Masters at Arms (2 page)

Joni, I’m so fucking lost without you.

He blinked against the burning in his eyes.
After her burial, Adam spent two weeks locked in a Minneapolis
motel room trying to dig a hole deep enough to bury his sorrows.
He’d only wound up in a drunken stupor, not unlike that wino’s over
in the corner. Joni had told him to lay off the bottle twenty years
ago because his excessive drinking scared her. Her father had been
an alcoholic. He’d wanted her to be proud of him and had quit for
her.

Until now. In the past couple weeks, there’d
been a few nights where he’d come out of his stupor clutching a
bottle of scotch to his chest.

A lousy substitute for Joni.

But, if he hadn’t been due back at Camp
Pendleton in five days, he’d still be in that hell-hole motel—or
buried six feet under beside Joni. He remembered how close he’d
come one night, staring down the barrel of his pistol.

He shuddered and looked around the
still-crowded station. He’d been here for several hours waiting for
his next connection. With holiday travel in full swing, Adam had
known he wouldn’t have managed to hop a seat on a flight in time to
get to Pendleton by Monday. Maybe if he’d sobered up sooner. No
matter. This weekend, the clientele in bus stations better suited
his foul mood. They wouldn’t bother him and he fucking sure
wouldn’t bother them. The last thing he wanted right now was a
chatty companion asking if he was headed home to be with
family. 

He had no family anymore.

Adam leaned forward and held his aching head
in his hands. He sure as hell hoped he’d lose the aftereffects of
this binge before he got back on base. The colonel would bust his
chops if he saw him like this. Adam knew he had a lot of eager
young men and women looking to him to set an example, too.

He just didn’t give a shit about anything or
anyone right now, and didn’t know when he would again.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

Adam looked up, squinting at the throbbing in
his temples caused by the fluorescent lighting.
Yeah, blame the
lights
. He saw a lanky black man in pimped-out orange pants and
a Robin’s egg-blue shirt talking to a teenage girl seated across
from him. She must have just sat down a few minutes ago, because
he’d have noticed her before with her spiked neon pink hair and the
most god-awful amount of makeup around her eyes.

Despite the bravado of her flashy hairstyle
and all-black Goth outfit, her wide-eyed gaze darted to the pimp,
then away. When he slid into the empty seat next to her, she leaned
away from him in small degrees, as if not wanting to offend him by
just getting up and moving. When the dickwad reached out to touch
her hair, she squeezed her blue eyes shut and shrank into the
chair.

Little girl lost.

Don’t let him scare you.

Adam’s attention shifted to the dickwad. No,
Dickwad—with a capital D.

“No, thanks. I already ate,” she answered in
a high-pitched squeak.

Don’t be polite. Tell him to go fuck himself,
hon.

“How about a drink? There’s a liquor store
around the corner.” He took her elbow, and she shook him off.

“No!”

Better.

“Thanks, anyway, but I’m waiting for my bus
to New York.”

Aw, honey, don’t go and tell him your
plans.

“That where you live?”

“No. I, um, have a job waiting.” She looked
away.

Shit
. A runaway. The girl barely
looked fifteen under all that makeup. Adam sat up straighter,
ignoring the pounding in his head. If that sorry bastard touched
her again, he’d ice him like a salmon.

Don’t forget, you have your own bus to
catch
. He didn’t need to be playing hero and winding up doing
jail time for assaulting the jerk.

The runaway pulled her backpack closer to her
chest and tried to scoot to the other side of her chair, but the
armrest prevented her escape. Like a shark, the pimp moved in on
her—the most vulnerable prey he could find here on the night before
Thanksgiving.

Her hand shaking, she unzipped a pouch in the
pack and pulled out a book. The cover showed a vampire whose fangs
were about to pierce the neck of some half-dressed busty woman who
looked like she was about to come. While the runaway pretended to
read, she cast nervous glances at Dickwad. He just continued to
stare at her, trying to intimidate her. Succeeding, too. When the
pimp reached out to stroke her hair again, she pulled away.

“Please, leave me alone.”

Aw, fuck, don’t let him see you cry.
The tears welling in her eyes tore Adam’s guts out. He’d never been
able to see a woman cry. Girls either, for that matter.

The pimp hooked his hand around her arm just
above the elbow and tried to force her to her feet. “Come on, baby.
Let’s get outta here.”

Anger boiled over in Adam, a sensation he’d
been trying to medicate against for weeks. Clenching his fists, he
took a deep, slow breath. He fought the need to pummel Dickwad into
the ground. Hell, as hung-over as he was, Adam wondered if he’d
even be able to take the prick down.

But he’d love the chance to work off some of
his anger. Damned if he’d sit and watch that shithead harass a
little girl—or worse. Adam stood and took a step toward them,
towering over the man.

“I think the young lady asked you to f—”
remembering the young girl, he reminded himself to watch his
language, “—get lost.”

The pimp looked him up and down. “Fuck off,
soldier boy. Get your own ho.”

Adam’s hands snaked out to lift the skinny
little prick out of the seat like a sack of potato chips. Obviously
Dickwad had no such filter on his salty language. He threw him
across the room and watched with satisfaction as the perv slid
until he landed against the ticket counter, far from the girl. Adam
stood with legs apart, braced for Dickwad to make a move against
him.

Come on, punk.
He’d love the chance to
pummel the prick within an inch of his sorry-assed life. Adam
clenched and unclenched his fists his breathing fast and
shallow.

Waiting.

When the pimp stood up, he brushed himself
off, and slunk toward the exit muttering something about evening up
the odds. Adam turned to look down at the girl.
Damn.
Her
hands were shaking so badly, he thought she’d pull her book apart
at the seams.

Scared to death.

* * *

Don’t puke, Karla. Just don’t puke.

Karla Paxton’s stomach got all weird and
fluttery. Her hands began to shake. Then the soldier turned around
and looked down at her. The shaking grew worse. What was the matter
with her?

At first, she’d been afraid they were going
to fight it out right in front of her, but the creep just got up
and walked away. Well, she couldn’t blame him. The tall soldier had
huge muscles—and obviously knew how to use them.

The soldier had sprung at that skaggy jerk
like a mountain lion on a mouse. She’d never seen anyone move so
fast.
Especially someone his age.
He had gray hairs at his
temples, although the rest of his hair was dark brown—clipped very
short, but not as short as Ian’s was now. His eyes were bloodshot
and kinda sad looking. He must not have had much sleep lately.

Her gaze took in his wrinkled khaki shirt. If
Ian’s uniform had been wrinkled like that, he’d have gotten in
trouble. She looked at his ring finger. Married. His wife must not
be nearby to take care of him. Of course, her mom would have made
Ian—and probably her dad—iron his own shirt.

When he sat down where the jerk had been a
few minutes ago, she shook even more, despite the fact he didn’t
get into her personal space like that skag had done. Then the heat
coming from his body made her feel warm and her hands stopped
shaking after a little while.

“You okay, hon?”

Oh, my God. Did he just call me hon?

Not trusting her voice and not too sure about
how safe
he
was, she just nodded. He reminded her of Dr.
McNeil on
Chicago Hope
. She and her Mom had watched the
series all the time until the show got canceled. Karla thought Mark
Harmon looked hot, but didn’t tell Mom that. Mom was always pushing
her to notice the dweebs in her class. But they were so
immature.

“Where you headed?”

He pulled her back from her thoughts. “New
York City.”

“Family there?”

Karla looked away. What’s with all the
questions? “No. I need to get away from family right now.”

“Someone expecting you in New York?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Sure.”
No.

“When does your bus leave?”

“Six forty-five.”

He looked at his watch. “That’s another seven
hours.” He sighed as if that was a problem. What was it to him? She
didn’t need a babysitter.

Then she glanced around at the men nearby and
asked him, “What time does yours leave?”

“Four-thirty.”

Damn
. Why did that make her feel
scared again? Well, he wasn’t going to talk her out of going. She
could take care of herself.

Yeah, like you did with that pimp
.

Suddenly, Karla wasn’t so sure she wanted to
talk with the soldier anymore. No one was going to talk her out of
making this trip. She’d saved money all year, working at a bakery
near her home all last summer and babysitting until she had enough
for a bus ticket and almost fifteen hundred dollars to spare. When
she got to New York, she’d get a job at one of the clubs. Someday,
she was going to be a star, recording her own CDs and
everything.

But she wouldn’t tell him that. He’d just nod
and say something condescending like “that’s nice,” and not believe
she could do it at all. She was tired of dreaming. It was time to
make her dreams come true.

Her stomach growled. She pulled the book and
backpack closer to try and shield his ears from the embarrassing
sound.

“Have you had anything to eat lately?”

“Sure.” Her stomach called her a liar, even
more loudly.

He chuckled and his green eyes lit up for the
first time. The corners of his eyes crinkled into tiny lines. Then
she felt those funny butterflies in her stomach again.

She must really be hungry.

“How long ago?”

She tilted her chin up. “I had pancakes for
breakfast.”

“Come on,” he said, laughing. “Let me buy you
some dinner.” He stood next to her, as tall as the Sears Tower, but
didn’t grab at her like the creepy man had. He just waited, as if
she had no choice but to stand because he had ordered her to go
with him. Well, no way was she going anywhere with a stranger. He
was too big. She wouldn’t be able to fight him off.

Even if I did want to.

Whoa! What was the matter with her? He looked
as old as her uncle, who was forty-three.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” She opened her
book again, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.

When he did just that, she didn’t understand
why her heart squeezed tight. She looked up and watched him leave,
rounding the ticket counter and heading for the exit.
Gosh, he
didn’t even say good-bye.
And where was his coat? Didn’t he
know it was freezing cold out there?

Looking around, she noticed a lot of scary
people watching her—mostly men. She guessed women were too smart to
catch a bus in the middle of the night. None of these guys had eyes
that crinkled when they laughed. They didn’t smile like they cared
about her. They just leered, especially when they stared at her
boobs, making her skin crawl as if a bunch of ants had taken
over.

She looked across at where the soldier had
been sitting and saw a large duffel bag that must belong to him.
One of the boob-leering men started to reach down slowly as if to
hide the fact he was about to take the bag.

“Leave it alone!” Karla wasn’t sure where
that voice came from, then realized it was hers. The man stopped
dead. Wow! “He’s coming back soon and, if you know what’s good for
you, you’ll leave his things where he left them.”

When the man stood up and walked across the
terminal, Karla began to shake again. Only this time, there were no
butterflies. Just a feeling like the flu she had last year.

Would she have to deal with creeps like these
all the way to New York? Had she made the right decision to run
away? Her parents didn’t understand how urgent it was for her to
start her career now, rather than wait a few years. They just
thought she was a stupid sixteen-year-old.

Wait until you graduate from high school.
Then you can study music at Loyola.

They’d been telling her that since school
started. Didn’t they realize she couldn’t wait that long? Now was
her chance. Her music teacher said she had a gift. She didn’t need
more schooling. She just needed to find a job where she could sing
for people who could discover her talent and offer her a recording
contract. If she didn’t go now, she just knew she’d never get
there. She’d never be anybody in the music business.

Her parents would be surprised, and sad, when
they woke up tomorrow and she wasn’t in her bed. Her eyes burned.
She loved them a lot and didn’t want to make them sad, but…

“Here. Eat this.”

Karla looked up to find the soldier had
returned, holding a fast-food bag toward her. She grinned as she
stashed her book in her backpack and took the sack from him.
He
came back to you
.

As soon as she opened the sack, the smell of
greasy burgers and fries caused her stomach to rumble even louder
than before. She felt her face grow hotter, but was too hungry to
let it faze her. She’d skipped lunch today so she could run to the
bank and clean out her account for the trip.

“Thanks.” She smiled up at him.

The soldier sat down beside her again. She
felt him watching her. When she glanced his way, he just smiled and
watched as she pigged out on the food. Gawd, she hadn’t realized
how hungry she was! Feeling a little guilty, she held out the box
of fries and offered him some.