Page 10 of Jonesing for a Spy

I whisper, “Waka Waka,” and Mirren snorts, choking on her drink.

“I’m cutting you off,” Davie says to his sister.

“I haven’t had enough to cut off, unless you count the olives, and I’m doing myself a solid now, and avoiding them. I’m not willing to die over fruit.”

“Are olives a fruit?”

My question goes unanswered. Then again, the PAC-MAN sound effects certainly got a reaction.

Charlie plops on the stool next to the one I’m covertly claiming, leaving me with the one between him and his sister. Davie circles the bar and is right at home with his role as host. Jamie leans on the wall not far from him, watching and wary.

Here goes nothing. I slide onto the stool, pulling it back a little, so I don’t block my friend’s view of his sister. “So, Scooter, what do you do?”

She cuts her eyes to me and hedges, taking a sip of her drink. “I have a little rental in town. And I pick up odd jobs here and there so I can travel.”

My bullshit meter rings. “Why do I feel like that’s a half-truth?” My words are quiet and meant only for her, but it’s the staid brother on the wall that answers.

“She was an Army Ranger. Don’t let that proprietor-of-a-cottage bullshit fool you.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Army Ranger.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Career-ending injury.” She rubs her right knee, though I don’t know whether she knows she’s doing it.

“My baby sister is a badass,” Charlie pipes in. “My brother too.” He lifts a glass to Jamie on the wall before drinking deeply.

“Definitely a badass,” Davie adds. Turning to me, he lifts a brow. “What are you drinking?”

“IPA. Local if you have it. Anything I can’t get in Illinois.”

“What brings you here from the land of Lincoln?” Davie really could be some carnival master of ceremonies.

“The land of Lincoln,” Mirren repeats into her glass.

“I had a work thing for a couple of days nearby but extended my trip. I wanted to soak up a little sunshine and see if I could get some freckles before I go home.”

“I get it,” Davie says. But it’s Mirren’s swift intake of air that hits me below the belt.

“Strider worked with me after Hurricane Samantha.”

It’s Davie who continues. “That storm was gnarly. I lost power for five days. And it was steamy and hot. I was dying.”

“Dramatic much?” Mirren offers.

“Hot is relative.” Jamie pushes off the frame and slides through the door behind him.

“What was that about?” I take a pull from the beer Davie slides my way.

“Jamie was in the Persian Gulf during that storm. Hot there is sand in your teeth, a hundred and twenty degrees in the shade, and sweat running through your fatigues under a forty-pound ruck.”

“Were you there too?”

“Not at that time.” She pauses, changing everything in her voice when she continues, “I was in basic during Samantha. Couldn’t be here. Even if I could, I couldn’t help. I’m stronger than I look, but that storm… It was rough.”

Charlie lifts his glass and clinks it to mine. “Thanks for being here then. Glad you’re here now.”

Would he say that if he knew what I wanted to do to his sister?

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