windows he saw the lights of houses, the soft blue glow of televisions. He wondered at the lives of thepeople in those houses, wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life. The thought of driving back to Wilmington and spending the night in his empty 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
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
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