Page 24 of Romancing Rayne

“If you have time, you should. There are many hidden trails and gardens. It’s quite lovely.”

“Quite lovely? Have you gone soft, Sparky?” I poked at Oliver.

“Some of us know how to behave in front of a lady. I can be a classy bloke when I want.”

“Whatever you say, friend.” I laughed.

“How did you get the nickname Sparky?” Rayne asked.

“We were outside of Kabul and on one of the very few paved roads. Out of nowhere we came under attack by rebels. You see, we were in circa 1980 Toyota pickup trucks, not very comfortable, but trusty. We’d left the airstrip after picking up supplies, so the assumption was they only wanted to steal our cargo. Anyway, both of my back tires were hit and completely flat at that point, but I couldn’t stop. Spike was in the truck with me and Ghost and Blade in the one behind us.” I couldn’t believe Oliver was telling Rayne this story. So much for keeping top-secret missions secret. “Eventually, the rubber had come free of the rim, leaving me driving at a high rate of speed on metal. All of a sudden, over the radio, this bloke starts complaining he couldn’t see because of the sparks flying from the back of my truck. After that, Ghost and Blade started calling me Sparky. It caught on and Spike and the rest of my unit coined the name as well.”

“Holy shit. What happened next?” Rayne asked, obviously happy with all the new information she was getting.

“Blade, the crazy bloke, climbed out of the cab and got into the bed of the truck. He must’ve sprayed ten or twelve full magazines of ammo at the rebels. One of the vehicles chasing us veered off the road and hit a parked car, flipping it end over end. The other car stopped to help them.”

“How did you make it back with no rear tires?”

“We ditched the truck, loaded our supplies in the back of Ghost’s, and Blade and I sat in the bed. It was an uncomfortable ride.”

“Was there ever a comfortable ride in Afghanistan?” I asked, remembering the shit trucks with no padding on the seats and non-existent shock absorbers.

“There was nothing comfortable about that hellhole,” Oliver answered.

Thankfully, before Rayne could ask any more questions, Oliver turned down an alley, drawing her attention to her surroundings.

Oliver slowed at the guard gate and was waved through without stopping.

“Where are we?” Rayne asked.

“Almost there, Princess.”

“Ghost. Seriously. I am not dressed for a fancy restaurant. I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“You look beautiful. And we’re not going to a restaurant.”

“That sign says Kensington Gardens!” she shrieked. “As in Kensington Palace?”

“One and the same.”

“Oh, put the poor woman out of her misery and tell her,” Oliver said, pulling the car through another set of guarded gates.

Oliver slowly pulled through and the black, ornate iron gates, complete with gold leaf tips, and the OS14 Royal Protection Officers closed them behind us as soon as we passed.

Rayne’s head was swiveling back and forth, looking for any hint of where she might be. I was pleased she wasn’t familiar with the Kensington Palace grounds.

Spike stepped into view along with his new bride, both smiling and holding hands. I was thrilled my old friend had found the same happiness I had.

Oliver exited the car and opened Rayne’s door, offering his hand to help her out.

“Ma’am,” he said with a small bow once she was steady on her feet.

“Are you hitting on my wife?” I joked.

“She is a stunning morsel; however, I prefer my women unattached.”

“Morsel? Jesus, where do you come up with your pickup lines? No wonder you’re single. Now hand over my woman.”

“Welcome,” Spike greeted. “Thank you for agreeing to have lunch here. Nothing ruins a meal more than photographers.”