gestured to the bartender. “Put this one on my tab, Roger,” she said. Her voice was slightly fuzzy. Roger nodded, his face carefully expressionless.

      Carly slid into the space between the bar stools with Keller. There wasn’t enough room, and the guy on the stool next to her had to shove over slightly, giving her a dirty look as he did so. She ignored him. The narrow space forced her up against Keller, the length of her body pressed against his, her face inches away. She smiled at his obvious discomfort. “So,” she said casually, “finding anything out?”

      Keller took his drink from the bartender. He gestured with it at the crowd. “You want to talk here?”

      “Good point,” she said. “C’mon,” she took his arm and led him away from the bar. In a corner near the front windows, a wooden bench that looked like an old church pew ran along the wall. There were a few couples and small groups there, but Carly found them a seat that wasn’t too close to anyone else. The band finished “Honky Tonk Women,” paused briefly, and lurched into “Brown Sugar.”

      “So,” Carly said. “Report to me, Mr. Detective.” She was so close that Keller could smell the liquor on her breath.

      “Maybe we should wait until you’re a little more sober,” Keller said.

      Anger flashed briefly in her eyes, but she smothered it quickly. She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been drinking iced tea all night, I guess.”

      Keller sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with her. “Okay,” he said, “have it your way.” He took a sip of his drink. “Dave Lundgren’s AWOL. The reason the Army isn’t telling you where he is, is that they don’t know.”

      She snorted. “Yeah. My lawyer told me you’d left a message. I don’t believe it.”

      “Well, you might find it more believable when I tell you this. There’s been a couple of FBI agents asking around, trying to find out what we know.”

      Her eyes widened. She sat up, tossing off her drink in one swift gulp. “FBI?” she said. Suddenly the brittle facade was gone. Her hand was shaking. “They must think something’s…oh my God…” The shaking became worse. She had gone pale. “Please,” she said in a small voice. “Can you please get me out of here?”

      Keller stood up. She got up with him and leaned on his arm. “Please,” she said again, “I have to go now.”

      “Okay,” Keller said. They made their way toward the door.

      “Hey!” a voice cut through the din. Keller looked back.

      Roger the bartender had picked a piece of paper off the bar and was waving it at them. “Your tab?” he hollered.

      “Oh,” Carly said. “I’m sorry…I’ll…I’m…” she seemed totally out of it.

      “Stay here,” Keller said. “I’ll take care of it.” He left her leaning on the wall by the door while he worked his way over to the bar. “Thirty-five seventy,” the bartender said. He shrugged at Keller’s surprised look. “She’s been here since five-thirty, man.” Keller took a pair of twenties out of his wallet and handed them across the bar. The bartender grinned. “Carly strikes again,” he said.

      “What do you mean?” Keller said.

      “Got someone else to pick up her tab.” The grin grew wider. “Don’t worry, buddy, it’s worth the investment. For a while.”

      Keller turned and looked at Carly. She looked ready to collapse. When he reached her, she slipped an arm around his waist as if for support. His arm automatically went around her shoulders as they left.

      It was a warm summer evening, but a light breeze was blowing and cooled things off a bit. The fresh air seemed to enliven Carly somewhat. She straightened slightly, no longer sagging against Keller.

      “Where’s your car?” Keller asked.

      “Hmm,” she said, considering the question. She gestured vaguely down the street. “Down there, somewhere,” she said. Then she began to sing in a surprisingly clear soprano. “Somewheeeere…out theeere…” She laughed. Then she looked at him. “I don’t think I should be driving, do you?”

      He sighed, but she had a point. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”

      “What about my car?” she said. Her voice was playful as she added, “Will you bring me back in the morning to get it?” The hidden meaning was anything but.

      “I’m not staying the night,” he said. “Come on.” He led her down the street to his car. She was silent as she got in.

      “If you don’t like me,” she said as Keller started the car, “why are you doing this?”

      “I didn’t want you driving,” he replied. “If you’d gotten into a wreck…”

      “Bullshit,” she said. “I could have gotten a ride from any of a dozen men in there. You could have walked away. Why didn’t you?”

      He had put the car in gear, preparing to pull away from the curb. He put it back in park. “You asked for my help,” he said. “If you don’t want it now…”

      “Aha,” she said, smiling triumphantly as if he had confessed to something. “So that’s it. That’s what makes Jack Keller tick. You want to hellllp.” She said the last word in a drawn-out, mocking singsong.

      “Okay,” Keller said through clenched teeth, “I think…” He turned back toward her. She had leaned over so her face was inches from his, her eyes half-closed. “Help me, Jack,” she whispered. “Help me…” She kissed him. Her lips were soft and demanding at the same time. She placed one hand on his thigh below the knee, then slid it up in a bold caress. Keller felt his body respond instantly as her fingers traced his outline beneath the fabric of his jeans. “Mmmmm,” she murmured. “So strong…”

      He broke the kiss and tore her hand away. “Cut it out,” he growled.

      She didn’t back off, but she didn’t resume the kiss.