by J. T. Bishop
“You sure? “ She narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” He turned and put the book back on the shelf.
“Well, my name’s Sarah if you need anything.” She pointed to her nametag and then turned, heading back down the aisle.
“Well, damn,” he whispered to himself as she walked away. “How much worse could that have been?” He watched her turn the corner and disappear from view. He glanced at his watch, considered the events of the morning, made a few decisions, and headed toward the exit.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, Sarah and Rachel sat in the sandwich shop across the street, getting a quick lunch before returning to the bookstore for the afternoon shift. The morning had remained boring and uneventful. Rachel had dealt with only one computer glitch, which was a personal record, and Sarah had dealt with relatively few customers, which pleased her a great deal.
Sarah took a sip of her large coffee, thinking about possibly getting another before heading back to work.
“You know, you should try a sleeping pill or something,” said Rachel. “You’re still looking a little rough.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the honesty,” said Sarah.
“Well, if your friend can’t tell you, who can?” asked Rachel, sipping her lemonade. “Drinking all that caffeine can’t be good for sleeping tonight, you know?”
“Yeah, well, it’s doing a good job at keeping me awake at the moment,” said Sarah, taking another sip.
“Well, then, please consider some sort of remedy tonight. You could stop by the drugstore on your way home. Buy something over the counter.”
“I don’t like taking pills. Makes me feel weird. Like I’m not myself. Then I’m groggy in the morning.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but feeling groggy can’t be any worse than looking like you’ve got ten-pound sandbags under your eyes.”
“I’m fine,” said Sarah. “It won’t last forever. Everyone has bouts of insomnia.” Sarah sighed, knowing her friend was unconvinced.
“Hope so, for your sake,” said Rachel. She took a second before asking the next question. “So, did you talk to him?”
“Who?” asked Sarah.
“The guy. You know, I mentioned him earlier. The cute one? I managed to speak to him for a second. Definitely your type, especially with those smoldering eyes.”
“Smoldering eyes?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. I saw you two with your heads together over in Self-Help,” said Rachel, smiling.
“With our heads together? What are you talking about? I asked him if he needed any help. About as exciting as having a conversation with Arnie.” Sarah snorted but didn’t admit she’d noticed his eyes. “Besides, he was a little odd. He was looking at a book about single women.”
“How coincidental! That’s exactly what you are! Sounds promising, if you ask me. I think it’s a sign,” Rachel replied.
“Sign?” said Sarah. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s a sign. Reading a book about single women obviously means he’s my dream guy.” Sarah rolled her eyes.
“Hey, I’m just saying. It’s the perfect story to tell your kids one day…” Rachel said as she looked off into space. “I met your Dad in a bookstore. He was reading about single women, and of course, since I was one, we fell madly in love…” Her voice drifted off in reverie. She sighed and looked back at Sarah.
“You’re being ridiculous,” said Sarah. “Your imagination is a little over utilized. There are no signs, no fireworks, and no future kids. Come back down to earth, please.”
Rachel said nothing, which surprised Sarah, because her friend rarely shut up about anything, especially this topic. She glanced up to see Rachel’s gaze directed toward the front door. She followed it to see what had her attention and Sarah almost dropped her coffee cup when in walked the same man they were currently discussing. He was whistling, had a paper tucked under his arm, and was headed over to the lunch counter.
“Well, then,” said Rachel, watching the new arrival enter the restaurant, “I think now’s about time to start believing in signs, because if that isn’t one, then I don’t know what is.”
**
RAMSEY KNEW HE had to take this gradually. He had made the initial contact, which was all he had intended to do that day. Granted, the idea he’d formulated in his mind as to how it would play out was vastly different from how it had actually gone, but he felt he had made progress.
That belief was dashed as he rounded the corner after leaving the bookstore and found the elderly lady, whom Sarah had directed toward aisle nine a short time ago, leaning against his car. He stopped and eyed her warily.
“Morgana. What a not-so-pleasant surprise. What brings you to my neck of the woods?” he asked.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Ramsey. You know why I’m here,” retorted the stately older woman, no longer stooped.
“Direct as usual,” he replied. A steely tone entered his voice as he approached her. “I’ve been on plenty of assignments, Morgana, and as far as I can recall, this is the first time I’ve ever encountered you joining me. Will you be helping with the transition on this one, or just hanging out and being the general pain in the rear end that you naturally are?”
She stared at him, measuring her thoughts before responding. “If you did your job without screw-ups, I wouldn’t have to be the pain in your backside. In case you’ve forgotten, your last assignment was a failure. The Council was not in agreement that you should handle this case. I, for some foolish reason, convinced them that you could. Therefore my rear end, and yours for that matter, are on the line. I want to ensure that you’re handling this one with the proper care it requires. She’s important. It’s critical that you don’t screw this up.” Morgana stared hard at him. “Did you see her? It won’t be much longer.”
He ignored her last comment. “For the record, Morgana, that last assignee was a moron, and he deserves as much blame as I do. I told him to stay put, and he chose to sneak out, get drunk and go play cops and robbers with two idiots he met in a bar. What the hell did you expect from me? Did you want me to chain him down?”
“If that’s what’s required, then yes. You were responsible for him, and his discovery could have revealed our presence and put us at great risk. You should have known better. His grandfather is a member of the Council whose grandson, idiot or not, is regarded as an advanced member of the Community and should have been treated as such.” Her gray eyes never wavered from his.
Ramsey steadied himself before responding. “I’ve been doing this a long time,” he replied with a measured clip in his voice. “I hardly think any member of our group with the slightest amount of common sense would have considered him to be ‘advanced,’ and I use that word under protest, no matter who he was. The guy was less interesting than a cardboard box and about as smart as one. It would not have been a great loss if he’d bought it in the accident.” Ramsey worked at controlling his impatience with her.
Morgana eyed him with obvious irritation. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t care if he has the mental capacity of a four-year-old. He is the grandson of a Councilor. Whether or not you liked him or whether he measured up to your expectations is not your concern, and your opinion of his importance or lack of it matters not in the slightest. You merely had to get him through the transition smoothly and without incident. Both of which you failed at miserably.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to respond in defense of his actions. He remained quiet, though, and instead just stared back at her, as if knowing that defending himself was pointless. She took the silence as an invitation to continue the conversation.
“And speaking of failing, based on that initial intervention back at the bookstore, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re the right person for this job. Are you losing your touch?”
He laughed, but with little amusement. He matched her intense gaze and spoke in a tone that did not invite discussion. “I know how and when to
make contact and when to take the necessary actions that are required, despite your opinion of me or my past decision-making skills. And yes, I think I also know when a subject is close to their Shift.” He tried hard to keep the anger out of his voice. “Obviously you would not have picked me for this if you thought otherwise. Which begs the question, my Divine Ms. M, why are you really here?”
She stared back, saying nothing, but then regained her focus. “Like I said, Ramsey, my ass is on the line, and as much it annoys you, I happen to be quite fond of it.” She shifted away from the car and faced him. “That being the case, I’m going to be keeping my eye on this one.” Her gaze drilled through him. “This is the last chance for you. Mess this up and you can work in a bookstore as well. Provided, of course, that you’re still employable.”
That last sentence surprised him. “Threats, Morgana?” he asked as she turned to walk away. “That’s not your style.”
She stopped and turned back. “You have no idea what my style is, Ramsey,” she said as she turned back toward the street, no longer looking like the frail elderly lady that she had presented herself as in the bookstore. “No idea at all,” she said, walking away.
Ramsey watched her turn the corner and disappear from sight. His gut twitched, which in his experience never boded well. As he was known to say in his line of work, something smelled, and it wasn’t a bouquet of flowers. He didn’t know what was off, but it was something. If it had pulled Morgana back out on the street, then this assignment must be unlike any other that he had handled before, botched jobs or not, and it was attracting the attention of the Council. And it wasn’t about anybody’s grandkid either.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” asked the deep voice that picked up on the other end of the line. Ramsey barely noticed the use of his middle name, which his friend preferred to use since meeting Ramsey six years ago.
“Nothing’s wrong, Leroy. And thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You’re calling me in the middle of the day while you’re on assignment. The last time you did that—”
“Never mind the last time I did that,” said Ramsey, interrupting. He remembered the incident Leroy spoke of, and he didn’t need to be reminded of it now.
“And so, I repeat, what’s wrong?”
Ramsey paused for a moment before answering. He could picture his tall dark-skinned friend, Sampson Leroy, sitting in his home office, looking out the large picture window surrounded by his potted plants, and rubbing his hand over his shaved head. “I’m not sure at the moment,” Ramsey said. “That’s the reason I’m calling. I think something’s up. I smell something I don’t like smelling.”
“And it’s not a bouquet of flowers, I’m guessing?”
“No, it isn’t. More like something died and a few hot days have passed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ramsey had met Leroy after his first assignment as a Protector and they found that they worked well together as a team. Leroy had helped Ramsey through some difficult past cases, including his most recent, and Ramsey had supported Leroy after Leroy had met and married one of his past assignees, an act frowned upon by the Council and one that had resulted in Leroy taking a supervisory role and moving out of field work. They shared a close bond and a mutual fondness for each other, even though Ramsey rarely befriended anyone.
“Something’s up on this one,” said Ramsey. “Morgana just showed up, checking on me.”
“Morgana? What does she want? It’s not like her to bother with field assignments.”
“Exactly. My ears have perked up and my radar’s going off. You heard anything?”
“I know the Council’s watching this one. They want to see how you do. Don’t know anything about the assignee, though.”
“Yeah, well, do me a favor,” said Ramsey. “See what you can find out, will you? I’m curious. Don’t need to find myself in deep water without a life jacket.”
“I’ll look into it. See what I can find. Have you made contact?” Leroy asked.
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean, or should I even ask? Did you embarrass yourself, Sherlock?” His chuckle traveled over the line.
“Let’s just say I’ve had better introductions.”
“They’ve never been your strength,” said Leroy. “Remember that bar in New Orleans? The young guy, Randal was his name, I think, that you were assigned to? Now that was a memorable first contact.”
Ramsey sighed into the phone. “He was a cross-dresser. How the hell else was I supposed to get to know him?”
“Did I ever tell you, you look great in heels?” Deep laughter carried through the phone.
“You never forget to remind me. Just let me know when you’ve got some info for me.” He hung up before his friend could respond.
He stood by his car, debating his next move. If there was more to this story than he was aware of, then maybe he should move his timetable up a bit, be a little more aggressive. If Sarah Randolph had some mystery about her, then he should figure it out sooner rather than later.
He looked at the time, thought for a moment, and made up his mind. He had a few hours to kill, but he headed back down the street.
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
AFTER ENTERING THE diner, Ramsey approached the counter and perused the menu on the wall. He wasn’t hungry, but he figured he should order something. He’d already appeared a little strange in the bookstore. He could at least try to appear less awkward in the diner.
“Um, let’s see. Can I have the tuna salad on wheat? And a cup of coffee, please?” he asked the cashier behind the counter. She rang up his order and gave him a number. He paid and went to find a seat. He didn’t look around, just took a seat nearby. He pulled out his paper, opened it up, and started to read.
Two tables down, Rachel elbowed Sarah. “You should go talk to him.”
“What? What for?” asked Sarah.
“Because you should! Heck, you talked to him this morning. It’s the perfect icebreaker.”
“He was a customer! Of course I talked to him. That doesn’t mean I should talk to him now. I don’t know him.”
“But you should. Look at him. He’s cute. So what if he was a little odd before. He seems perfectly normal now. I think he likes you.”
“You think he likes me?” said Sarah, keeping her voice down. “What are you talking about? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even see us. I doubt he would recognize me from this morning.”
“I bet he would,” said Rachel. “Go get some more coffee and make eye contact. I bet he’ll say something to you, and then you can go from there. What’s the harm in that?”
“I told you I’m not interested in meeting anyone. Come on, let’s go. We’ll be late if we don’t.” Sarah started to gather her things.
“We’ve got a few minutes. Don’t be a fuddy-duddy. Go for it!” said Rachel with impatience. “I’m here to back you up if you need it.”
“Back me up?” asked Sarah. “What are you going to do? Punch him if he rejects me? Please be serious. Can we go now?” She started to stand, but ducked back down as the cashier called a number and the man they were discussing got up and grabbed his sandwich from the counter. He walked back to his table and sat down to eat. He never looked up.
“Fine,” said Rachel. “I can see when you’ve put your foot down. You know I’m just thinking of you. I want you to find some happiness, you know? You’ve been so down lately.”
Sarah relaxed a little, accepting her friend’s concern for her. She tried to be a little less defensive. “Thank you, Rachel. I know you’re trying to help. I’m just not feeling the need to start anything new right now. To be honest, it scares the hell out of me. I just want to finish my day, go home, and go to bed.”
Rachel sighed. “Well, I won’t push you then. Do me a favor, though, and go get yourself another cup of coffee. You look like you’ll need it.”
“You don’t have to talk to him or even look at him,” said Rachel. “Just go get a refill, and we’ll head out.” She put her chin in her hand. “Party pooper.”
Sarah did want a little more coffee. She figured she could safely get a refill without having to bump into her prior customer, considering how his nose was buried in his paper as he munched on his sandwich. She decided she could walk by his table without being noticed.
“I’ll be right back.” She stood and swung her purse over her shoulder. Rachel stood as well and headed for the door as Sarah walked to the counter. She passed his table without looking down.
“Can I get a refill, please?” she asked the cashier. The lady took her cup, refilled it, and handed it back to her. Sarah grabbed a lid and covered the drink. As she turned to leave, the busboy approached to clean a table behind her. Sweeping at a mess of spilled chips, he arced the broom out, and Sarah’s foot caught on the bristles just enough to upset her balance and cause her to fall forward. Instinctively, she moved to stop herself on the chair in front of her to slow her forward momentum. Successful in preventing an embarrassing fall, she unavoidably let the coffee cup slip from her fingers. She stared in mute horror as her mind processed in mere microseconds where the coffee would fall - right at the feet of the man she was trying so hard to avoid.
The coffee hit hard, the lid flew off, and dark brown liquid spewed out in a wide spray. The man jumped up, yelping in the process. The hot liquid splattered up on him, and his pant leg took a direct hit. He looked down at the mess, assessing the damage. Then he looked up, directly at Sarah.
Sarah stared back, completely frozen, at the scene before her. She didn’t know what to say. Rachel, seeing the scene unfold from across the room, also stood in shock. For what seemed like several seconds, no one said a word. The moment was broken, though, by the agitated busboy, who exclaimed how sorry he was as he moved to clean up the mess.
