grogginess to clear. It didn't.
"I know what you need," Shawnee said. She sat next to Bolan and began rubbing his neck and shoulders. Her long fingers were hard as the prongs of a rake as they expertly worked his tired muscles, avoiding the bandaged areas. "How's that?"
"Haven't lost the touch, huh?"
"About the only thing I haven't lost." Bolan looked her up and down appreciatively. Her Jenim cutoffs and T-shirt didn't hide much.
"I noticed. Must be about forty pounds."
"Yep. I'd gained about thirty of them my first year in Nam. That's when we met. Took me years to get rid of them."
"You look good."
"Good? Hell, I look great." Bolan laughed. "I stand corrected."
"You didn't even recognize me, did you? Admit it. When you saw me at the jail today with Lyle, you didn't know who I was."
"You looked familiar. But it wasn't until I heard your voice just now that I placed a name with the face."
She gave him a serious look, her long black hair intensifying her expression. "It took me a while to place you, too. Had some alterations done to your face, huh?"
"A few. You know why."
"Yeah, I know. Who doesn't? Your name and escapades aren't exactly a national secret. But I heard you'd died."
"Came close enough."
She laughed. "I don't think I ever believed it, though. Not really. Any man who could survive what you did back in Nam — well, he wasn't about to get killed by mere cops or mobsters."
"Nam was a long time ago, Shawnee. We were both a lot younger."
"Dumber. Otherwise you and I wouldn't have lost touch." She paused. "I guess you know Billy died."
"I heard." Billy was Shawnee's brother, a medic who had served briefly with Bolan before getting wounded by a sniper.
Bolan had killed the sniper and carried Billy back to camp and a "dust-off" chopper. Billy had been transferred to a Saigon hospital and Bolan had looked him up on a three-day pass.
It was there the Executioner had met Billy's sister, Shawnee, an Army nurse with the 24th Evac Hospital in Tan Sa Nhut.
Plump, sassy, intelligent, she and Bolan had become pals, spending most of his three-day pass together, visiting Billy, dining out, just talking.
They'd corresponded whenever possible, maintaining their friendship, right up until the day Bolan had come home to bury his father, mother and teenage sister.
The day he stepped out of one war into another.
Shawnee stopped massaging his shoulders.
Bolan stood up. His body felt better now, his strength returning. "Why'd you bust me out?"
"Why?" She looked surprised. "Because, despite your little facial surgery, I recognized you. Your walk, your eyes, your, well, presence. Women sense these things. When I asked Lyle about you he told me your name was Damon Blue, so I figured the authorities didn't know who they had yet. But when they did, they'd throw you in the Atlanta penitentiary so fast you'd have bar burns on your palms. And once you were in there, you'd never come out alive. Lots of Mafia guys in the Big A would just love to get their hands on you."
"Since when do you know anything about breaking people out of jails? That the latest in nurses' training?"
"I'm not a nurse any longer, Mack. Oh, I do some volunteer work at the VA hospital — that's where I met Lyle a couple years ago — but that's all."
Bolan walked over to the window of the bedroom.
He pawed aside the curtain and looked out over Atlanta, submerged in darkness. Electric lights glittered as in every big city, though Atlanta had a small-town feeling to it. A fuzzy aura of light seeped up over the horizon. It would soon be dawn.
He faced Shawnee. "You made a mistake breaking me out of jail."
"But..."
"I appreciate the motive, Shawnee, but I was in there for a reason, trying to keep someone alive. Now he's alone and exposed."
"Gee, Mack, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
He placed his rough hand on her cheek. "I know."
"Well, you can't just turn yourself in and claim you were kidnapped. They'd toss you in solitary."
"I wouldn't be much use
"I know what you need," Shawnee said. She sat next to Bolan and began rubbing his neck and shoulders. Her long fingers were hard as the prongs of a rake as they expertly worked his tired muscles, avoiding the bandaged areas. "How's that?"
"Haven't lost the touch, huh?"
"About the only thing I haven't lost." Bolan looked her up and down appreciatively. Her Jenim cutoffs and T-shirt didn't hide much.
"I noticed. Must be about forty pounds."
"Yep. I'd gained about thirty of them my first year in Nam. That's when we met. Took me years to get rid of them."
"You look good."
"Good? Hell, I look great." Bolan laughed. "I stand corrected."
"You didn't even recognize me, did you? Admit it. When you saw me at the jail today with Lyle, you didn't know who I was."
"You looked familiar. But it wasn't until I heard your voice just now that I placed a name with the face."
She gave him a serious look, her long black hair intensifying her expression. "It took me a while to place you, too. Had some alterations done to your face, huh?"
"A few. You know why."
"Yeah, I know. Who doesn't? Your name and escapades aren't exactly a national secret. But I heard you'd died."
"Came close enough."
She laughed. "I don't think I ever believed it, though. Not really. Any man who could survive what you did back in Nam — well, he wasn't about to get killed by mere cops or mobsters."
"Nam was a long time ago, Shawnee. We were both a lot younger."
"Dumber. Otherwise you and I wouldn't have lost touch." She paused. "I guess you know Billy died."
"I heard." Billy was Shawnee's brother, a medic who had served briefly with Bolan before getting wounded by a sniper.
Bolan had killed the sniper and carried Billy back to camp and a "dust-off" chopper. Billy had been transferred to a Saigon hospital and Bolan had looked him up on a three-day pass.
It was there the Executioner had met Billy's sister, Shawnee, an Army nurse with the 24th Evac Hospital in Tan Sa Nhut.
Plump, sassy, intelligent, she and Bolan had become pals, spending most of his three-day pass together, visiting Billy, dining out, just talking.
They'd corresponded whenever possible, maintaining their friendship, right up until the day Bolan had come home to bury his father, mother and teenage sister.
The day he stepped out of one war into another.
Shawnee stopped massaging his shoulders.
Bolan stood up. His body felt better now, his strength returning. "Why'd you bust me out?"
"Why?" She looked surprised. "Because, despite your little facial surgery, I recognized you. Your walk, your eyes, your, well, presence. Women sense these things. When I asked Lyle about you he told me your name was Damon Blue, so I figured the authorities didn't know who they had yet. But when they did, they'd throw you in the Atlanta penitentiary so fast you'd have bar burns on your palms. And once you were in there, you'd never come out alive. Lots of Mafia guys in the Big A would just love to get their hands on you."
"Since when do you know anything about breaking people out of jails? That the latest in nurses' training?"
"I'm not a nurse any longer, Mack. Oh, I do some volunteer work at the VA hospital — that's where I met Lyle a couple years ago — but that's all."
Bolan walked over to the window of the bedroom.
He pawed aside the curtain and looked out over Atlanta, submerged in darkness. Electric lights glittered as in every big city, though Atlanta had a small-town feeling to it. A fuzzy aura of light seeped up over the horizon. It would soon be dawn.
He faced Shawnee. "You made a mistake breaking me out of jail."
"But..."
"I appreciate the motive, Shawnee, but I was in there for a reason, trying to keep someone alive. Now he's alone and exposed."
"Gee, Mack, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
He placed his rough hand on her cheek. "I know."
"Well, you can't just turn yourself in and claim you were kidnapped. They'd toss you in solitary."
"I wouldn't be much use
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