52. Flirting with Danger
flirting with danger
Mirren
Mom and I do as previously discussed, exiting the plane and making our way in different directions.
We’re not cohorts or mother and daughter right now.
We’re simply passengers who took the same flight.
She heads to the rental car counter, and I shuffle down the escalators—slouching and looking shifty—past the huge guitars at baggage claim to the ride-share area.
Fitzgerald Young is no Uber driver, but no one needs to know that. The lit signage in his blacked-out SUV will let others believe the story I’m making sure they see, that is, if anyone is bothering to watch.
“You Barry?” I ask with a fair bit of attitude but enough apathy, again, keeping up the act.
“Get in, Jones.” A huge man’s whiskey voice grumbles through the cracked window.
I slide into the back, and we’re away from the curb before I can get my seatbelt on.
“How was the flight?” His eyes behind dark aviator shades meet mine in the rearview mirror. Or so I assume.
“Fine. I tried to sleep.”
“Old habits die hard.” He makes a loop under the interstate and sends us west toward the city.
“So true. Have you learned anything I need to know before I walk into this meeting?”
One shoulder lifts and drops. “More than I want to.”
“…But never enough,” I finish.
“All things in life, Jones. That’s all things in life.”
We ride in companionable silence. After a while, I pull out my old phone and message Strider.
Safe touchdown. With Young and heading into Austin.
Sorry for not checking in sooner. All’s fine here. How’s your morning?
HoneyBun
Jamie insisted we run. I blame you. Though, it was a great way to kill a couple of hours with you gone.
You won’t regret it.
I regret letting you out of bed this morning. Does that count?
A smile plays across my lips.
You made that clear. It’s a shame duty calls. On any normal day, I would’ve been down for the cuffs.
Don’t say that via text. You have no idea where I am or who I’m with.
Where are you and who are you with?
Let’s just say it’ll be a minute before I can leave Mona’s or I’ll be banned from the Waffle Hut for lewd behavior.
I snicker before my eyes snap to the ones in the mirror. I instantly school my face.
Don’t get us banned from Mona’s.
Don’t talk about handcuffs over biscuits and gravy.
No promises.
Young breaks my thoughts about Strider and restraints. “Hotel first or strategy first?”
“Strategy. Once I get to the hotel, it’ll be harder to leave—”
My words are cut off by the sound of an explosion and shrapnel raining down around us. The vehicle shakes under the weight of the fireball, and I fight to keep my mind in the here and now and not go there.
“What the fuck?” I start, but my words are cut off as I’m pushed back into the seat by the sheer speed of Young flooring the SUV.
“Down.” His order is harsh.
I’m flat on the back seat in an instant. One thing I learned early in the Special Forces, an order is an order. Worst case, it’s a power trip. Best case, it saves your life. But a Ranger’s gut is a sixth sense, and it’s worth respecting.
He drives like he stole it while I’m pinned to the seat for longer than I expect. A ringing in the car jerks me back to reality.
“What the fuck just happened?” he barks.
Before I can reply, a disembodied voice comes through the cab. “A plane exploded. I don’t have any other details. You sure this is worth it?”
“Without a doubt,” Young bites back, disconnecting the call. To me, he adds, “Hell of a coincidence that planes are falling from the sky right after you land, don’t you think?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Same, Jones. Same.”
We weave through traffic. When enough time has passed, I tentatively sit up. “Am I good to sit?”
His shades hit mine again in the rearview and he nods once. “Be ready, though.”
Scoffing, I purse my lips. We have the same military background.
He went into private security after leaving the service.
I went to the agency. He doesn’t need to tell me to be ready.
He shouldn’t tell me anything at all. Why are all the men in my life dead set on being chivalrous? As if I’m the damsel in this scenario.
Strider
Jamie and I step out of the diner into the overcast afternoon. He has to have a job, right? How he’s available at all times of the day and night for running or eating or hanging out is beyond me. Though, truth be told, I don’t exactly look gainfully employed either.
“I asked Mirren to marry me.”
Her brother stops in his tracks and turns to face me with the slow, lethal precision I’ve come to expect. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, we both hear, “Ooooweee. This is news.”
“Fucking Fuzzy Johnson,” Jamie mumbles under his breath, beginning to walk away.
I stop him with a hand to his chest. One he looks down on before eyeing me like I’m flirting with danger. “I need every bit of that sentence explained.”
“Get in.” He nods to his truck and rounds the hood.
It’s an easy walk back to our place, but challenging Mirren’s SEAL brother isn’t worth it over something trivial. I can only assume a terrible dick pun qualifies, so I slide into the old truck.
He puts it in gear and pulls out of the parking space. “You asked my sister to marry you?”
“Yes.” Ask isn’t the right word, but I’ll never admit there was sexual coercion involved. Certainly not to a man who’s already explained how he’d dump my body.
“And she agreed?” he assumes.
“She did.” The smile on my face is undeniable.
He shakes his head. “And you told Fuzzy before our family.” It’s a statement not a question.
“No, I told you first. Unless she beat me to it.”
“You just told one of the biggest town gossips before you or Scooter told the family.”
I’m going to catch hell for this. The question is from whom… first at least.
“Fuzzy Johnson is one half of Fuzzy and Fergus?” I think I already know the answer.
Jamie bobs his head.
“His last name is Johnson?’
Another nod.
“Fuzzy Johnson. Ew.” I can’t stop the bark of laughter that bursts from me.
“You think Dad should learn about your engagement through the Fairhope grapevine?”
“How fast does Fuzzy work?”
The sound of the phone ringing in the cab is underscored by Wiggle flashing on the screen.
“Hey—” Jamie starts but is quickly cut off by Johnny.
“Did you hear Scoot’s engaged? You think that’s true? It’s from a reliable source.” Jamie turns to hold my stare at the stop sign as his brother continues his tirade, “Have you met this dude? How are we protecting Mirri? I am not okay with this.”
Before Jamie can speak, I do. “Hey, Johnny. This is Strider. I’m with Jamie.”
Scratching covers the mic before footsteps echo in the background. “Hambone?”
“Here,” the man in the truck replies, turning down an old state highway.
“You’re with him right now? Did you know?”
“Just found out. Unfortunately, I learned on the sidewalk in front of Fuzzy.”
“Fuck. Do Mom and Dad know? We need to do damage control.”
That’s enough. “Damage control isn’t necessary. I love your sister, and she loves me. We’re adults and we want to make a life together. That doesn’t require some PR spin to make it palatable. Who cares who knows?”
Jamie turns my way, as Johnny repeats, “Who cares who knows?” in absolute disbelief.
Before I know it, we’re in the Jones’s circular drive, and Jamie has the truck in park.
“We’re here to see Mom and Dad now. I’ll call you back. Call Rookie and Skipper. I’ll get Zipper.” He clicks off and opens his door, heading straight for the front door, leaving it open in his wake.
I follow as if being called to the principal’s office.
Rufus greets me at the door, energetic and dopey.
At least this Jones likes me. Mirren notwithstanding, the all-male Jones firing squad could be intimidating.
Who am I kidding? Mirren is daunting, too, but she’s mine… and that’s all that counts.
“Mom? Dad?” Jamie calls, wandering toward the library Harry uses as an office.
June isn’t here, but I don’t dare reveal that.
Harry pokes his head out, looking between Jamie and me. “What’s wrong, son? Hey, Bootsy.” He extends a hand.
“Bootsy?” Jamie echoes, and I wonder how weird things can go before they are righted.