14 - J. T. Ellison [37]
Jane got tired of sitting near them and moved, closer to the jarhead. He seemed to be minding his own business, maybe he’d leave her alone.
But the jarhead leaned in when she sat, a conspiratorial smile playing across his handsome features.
“Didn’t know that when you built up enough seniority at the strip club, you get Tuesdays off, did you?”
“Ouch,” Jane replied. “That’s kind of harsh.”
The man blushed and Jane felt bad. “Harsh, but funny. They’re a trip. I hope I’m never so ridiculous in public when I decide to get married.”
The man lit up. “You’re not married?”
“No, hon, but you are.” Jane looked pointedly at his gold band.
“Yeah, I am. Well, sort of. She left me. I just got home and found out.”
“Home? From?”
“Oh, you know, I can’t really talk about it.” He colored slightly. “Sorry, it’s just one of those things.”
“Of course. I understand.”
Jane dismissed him by sticking her nose back in her book. Maybe he’d leave. He was cute, but she didn’t need another male situation. She already had Skip panting after her, though he didn’t seem to get it. No career singing, no girlfriend to Skip. He just never truly believed.
“Troy.”
Annoyed, Jane mentally marked her spot, again, and met his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“My name. It’s Troy.” The soldier was giving it one more go.
“Nice to meet you, Troy. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to…”
“Sure, yeah, totally, I understand. Tell you what. Let me buy you a beer.”
Jane frowned at her bottle. Gosh, it was almost gone. She must have been sipping while she watched the bachelorette train wreck. She looked back at the bar. Barbie, no, it was the bride-to-be Sierra, had started to loosen the ties to her halter top. She was trying to climb out of it and into warmer climes: Jerry the bartender’s lap, as if she just realized that it was clearly an inappropriate outfit for the cold weather. Jane giggled out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
“Sure, Troy, you can buy me a beer. But after that I need to get to get back to my studies.” Studies. She nearly blushed. She was reading a bodice-ripper she’d snatched as she walked out the door; it was hardly keeping her attention.
“Great. I’ll be back in a flash.”
Jane watched as Troy went to Jerry, held up two fingers and turned back, leaning against the bar in a casual “I don’t notice the three drunk and half-naked women crawling around on the bar next to me.” He smiled at her, but the three women glommed onto him immediately, and Jane shook her head. It might take a few minutes for Troy to get her beer back to her.
Jane tried to smile back, but her head was getting foggy. Man, how many beers did she have? She remembered the two, but her head felt like she was bombed. Wow, her equilibrium was gone. A little voice inside her said get up and walk it off, but her body wasn’t cooperating. She felt something clawlike and hard, a hand under her arm, saw a vague outline of a face, and realized the older guy had come to her rescue.
“Thanks, I’ve got it,” she tried to say, but the words came out garbled, nonsensical.
There was a brief moment when she realized that this was no good, that she needed to yell out to Troy. He was big and strong and could fight off this creepy man with the wispy hair, help her break free, but the moment was lost and she swam away into the ether, feeling nothing.
Ten
Quantico, Virginia
Wednesday, December 17
8:00 a.m.
Charlotte Douglas stretched, arms over her head, her breasts pulling against the thin silk of her blouse. Three interns walking by her office lingered in the hallway, watching the show. She knew it, arched her back a little more and tossed out a high-pitched sigh. One of the interns groaned aloud, and his friends hustled him away. Charlotte relaxed and giggled. Boys. So easy to manipulate. They’d be hanging around for days, willing to do anything she might need. It helped to have gophers, especially handsome dark-haired runners from Ivy League schools.