Found Wanting, Pt. 01

A mysterious man with a shrouded past who wants nothing more than to be left alone.

A single mother on the run from a powerful, malevolent crime syndicate.

One's life is in danger; the other stopped living long ago; only together can either hope for salvation.

It was all Reyna could do to balance the demands of life as an emergency room nurse with providing for her son. Becoming a mother had meant walking away from not only the carefree life of partying and nightclubs, but also the dream of her own happily ever after. However, it was a decision she vowed to never regret. She was determined to build a life for her son that would make her father proud. She certainly never expected that a random patient on an otherwise unremarkable weeknight could so completely upend her life.

Bruce had finally found the life he had been seeking. He had his land, his dog, and his books. No one expected anything from him... or even took much notice of his existence. He occasionally found himself in a position to help the fellow citizens of the tiny town where he had settled, but they were content to let him disappear again once the deed was done. No one ever asked about his past, or the ghosts of all those he was directed to eliminate who greeted him each time he closed his eyes.

When Reyna realized just how much danger she was facing, she took her son and left Miami without hesitation. But her decisiveness seemed all for naught when her pursuers forced her car off the highway. She woke to discover that a mysterious man rescued them before disappearing again despite his own injuries. Her quest to thank the enigmatic man who saved them soon spiraled out of control; due both to the dogged efforts of the villainous forces sworn to see her dead, and what she discovered as she got to know the stalwartly independent, terrifyingly capable and downright grumpy man known to the town only as Bruce.

Found Wanting is the tale of a woman who finds herself caught between running for her life and the growing urge to save a man so consumed by the mistakes of his past that he gave up living, even if his body never got the message. One spent a lifetime dreaming of finding happily ever after; the other was just annoyed the 'after' part hadn't happened yet; together, they have found themselves in the crosshairs of a man anxious to deliver them both to the afterlife. All that remains to be seen is whether they will discover in time that the growing attraction they share might be their only hope; not only for survival... but for true love.

Author's note:

This novel is a slow-burn, dual-POV dark romantic thriller. I've broken it up into three sections for publication here. There is no sensuality in the first section, but I assure you that your patience will be rewarded.

Make no mistake, this novel delves into some weighty subject matter. Trigger warnings for significant on-page violence, depression and suicidal ideation.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

***

Copyright © 2023 Jake Lazarus

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author (except for the use of brief quotations in a review).

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, business, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

***

One

Reyna

"Oh, great! Real bullets!" Reyna Lewiston quoted as she studied the rapidly darkening sky through her front windshield. "Wouldn't have minded in the least if we skipped our regularly scheduled three o-clock rain-shower today, Florida." She glanced down at the fuel gauge whose needle was rapidly approaching empty on her ancient hatchback and muttered, "Just fucking perfect."

She glanced in her review mirror, once again wondering if her imagination was playing tricks on her. She had been on the road for over three hours, and she felt certain she would explode if her anxiety climbed any higher. A glance at her surroundings told her relief might be a long time coming. She had lived her entire life in the country's most southeastern state but could still sometimes be surprised by how empty parts of it were. She had once road tripped to the Pacific, and while Florida could not compare to sections of Texas where you could go a hundred kilometers with no sight of civilization, it was not far removed.

She pushed the button on her phone to activate her virtual 'assistant' and barked, "How long until the next fuel station?"

"Thirty-seven minutes along present course," the unsettlingly realistic computer responded cheerfully.

She groaned in frustration and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, cursing the 'biggest size you've got' coffee she had ordered upon departing Miami. She spotted a sign for an upcoming exit but quickly realized it was the 'drive ten minutes out of your way to hit up a fuel station built when leaded gas was still a thing' type as opposed to the 'every imaginable convenience within a few hundred meters of the expressway' type. She nearly convinced herself to just keep going before her bladder filed a strenuous objection. She swerved across the right lane to take the exit, narrowly avoiding a slow-moving SUV in the process.

Reaching the bottom of the exit ramp, she saw that her suspicions were correct. A small sign was posted by the side of the road which indicated that a fuel station could be found twelve kilometers to the west. She nearly pulled back on to the expressway but a small sign indicating the speed limit was one-hundred kilometers per hour convinced her otherwise. She turned left and floored the accelerator, the pitiful three-cylinder whine of her engine complaining in protest as she sped toward her destination.

Ten minutes later, she gratefully drove into a dilapidated service station. She pulled up to a pump and extracted her precious cargo from the rear of the vehicle before dashing inside in search of a restroom. The smell was unpleasant, but not nearly so bad as she had feared. Nevertheless, she touched as little as possible while hurriedly attending to the urgent business at hand.

She emerged to find a bearded man eyeing her car suspiciously from a rocking chair near the fuel station's front door. She hurried past him to re-stow her cargo. As she closed the back door, she heard a pointed throat-clearing come from behind her which sent an icy sliver of fear shooting down her spine.

"You gonna buy anything?" a gravelly voice grunted.

"Uh... yeah..." Reyna stammered.

She popped open the fuel cover and grabbed a nozzle to top off her tank. Moments later, the flow cut off when her tank reached capacity. The man wandered over and peaked at the readout on the pump.

"There's a ten-dollar minimum," he grumped.

"I don't know what to tell you," Reyna snapped. "The tank's full. Benefits of an efficient engine, I guess."

"How efficient?"

"Twenty kilometers per liter, give or take. I can go eight hundred kilometers on a full tank."

"Good for you. How'd you like Alligator Alley?"

Reyna glanced around nervously before saying, "How'd you know I came from the east?"

"Can't get mosquito hits like that coming down I-75," he said gesturing to her windscreen which was covered in insectoid remains.

"Oh. Um... it was fine. Listen, I've really got to get going. Can't I just pay ten bucks for the gas?"

"Fair enough. Where you headed?"

"Um... west."

"Ain't much more west you can go. The gulf's only a few minutes from here."

"Thanks a lot," Reyna huffed as she climbed into the driver's seat and hurried away.

In fitting with the falsehood she had used with the fuel station attendant, she turned west. But she quickly discovered just how right he was when the road she traveled dead ended into the placid water of the Gulf of Mexico, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. She turned north along the road which followed the shoreline but quickly found herself impossibly lost. Belatedly, she fired up the navigation app on her phone and, after nearly an extra hour of driving, found her way back to the expressway.

By this point it was getting dark, and she knew that her goal of making it to the state line before stopping was in serious jeopardy. She had chosen the less direct route intentionally, intending to hug the west coast rather than the more direct path of utilizing the turnpike. She did this in hopes of eluding the pursuit she knew instinctively must be searching for her, both by using the less logical route and by staying off the road where, by design, every vehicle was carefully tracked.

A quick calculation in her head told her that Alabama was still at least ten hours distant. In her younger years, she would have pushed on without hesitation. After all, back then staying up until five in the morning was child's play. But the young woman capable of such feats no longer bore any resemblance to the serious person at the wheel of her vehicle.

She continued to head north, paying close attention to the billboards in hopes of finding a place to stop which sat comfortably between 'way out of her budget' and 'definitely going to get ringworm'.

Passing Tampa two hours later, she still had not found a suitable candidate. A stop for food had seemingly buoyed her stamina and she was now considering pushing through to the panhandle since she knew there was little to find along the state's west coast beyond sleepy vacation towns.

Once the sky transitioned from dusk to fully dark, it did not take long for Reyna to begin doubting the wisdom of her strategy. The oncoming headlights were starting to dazzle her, and she started working her way through the standard list of things to do when one feels their focus slipping behind the wheel. Rolling her window down did nothing but fill the car with humidity, which only made her sleepier. She tried listening to fascist talk radio for a bit, which certainly got her blood boiling, but it did not take long to decide the headache she was getting was worse than being drowsy.

It was in the midst of her futile efforts to regain her alertness that she noticed the car which had started to overtake her had matched speeds and was holding station to her left. She glanced over and was overcome with a sense of foreboding when recognition bloomed in the eyes of the luxury pickup's passenger.

"God damnit," she muttered quietly.

She looked around anxiously for some sign of salvation, but all she saw was the headlights of her fellow travelers. The road she traveled was a four lane B-road which ran along the coast. There were no exits to offer salvation, only endless blacktop occasionally interrupted by small towns which had not been fortunate enough to exist near one of the state's many interstate highways.

Reyna tried to calm her nerves and convince herself she had been mistaken, but she soon felt her car accelerate, is if on its own. She remembered back to a driving demonstration her father had designed for her as part of her lengthy process of learning to operate a motor vehicle. He had pulled alongside a random vehicle on the highway, but matched speeds with them instead of passing. He had then slowly increased his speed until the vehicle in the right lane had accelerated by twenty-five kilometers per hour. He had explained it was far more often a subconscious act on the part of the other driver, rather than them being intentionally difficult, although there was certainly plenty of that in south Florida.

She glanced down at the speedometer and saw she was going twenty percent over the speed limit. More worryingly, the truck she had noticed was holding station in the lane beside her. She cast a worried glance in their direction, only to find the car's passenger still staring at her with eyes that sent a spike of fear coursing through her body.

Casting a look to the horizon offered no comfort. In fact, she seemed to be quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Not even the sky held a hint of civilization, only inky blackness in every direction. Her phone's GPS was of no help as it only suggested that her next turn would not happen for several hours.

She thought about calling the police, but what would she tell them? That another car was also driving on the highway? The question would not be if they would hang up on her, it was whether or not they would laugh at her before or after.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced back at the pickup to find that it was much closer now. Less than a meter separated her door from theirs and she felt like the menacing passenger could easily see right down into her pitiful hatchback.

A deafening rumble rang out from beneath the truck's hood as the driver accelerated sharply. He swerved into the lane in front of her and braked hard. It was no trouble for her to slow her own, much lighter car, but that knowledge did little to quell her rising panic.

The truck accelerated again, spinning its tires slightly in an attempt to regain some momentum. Reyna slowed, hoping someone would come up behind her and offer a measure of safety, but the review mirror offered no hint for salvation.

The truck swerved abruptly and cut across the median before speeding south. She watched the taillights fade in her review mirror and breathed a sigh of relief.

"How in the fuck did they find me?" she whispered to the heavens.

Just as she thought she had seen the last of the truck, the taillights flared in the distance behind her before disappearing altogether. She feared for the worst and stomped her foot down on the accelerator. Her phone said the next town was only ten minutes away. If she threw caution to the wind, she could make it there in half the time. Or she thought grimly, perhaps she would get pulled over which would be an ironically welcome turn of events.

Her little hatchback topped out at a bit less than two-hundred kilometers per hour as she sped north. She had the first inkling of spotting the light pollution of an approaching city when the sight she had been dreading appeared in her review mirror.

"Fuck," she breathed.

The headlights grew rapidly in her mirror until she was nearly blinded. She tried to focus on the road but that quickly became impossible as the truck slammed into the back of her car.

"Are you fucking crazy?" she shouted as she sawed at the wheel in a desperate effort to regain control.

A snap of the wheel to the right which would have made her father beam with pride gave her a measure of traction and she quickly got the vehicle back under control. She looked around for the truck, confused by the fact that the larger vehicle's headlights were no longer filling the cabin of her car with blinding light. She had just spotted a movement out of the corner of her eye when the truck smashed into her passenger's side rear-quarter-panel. She fought for control once more, but it was for naught. The truck outweighed her tiny hatchback by at least a tonne. She felt her rear wheels break loose and her car wrapped around the front of the larger vehicle as though in a deadly dance.

Once the hatchback broke contact with the truck, it started losing speed quickly due to its sideways slide. Just as Reyna started to cut the wheel in an attempt to break free of the skid, she heard a crunch and felt the intensely disconcerting sensation of the loss of gravity. She was still trying to determine what had happened when her car struck the water.

Two

Bruce

"What now?" Bruce whispered gruffly to his indefatigable companion in response to the latter's sudden fit of barking. "Did the aliens finally come to abduct you, you jumpy bastard?"

The barking stopped as Charlie sniffed anxiously at the air before beginning to trot west. Bruce watched him for a moment before shrugging and saying, "You'd best get it all out of your system, or you're sleeping outside again."

He gave no thought to trying to reign in the stubborn quadruped, having long ago learned that trying to call the young bloodhound back to his side was next to impossible once he heard, or even worse smelled, something which he decided was out of place.

Bruce continued along his normal path tracing the fence line despite the loss of his companion and the lack of illumination. It was something he did at least daily, no exceptions. The current check of the perimeter had led to the discovery of a young calf from their neighbor to the north caught in the fence. Freeing the animal had taken only a few moments but it had taken over an hour to repair the damage to the ancient fencing. The repair had left them walking in total darkness as they completed the check, not that it made much difference. The moon was half past new, and the late afternoon heat had burned off the cloud cover following an afternoon shower. The illumination was not quite sufficient to read a book, but it more than sufficed for navigation across the property he knew down to every tree and stump. His property sat firmly wedged in what he thought of as the forgotten part of Florida. Far from the beaches and theme parks, this land was dedicated, for the most part, to cattle farming. Upon retirement, Bruce had found a thousand hectares of land deemed too rocky to be of much use to livestock and too remote to attract the attention of the land developers always looking to find the perfect piece of land to build their latest retirement community.

He reached the northwest corner of his land and turned left along the creek which marked his northern border. The fence here was less likely to be trifled with, at least by cattle. The southern bank to the creek was steep and the walking steaks tended to frown on attempting the descent. It had been several minutes since Charlie had taken off when he heard his mournful howl drifting in the breeze. He picked up his pace without a second thought. Charlie was as apt as any dog to overreact to the slightest stimuli, but his howl was reserved for situations where he seemed convinced there was genuine danger.

Bruce set his pace at ten kilometers per hour in the knowledge that he would likely need to run for a while. His property was not big by cattle ranching standards, but he knew his body well enough to know that sprinting was only effective for up to a few hundred meters, and whatever Charlie had found was further away than that. The sound of Charlie's howling came from the west, so Bruce continued along the bank of the creek.

The sound of tires squealing brought Bruce to a halt. He commanded his breathing to be silent and closed his eyes to focus his senses on his hearing. A V8 engine revving; the softer sound of a much smaller internal combustion engine; the chirp of tires struggling to adhere to the road. He resumed his jog, albeit with a bit more urgency. He thought it likely some teenagers with more money than sense were playing a dangerous game on the highway. More than a few had thought the long open stretches of well-maintained road were perfect for testing their driving abilities. The local cops tended to lighten the wallets of such fools quite regularly, but that did not stop the occasional roadside monument from being erected every few months when someone found out the hard way that the rules of the road existed for a reason.

Bruce had nearly reached where his property terminated at the highway easement when he heard the crunch of two cars colliding. The sound came from the south, but he could spot two pairs of headlights in the direction and neither seemed to be maintaining their lane. In an instant, another thunderous rev of a V8 echoed off the sparse trees of his land. This was immediately followed by the lower pair of headlights swinging wildly around as the two vehicles collided again. He watched helplessly as the larger vehicle drove the smaller toward the bridge which crossed the river meters to his north, only backing off when the smaller vehicles fate was sealed. He broke into a run towards the water, his feet splashing through the thick mud of the bank just as the smaller car smashed into the embankment above.

The car landed on its side after barrel-rolling through the air thanks to hitting the embankment side-on. In a moment, an eerie silence descended, marked only by the sound of the second vehicle racing away. He rushed into the water, not failing to notice the smoke which was billowing out from under the hood.

The car had come to rest in waist-deep water, resting on the driver's side. He could hear no movement within meaning the driver had been, at best, knocked unconscious. He chinned himself up using the edge of the roof and peered inside, but it was for naught thanks to the lack of sunlight and the murky water. He dropped inside and freed the safety belt, pulling the driver out of the water and feeling for a heartbeat along the carotid artery. He felt the faintest hints of what might have been a pulse, but he could detect no breathing.

He wrapped an arm around the driver's midsection, a dim part of his brain supplying the fact that she was a woman, before climbing out of the car using the passenger's seat like a ladder. Shifting her up and over his shoulder into a fireman's carry, he hopped off the roof into the river, allowing the water to break his fall somewhat. He hurried to the bank and laid her down on her side.

He started to check for a pulse again, but Charlie chose this moment to announce his presence. The bloodhound raced up and started barking maniacally. Bruce glanced around nervously, recognizing his companion's bark as the 'shit's fucked up' variant. Charlie bounded over to the river, his barking never quieting. Bruce looked from the woman to the car, and back, several times before he muttered an oath and raced back into the water.

***

Bruce's truck slid to a stop at the ambulance entrance to the local hospital. He tapped out S. O. S. on his horn before he began unfastening his cargo. A nurse burst through the doors, the 'I'm gonna tear someone a new asshole' look vanishing instantly from her face after assessing the situation.

She plucked a phone from her pocket and barked, "I need everyone not currently with a patient out here right now!"

A flurry of activity commenced and within moments, Bruce was left alone with the nurse who had appeared first.

She regarded him intently for a moment before saying, "Come with me," in a tone that left no room for argument.

Bruce shrugged and followed her inside. She led him to a small office adjacent to the nurses' station and gestured to a chair before taking her own seat behind the desk. Bruce slid the chair out of the way and stood in its place, his feet shoulder width apart and his hands hanging easily at his sides.

"Sit," the nurse ordered. "You look exhausted."

"I'm covered in mud," he grunted. "I'll spare you the cleaning bill."

"Have it your way," she sighed. "What happened?"

"She was driven off the road. Perp was driving a larger vehicle, likely a truck or SUV, although it could have also been a van. V8. Naturally aspirated. There were two collisions: one your garden variety rear-end type and the other a pit maneuver. It was the second which sent her car over the barrier and into the water. Car caught fire after it went into the river. She was submerged when I got to her, about thirty seconds after she went into the water. Cleared the airway once I got her out of there and she started breathing again on her own. I suspect concussion, minor burns and perhaps some broken bones but recommend a full work-up." He flipped his wrist up to check his watch before continuing, "Her vehicle hit the water twenty-one minutes ago."

"You live nearly twenty minutes away," the nurse observed. "And the northwest corner of your land is hell and gone from your house."

Bruce raised an eyebrow before adding, "Are you suggesting I deserve a traffic citation, or questioning my recollection."

She groaned in frustration before saying, "Would you like to go see her?"

Bruce shook his head and said, "That won't be necessary. The sheriff knows where to find me, should he wish to discuss my unsafe driving."

"I was just funning with you, Bruce."

His gaze bore into her, but his expression remained hard. "This wasn't an accident."

She nodded and said, "I'll call the sheriff. You willing to hang around until he gets here?"

"Negative. He'll have to come out to my place anyway."

She sighed before replying, "I figured as much." She looked at him closer before continuing, "That isn't all mud on your arms, is it?"

"As I said, her car caught fire."

"Come with me, we've got an empty room back there. I want to get those burns cleaned up and give the doc a chance to take a look."

Bruce shook his head firmly and said, "It's nothing. Will there be anything else?"

"You did a great thing tonight, Bruce. You should be proud. Doubtless, the mayor will want to give you another citation."

"Tell him to put it with the others."

"This town should know what you've done for them," she insisted. "And you deserve some recognition."

"Hardly," he grunted. He paused for a moment longer before saying, "Thank you for all you do for this community, Janice. Please pass along my thanks to your colleagues as well. Have a pleasant evening."

He then strode out of her office purposefully. He heard his name called a few times as he walked toward his truck, but the voices did not seem to be in distress, so he ignored them. As he climbed into his truck, he hissed in pain as his forearm struck the steering wheel. He looked down at his arm and saw the telltale blistering of a large second-degree burn.

Bruce spent the trip home planning out the steps he would need to go through when he arrived to prevent sepsis. His medical kit was, to his recollection, sufficiently stocked with brushes, iodine, gauze and tape to do the job on both his arms, but he would likely need to venture into town in the coming days to replace the not insignificant amount of materials he projected to expend dealing with his current situation. The fact that it would be excruciating did not enter into his calculations.

Charlie met him at the gate and trotted happily alongside the truck as he drove toward the house. As he climbed out, he tossed the canine a treat from the stash he kept in the glove box and muttered, "You did good tonight."

Three

Reyna

"That Night Train is a mean wine," Reyna quoted numbly as she tried to remember what could have possessed her to get blackout drunk. Her head felt as though it was now home to a colony of silkworms who were having their five favorite heavy metal bands over for tea and crumpets.

As she laid in bed trying to collect her wits, flashes of recollection started to pierce the fog in her mind.

The screeching of tires.

The crunch of metal.

The roar of the engine.

The explosion of glass.

The coolness of the water.

In an instant, recollection flooded her brain. She surged up to a sitting position, the stings in her arm forgotten as soon as they happened.

"Alton!" she gasped through parched lips.

Opening her eyes revealed that she was in a hospital room. She fumbled around for the call button, stabbing it in panicked desperation. The door opened to reveal a woman silhouetted by the hallway lights.

"Hello there," and alto voice greeted her. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's Alton?" Reyna rasped.

The nurse quickly approached the bed and took Reyna's hand. She smiled warmly and said, "He's fine. He's in the next room."

"I must see him!"

The nurse gave Reyna a quick once-over, adjusting a few of the wires attached to her after reattaching the ones Reyna had pulled loose, before saying, "I'll go get him. Just a moment."

She left the door open, so Reyna could hear him before he rounded the corner holding the nurse's hand tightly. When she saw him, he yanked his hand free and rushed to her bedside. Before either Reyna or the nurse could tell him not to, he climbed on to the bed and gripped his mother tightly.

She hugged him tight and whispered, "Hey, baby."

He looked up at her with eyes so big and blue she could melt into them, and a sob threatened to escape her throat at the worry she saw there. But she knew that the last thing her little man needed was to worry even more.

She tried her best to put on a brave face and said, "How do you feel?"

He shrugged and said, "Thirsty."

"We tried to give him some juice, but he wasn't having it."

"Yucky," he declared.

"I'm sure they're very sorry about the juice being a little sour. Are you hungry?"

He shook his head and burrowed deeper into her.

The nurse whispered, "We offered him some toast, but he said he wasn't hungry. I suspect he's just a bit overwhelmed by all the new faces."

"He's normally a little too friendly with strangers. You're sure he's ok?"

"Unquestionably. All his vitals are good. No sign of concussion. CT scan is clear. I suspect he could use a nap," she gestured to where Alton was rapidly losing his battle with consciousness against her before continuing, "and he'll likely be famished when he wakes up, but he's fine. You, on the other hand..."

For the first time, Reyna gave her body a once over. She was covered in leads and had an IV in her right hand. Her left hand was heavily wrapped. As her inspection continued, she shook her head in what she realized was her fifth or sixth attempt to shake loose the cobwebs filling her head.

She looked at the nurse suspiciously and asked, "What did you give me?"

"Fluids for your dehydration. Antibiotics for the gash on your shoulder. Painkillers for... everything. You had a heck of an evening."

"How... what... where am I?"

"You're in Accassihiapa..."

"Where?" Reyna cut her off.

The nurse regarded her for a moment before saying, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Reyna shook her head before a grim expression settled over her features. She whispered, "A truck. It forced us off the road."

The nurse nodded and said, "You went over the barrier and into the water. Your arm isn't broken, by the way. But your wrist is pretty badly sprained. You've also got a mild concussion."

"How long was I out?"

"Thirty-seven minutes."

"That's very specific. How'd the EMT's come up with that number?"

"They didn't. A... citizen... brought you in. It was his property you ended up on after you went off the road. He happened to be close by when the accident happened."

"Oh," Reyna stammered as she tried to make sense of everything she was being told. Almost subconsciously, she started feeling around Alton's tiny body.

The nurse reached out to touch Reyna's uninjured arm and said, "He really is fine. Listen, there's a few people who want to speak with you if you're up for it."

Reyna glanced down at her son's now sleeping body before nodding at the nurse. "Sure. So long as they keep it down."

"I'll let them know. I'm Janice, by the way. Ring me up if you need anything."

"Thank you," Reyna said solemnly.

Janice smiled in response before leaving the room.

Moments later, a wiry younger man walked into the room and took a seat on the chair. He had long black hair, which he pulled back into a ponytail, and a wispy beard. His posture would have made Reyna's father growl in frustration, and he gave off an air of irritation about his surroundings. In fact, the only thing that kept Reyna from tagging him in her mind as a teenager was the gun on his hip and the badge on his breast.

"Deputy Maynard," the man-boy said by way of greeting. "I'd like to ask you some questions about the accident."

"It was no accident," Reyna whispered fiercely. "I was forced off the road."

"Is that so?"

Reyna groaned inwardly and said, "Are you suggesting I intentionally drove into a river? With my three-year-old son in the car?"

"Stranger things have happened," the deputy offered. "Do you have the license plate of the vehicle that you claim did this to you?"

"Of course not. It was dark and I was busy trying to keep them from killing us. I can't believe what you're implying. Am I under arrest?"

The deputy stared skyward as if in search of divine intervention before dropping his eyes back to the notepad in his lap. "Listen, lady. I'm not here to arrest anyone. I just need a statement. It's up to my boss as to who gets charged with a crime."

Reyna sighed and said, "Fine. What do you want to know?"

***

It was well after midnight when the deputy finally departed. Before the sound of his footsteps had faded down the hall, Janice re-entered Reyna's room and shut the door behind her.

"Oh my God," the nurse groaned. "I swear, I nearly came in here, like, five different times. That boy just doesn't get it."

"He was just doing his job," Reyna sighed, her head falling listlessly against her pillow.

Janice regarded her for a moment before whispering, "Hold that thought."

She left quickly but returned moments later with an armload of blankets and pillows. She helped Reyna get Alton comfortable on the bed beside his mother before her gaze returned to her patient.

"He's beautiful," Janice whispered as they gazed down at the boy's cherubic face.

"He takes after his father," Reyna replied quietly. "Obviously."

Alton had the kind of blonde hair found only in the very young, or in a bottle. He was only about ninety centimeters tall with a round face and bright blue eyes. By way of contrast, Reyna was only about seventy centimeters taller than her son with brown eyes and dark hair with blonde highlights.

"Happens sometimes. My girlfriend from college has four kids by three different fathers, and none of them look anything like her. But she's raising them all right, and that's what matters."

"That's what I keep telling myself," Reyna replied wearily.

"Would you like to get some rest? They're not admitting you, but I think the plan is to keep you here for observation until the morning."

"I'm not sure I could sleep right now if my life depended on it."

"Want some company?"

Reyna smiled at her nurse and nodded happily. Even in scrubs, Janice was an undeniably beautiful woman. She had an impressive head of hair which added a dozen centimeters to her otherwise average height. She had flawless, tawny skin and an athletic figure which Reyna suspected resulted in no end of attention from the opposite gender. She also had soulful, brown eyes and a ready smile which immediately put Reyna at ease.

"I'm sorry about Troy," Janice began.

"Who?"

"That gangly stoner with the badge who just asked you the same question eleven different ways," the nurse elaborated.

Reyna chuckled and said, "I did start to wonder about his hearing. He seemed very interested in how I got forced off the road. I'm afraid I wasn't much help, between fighting for our lives and getting knocked unconscious."

"He's such a little shit," Janice snapped, before glancing in Alton's direction and shrugging apologetically.

Reyna waved off the faux pas and said, "I'm not sure I'd go that far."

"Ten bucks says he's going to try to pin this whole damn thing on Bruce."

"Who?"

"The citizen I told you about. It was his river you crashed into."

"Why would the deputy have it in for him. He couldn't possibly have been involved. That asshole who wrecked me had been following me for at least twenty kilometers."

"It's a long story, but Troy's not in the habit of letting things go. Even if every damn person he comes across tells him he's a fool. I swear, of all people to carry a grudge against."

"What makes this Bruce so special?"

"Well, for starters, there's little doubt he saved your life. When your car hit the water, you were knocked unconscious and pinned underwater. He pulled you and your boy out, sustaining significantly worse burns than either of you suffered in the process. Then, he carried you back to his house and drove you here rather than waiting for our one ambulance."

"My goodness," Reyna breathed. "Which room is he in? I'm sure he must be asleep by now, but I'd like to say thank you before he's discharged."

"Refused treatment. Just told me what happened and then walked out once he'd said his piece. He's kind of a man of few words."

"How bad are his burns?"

"Second degree over at least ninety percent of his arms, from what I could see. Plus, some first degree on his neck and face. Damn fool."

"But he'll be scarred," Reyna wailed. Alton shifted in his bed, reminding her to keep her voice down.

Janice shrugged and said, "Probably. But he's always been that way, ever since he came to town a few years ago. He probably said more to me tonight than he's said to anyone in the last year. But, enough about him. Tell me about you."

Reyna sighed and said, "You mean... why was someone trying to kill me?"

"If you like, but I suspect that's hardly the most interesting thing about you."

Reyna eyed her suspiciously and said, "Why do you want to know?"

Janice gave her a wounded look and murmured, "The only other patients here tonight are two drunks and an octogenarian who's trying to leverage a particularly horrific looking cyst to get more narcotics. I was just trying to be friendly. I'll let you get some rest."

Janice started to rise, but Reyna caught her hand and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a bitch. It's just, it's not every day someone tries to kill me. Please, don't go."

Janice regarded her for a moment before nodding and resuming her seat. She sat quietly, as though she feared another reproach.

Reyna smiled wanly and said, "So... Accassihiapa?"

Four

Bruce

"Criminy, that smarts!" Bruce hissed as he scrubbed his arm with antiseptic wash. He glared at his companion and said, "This is all your fault. You know that, right?"

Unsurprisingly, his companion did not deign to reply beyond rolling onto his side and stretching mightily.

"Typical," Bruce grumbled at his canine companion.

A few more swipes of the brush and the last of the blisters on his arm bowed to the inevitable and burst. He grimaced at the pain and tried to suppress the urge to revel in the traitorous adrenaline surging through his body. Taking a calming breath, he poured cool water repeatedly over each of his arms to wash away the viscera.

Charlie leapt up alertly after a particularly loud groan of agony from his master and trotted over to the sink.

Bruce regarded him warily and said, "If you lick me, I'm going to have to start over. Let's just say that I'd rather not even contemplate what I'd do to you if that happened."

Charlie sat on his haunches and appeared to consider the matter for a moment before deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. Either that, or some unseen vermin chose that moment to nestle into his fur because Charlie dropped to his side and started gnawing at his hind quarters like there was a winning lottery ticket hidden there.

"Good call," Bruce grumbled.

Once the rinsing was complete, he poured a liberal amount of iodine over each of his arms. He was aware that his method of caring for such injuries was not precisely what a medical professional would have recommended. But he was not interested in feeling better, only in returning to standard operating procedure as quickly as possible.

He smiled down at his noticeably jaundiced looking arms and said, "I look like I fisted a rubber ducky. Twice!"

Charlie's only response was a particularly loud example of flatulence.

"Everyone's a critic," Bruce chuckled as he wrinkled his nose. "Come on, stinky."

He opened the door and the bloodhound trotted out onto the porch before dropping down onto his outdoor nest of blankets beneath the overhang.

Bruce went back inside to wrap gauze around his arms before returning with a metal cup of black coffee. He gazed across his property, trying to gauge when the daily thunderstorm would begin. He could still see blue sky to the west over the gulf but things to the east looked ominous. He started to stick his finger in his mouth to check the wind direction but got a mouthful of iodine-soaked gauze instead.

"Bleck!" he groused.

He settled for stomping down the steps from his porch and snatching a leaf off a nearby tree so he could toss it in the air and watch which way it fell. He frowned and plucked another leaf, this time walking a few dozen extra meters from the house before dropping it.

"Well, shit. Looks like hurricane season's getting an early start this year. Gotta love global warming."

Turning his attention from the skies to the ground, he noticed a car driving along the distant road which abutted his property. He was prepared to dismiss it until he noticed it coming to a stop at his gate. The occupant climbed out and waved in Bruce's direction, as though they weren't separated by more than a kilometer of sparsely wooded grassland.

"Thank God," he mumbled with a mocking tone. "The police are here."

Charlie gave a half-hearted bark before reluctantly climbing to his feet and following Bruce's intentionally slow walk to his gate. The man at the gate's body language went from congenial to annoyed to angry as Bruce and Charlie approached. Fifteen long minutes later, Bruce arrived at the gate.

"Sheriff," Bruce muttered by way of greeting.

Nathaniel Means was a native American man of medium height in his early fifties. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail while on duty. Bruce noted that the sheriff had left his service weapon in the car, leaving the badge pinned to his shirt as the only indication of his office. He had been the sheriff for as long as Bruce had lived in Accassihiapa and believed in using the respect he enjoyed in the community, as opposed to strong-arm tactics, to keep the peace.

"Took you long enough," his guest grumbled.

"I'm not at my best."

"So I heard. I was hoping I could take a look at the crash site."

"I assume you've already looked from the road?"

"Yes," the sheriff allowed. "But I'd like a better look at the vehicle before we move it."

"You're going to need a crane," Bruce said confidently as he opened his gate.

"Are you just trying to get out of a wrecker driving across your land?"

Bruce's expression did not change. His only response was, "No."

Rather than driving through the gate, the sheriff entered on foot and led the way toward the crash site. Bruce followed behind, but at a distance he hoped would discourage idle chit-chat. Nathaniel seemed content to honor his wishes and strode purposefully toward the crash site.

When they reached the river, the sheriff stopped and studied the still partially submerged car carefully. The car was a blackened husk, the flames having harmlessly burned themselves out the previous night thanks to the river. He walked up and down the bank of the river for several minutes before finally returning to Bruce's side.

"Both occupants knocked out by the crash?"

Bruce nodded.

Nathaniel glanced back at the wreck and said, "Driver under water when you got to her."

Another nod from Bruce.

"She would have drowned if you hadn't pulled her free. And they both would have burned to death long before anyone noticed the wreck from the highway."

This elicited a shrug from Bruce.

"Thing I can't figure out," the sheriff continued, his eyes going to Bruce's bandaged up arms, "is how you're burned to shit, and neither of them have so much as a singed hair. Their clothing isn't even charred."

"Just lucky, I guess," Bruce ventured.

"Cut the crap, Bruce. You damned well know you saved those people. You been back to the hospital to see them?"

"What do you think?"

"Why do you do this stuff?"

Bruce shrugged and said, "Someone had to save them."

"I don't mean that, you dumb bastard. I mean ducking the credit for doing a good deed. What I wouldn't give for you to come by the high school and talk to those recidivists for just an hour. It would improve this community immeasurably."

"I'm the last person you want anyone emulating. Can we just get this over with?"

"Fine," Nathaniel huffed. "Tell me why you said she was forced off the road."

"Heard two cars in close proximity."

"Doesn't mean the second wasn't just a bystander."

Bruce regarded him with a pained expression before saying, "There were at least two different collisions. Maybe more. And the first was more than a minute before she went off the road. This wasn't someone who fell asleep and paid the price."

"Could she have been the aggressor?"

"Unlikely. Like I told Janice, the other car was much larger. A truck or a van. Something with a V8. This briquette," he gestured to the burned-out husk of a hatchback, "wouldn't have done more than piss off something so big. In any case, look at the car."

Nathaniel looked again before saying, "What am I looking at?"

"The rear-end is caved in. So's the passenger side. Both couldn't have happened just hitting the barrier up there. Wouldn't surprise me if you found the same thing on the driver's side. My guess is: the first collision was him rear-ending her. Then, when that didn't do the trick, he pitted her into the barrier up there. That's why she hit it sideways instead of head-on. In theory, she could have lost control and hit the embankment side-on. But not while also caving in the rear-end."

"You didn't see the other car?"

"I didn't see anything. Just heard it and came running. The car was already in the water when I got here."

"Did you see anything in or on the car which gave you any indication why someone had it in for her?"

Bruce shook his head and said, "I was a little busy."

Nathaniel sighed and said, "I guess today's your lucky day. I'll arrange for a crane to come pull it out of the drink from the highway. So no wrecker coming onto your land. But they'll need to send some fellas down here to hook it up."

"Just make sure they follow proper procedure. We don't want another misunderstanding."

"I'll come with them to make sure everyone behaves. Including you."

"Fair enough."

"I'd call ahead if you'd get a damn phone."

"Who am I going to call?" Bruce huffed.

"Well, and I'm just spit balling here, maybe an ambulance when a car goes flying off the highway and lawn-darts into your river. Especially considering your obstinate ass was hurt worse than either of the vehicles occupants."

Bruce merely shrugged in reply.

Nathaniel stared at the car for a few more moments before turning on his heel and heading back towards his vehicle. Bruce fell into step beside him. The noise of the highway provided a soundtrack for their trek, but the picket line of hardwoods planted along the roadside kept them from seeing any of the vehicles speeding past.

After a few moments, the sheriff muttered, "How do you put up with that racket?"

"It just fades into background noise after a while. I don't even hear it anymore."

"Yet you heard a crash over two klicks away."

"Closer to three. I was at the other end of the property when stinky over there let me know something was up." He indicated Charlie who was laying in the dust and busily licking his genitalia.

"Can't imagine how he found it in himself to care."

"Would you knock that shit off," Bruce grumbled at the indefatigable bloodhound.

"Leave him alone. Did you at least cook him a steak or something to reward him for saving those people?"

"Or something," Bruce hedged.

Bruce bid Nathaniel farewell without additional commentary and began the trek back to his humble domicile. He was grateful for the solitude as it let him loose his control over the impact his injuries had on him. To his credit, Charlie did not stoop to humiliating Bruce for his discomfort by taking notice of it. Instead, he loped on ahead to the porch and plopped down on his bed to resume his work on the cow femur his master had secured for him earlier that day.

Bruce entered the house and sat gingerly on the armchair in what passed for his study. Charlie entered with his bone and sat unceremoniously on one of Bruce's feet. Bruce smiled at his companion and pet him with his other foot while reaching for his book from the side table.

Five

Reyna

"This place is a summer restaurant?" Reyna quoted as she looked over the hotel, and attached restaurant, she had been told was the only lodging available in town. "Looks like it hasn't been open for ten summers."

She glanced at the dilapidated sign near the roadside which read Oak Heights Motel and, in a reasonable interpretation of monks from previous century British comedic movies about the Middle Ages, sang, "Ohm..."

She shook her head before glancing over at Alton, who was carefully studying their surroundings from his borrowed booster seat. She said, "I'm sure it'll be fine. Come on."

She climbed from the ride-share Janice had arranged for her and helped Alton disembark. Their possessions at present fit into a plastic bag made available for patients upon discharge from the emergency department. She was thankful her father had always drilled into her the wisdom of carrying a wallet, in addition to a purse which he had considered to be frivolous. Her phone and all of her belongings were presumably ruined, as she had been informed that her hatchback was little more than a meteorite at this point. But, she reasoned, at least she could get them a place to stay while she tried to sort out the latest upheaval in their lives.

Her spirits lifted somewhat when she entered the hotel office and found that it was sparse, but clean and well-maintained. She approached the counter and looked around for any signs of life. Her search came to an abrupt end when she heard a clanging coming from her left. She looked over to find Alton gleefully banging on a 'ring for service' bell. She hurried over and gripped his wrist.

"Once is enough, honey," she said with barely disguised amusement.

The smile left her lips when a gravelly voice of indeterminate gender rasped, "Knock that shit off!"

The figure that emerged from the backroom caused Reyna to pull Alton behind her and take a step back subconsciously.

"Well, if it isn't Evil Knievel. They told me you'd come by."

"Excuse me?" Reyna asked confusedly.

"Tried to jump the river? Ended up crashing out spectacularly instead? Evil Knievel."

"Right."

The clerk moved some papers around on the desk before producing a key which was extended in Reyna's direction. "Your room's at the end of the building. As requested."

"Huh?"

"Call came in this morning. Said you'd need the quietest room I had." The room key was waggled obnoxiously before Reyna's face. "Here you go."

Janice's face immediately popped into Reyna's head, so she said, "I see. Well, I suspect you'll need my license and a credit card. How much is it a night, by the way?"

"Don't you hear good? I said it was all taken care of. Here," the key was dropped onto the counter before the unruly clerk retreated with a grumbled, "Dumbass."

Reyna scooped up the key, making a pair of mental notes. The first was to find out where the closest S-Mart was so she could buy new sheets rather than risking another confrontation with the surly clerk if their stay went past a few days. The second was to track down Janice, somehow, and pay her back for the room, somehow.

She walked to the room with Alton in tow and was grateful to discover that it was merely a two out of ten on the 'oh, hell no' scale. There were two beds, the smaller of which had been fitted with bed rails for Alton. The room featured a kitchenette with a mini-fridge, microwave and hot plate in addition to a restroom with a bathtub. The only downside she could find was the lack of a television. Alton quickly climbed onto 'his' bed and snuggled into the pillow while Reyna took a closer look at the kitchenette. She was stunned to find the fridge and cabinets were full to overflowing with supplies.

She dropped into one of the room's easy chairs and mumbled, "I really wish I'd gotten her number so I could thank her." She then chuckled ruefully and added, "Not that I have a phone."

***

Reyna awoke from the slumber which had overtaken her without warning to a knocking at the door. She glanced at the clock and saw that several hours had passed. Alton was still sleeping peacefully so she rose quietly from her bed and hurried to peer through the peephole before whoever it was knocked again. The man on the other side of the door was a stranger to her, but he wore a badge which looked real enough. Reyna was, however, not so foolish as to forget that less than twenty-four hours earlier someone had tried to kill her and her son.

Another knock sounded, causing Alton to stir in his bed.

"Damnit," Reyna seethed.

Inspiration struck and she hurried over to the room's phone and, after a quick consultation of the pamphlet sized phone book, dialed the local police department.

"Accassihiapa police, what do you want?" a woman with a thick New York accent barked.

Reyna managed not to snicker at the similarity to a quote from one of her and her father's favorite movies and said, "Um... hi. I'm at the, um, Oak Heights Motel and there's a man at my door who's impersonating an officer."

"Again? Hang on, I'll call the sheriff. I swear, those bible thumpers will stop at nothing to get people to let them in. Hang on."

Reyna heard a muffled conversation in the background before the operator returned to the line and said, "Honey! Sheriff Means is already at the motel, and he said there's no one there but him."

"I don't suppose you could describe him?"

"Medium height and weight. Dark hair. Frowns a lot. Wears a badge."

Reyna decided that, despite recent events, she would have to hope her luck was not bad enough for the sheriff to be both at her hotel and somehow not the man at her door. She scooped the key off the nightstand and, after slipping on her shoes, stepped through the door.

The sheriff ended the call that he was on and said, "Afternoon."

Reyna smiled wanly at him and said, "I didn't mean any offense for calling the cops on you."

"It's not a problem. Better safe than sorry. Your boy inside?"

"Yeah," Reyna replied after a brief hesitation.

The sheriff nodded and said, "I was going to ask if you wanted to go get a cup of coffee. But, considering the circumstances, why don't I go grab one for each of us and we can have our chat right here?"

"I'd appreciate that," Reyna replied softly.

"Five minutes," the sheriff said simply before turning and striding purposefully toward the run-down looking restaurant.

Reyna let herself back into the room and saw that Alton was still sleeping. A peek at the clock on the nightstand told her it was mid-afternoon, and she had visions of the young man bouncing off the walls all night if she let him sleep through the day. She gently shook him awake and he gifted her with a cherubic expression only a child could manage upon first wakening.

He hopped off the bed and scampered into the restroom while Reyna looked around for something to occupy him while she spoke to the sheriff. Her eyes fell upon the dresser, once again feeling the absence of the normally ubiquitous television. This time, however, she noticed an old-fashioned milk crate on the floor beside the piece of furniture. As she approached it, she spied a stack of coloring books, a box of crayons and a few toys. She shook her head in amusement and pulled a few items out to place them on the table. Alton yipped for joy when he saw the bounty and quickly got to work on demonstrating exactly what a pea-soup colored fire truck would look like.

Reyna kissed the top of his head and headed back outside. Sheriff Means was leaning against his car, sipping his coffee.

"Sorry that took so long," Reyna said sheepishly.

"No worries. You've had a hell of a day."

"About that," she began carefully. "I'm really sorry about all this trouble. I feel so stupid for falling asleep behind the wheel."

The sheriff's eyes widened slightly, but he made no comment.

She sighed and said, "Am I under arrest?"

He regarded her for a moment longer before saying, "There's something I'm having trouble understanding."

"I know. I feel awful for what I did. I know just how close I came to orphaning my son. Or worse, being party to him being injured. I worked the night shift, but I felt awake enough when we left."

"From Miami?"

"Yes," Reyna answered quickly. "We left Miami after lunchtime and headed north."

"Why not take the turnpike?"

She shrugged and said, "I don't know. I guess I just felt like going this way. Anyway, I was actually trying to find a motel when all this happened."

A pregnant pause stretched between them before the sheriff finally said, "I'll need a work name and number. For verification."

"Oh, um. I don't suppose we could skip that part. This vacation wasn't exactly planned. I was hoping to employ the 'ask forgiveness rather than permission' strategy."

"I see," the sheriff replied with a frown. He glanced around, taking in their surroundings, before adding, "Although I'm still not clear on why you're lying to me."

"But..." Reyna began, but the sheriff held up a hand to interrupt her.

"You see," he drawled as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one carefully. "I've seen your car. I've seen the crash site. I've spoken to the witness. And not only could I never be convinced this was a case of someone nodding off behind the wheel; I still can't come up with a reasonable explanation for you trying to convince me of said fiction."

"But..." Reyna repeated, but the sheriff shook his head slightly and she fell silent once more.

"No one knows you're here. The hospital records have you and the boy as Jane and John Doe, and I have it on good authority that a... good Samaritan arranged for your room. I've instructed both the hospital staff and my deputy that, should anyone come around asking about you or the boy, they're to play dumb and send them to me."

Reyna felt as though the vice grip which had been crushing the life out of her for the last forty-eight hours loosened its grip slightly and she let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. She looked at the sheriff and haltingly whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he responded gravely. "All I ask in return is for you to be honest with me."

"Of course. Anything."

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and put it out with his boot before saying, "Why was someone trying to kill you and your boy?"

Her eyes met his reluctantly and she said, "Why would you think that?"

"Because my witness said you were driven into that barrier after already being rear-ended. I've seen your car. You were hit at least twice before you went into the river. This wasn't road rage. This was something more. So, I repeat, why did they do it?"

She looked around worriedly before finally shaking her head firmly and said, "I can't tell you."

"Can you tell me who? Or why?"

"I... saw something I shouldn't have."

He nodded and said, "Cartel?"

She shook her head and said, "I'm not sure who they were. But they weren't Latino. I think maybe eastern European."

"I see," he replied grimly.

"This witness..."

"Bruce?"

"Janice said he saved us. I'd really like the opportunity to express my gratitude."

"Good luck with that," the sheriff chuckled. "He's not prone to socializing."

"I don't suppose you could give me his number?"

"Sorry," he replied with a shake of his head.

"Oh," Reyna sighed.

"It's not privileged or anything, he just doesn't have a phone. But I'll pass along your sentiments next time I see him."

"Maybe I'll see him in town. I'm not sure how long it will take to get things sorted out with my insurance company."

"Word of advice?"

"Oh, sure."

"Hold off on reporting the crash. If it becomes an issue in the future, I'll square things with your insurance company. I can just tell them there was an active investigation, which happens to be the truth. Stick around town for a few weeks, if you're able, and let things settle down."

"I guess we could do that. But... why?"

"No reason to rush out and let whoever has it in for you know that they failed. Lie low for a while. We might not be quite as glamorous as Miami, but I think you'll find folks around here to your liking."

Six

Bruce

"Deputy?" Bruce drawled after a leisurely stroll to his front gate to meet the police car which had, by this point, been waiting for more than ten minutes.

"Took you long enough," Troy Maynard snapped angrily in reply. "What makes you think you've got the right to leave me out here with my thumb up my butt for half the morning?"

"I make no judgements for how you choose to spend your downtime."

"You arrogant shit. I should arrest you for obstruction."

"Good luck with that," Bruce replied in a bored tone. "Remind me what happened the last time you decided to arrest me?"

The interloper merely glared at Bruce in response. He suspected the lawman was trying to appear menacing. But he was much more concerned with the flatulence of his canine companion, which seemed to be on the rise since a recent switch to a kibble which the vet had recommended, than he was with the badge-wielding, gun-toting youngster.

At length, Bruce shrugged and began to turn back toward his house, prompting the interloper to exclaim, "Wait!" Bruce turned back and regarded the deputy with a hard stare, causing the younger man to blanche visibly. After a deep breath in an obvious bid to regain his confidence, the deputy continued, "I know you spoke to the sheriff. He told you we'd need to come back and get that car out of the river."

"That will be done with a crane. From the highway."

"But someone has to hook it up. I'm here to make sure no one bothers you in the process."

After an uncomfortably long delay, Bruce said, "Very well. I'll leave you to it, but I'll hold the department responsible for everyone's conduct."

Before the deputy could form a response, Bruce headed back in the direction of his house, travelling a good deal quicker than he had on the outbound journey. He settled onto his porch and watched with a careful eye as the deputy led a trio of hard-hatted men in the direction of the river.

The process of hooking the car up to the crane squatting by the side of the highway took nearly an hour, thanks to the car's partially submerged nature and the thick mud on the riverbank. As it was lifted free and dangled precipitously, Bruce could see the clear shape of multiple impacts on the hatchback. He knew they wouldn't get anything usable off the vehicle, thanks to the fire followed by a long soak, but the sight of the car made him more certain than ever that whoever had been responsible had wanted the vehicle's occupants to die.

As he watched, he spotted something which piqued his interest. Before he could reconsider, he was already out of his rocking chair and hurrying toward the site of the crash. He arrived moments later and strode directly up to where the hatchback was suspended perilously above the riverbank. They had lifted it using a steel cable which ran through the vehicles front tow hook, which resulted in the vehicle hanging with its crushed rear bumper only a meter or two above the ground. Bruce reached for the car, turning it easily so that he could get a better look at the former vehicle.

"Careful there, Bruce," one of the laborers warned. "This rig's hardly foolproof. We were just hoping it would hold long enough to winch this wreck up onto the flatbed."

"What are you looking at anyway?" Deputy Maynard snapped in irritation.

Bruce made no answer for several moments, even stepping around the seething deputy to inspect the driver's side of the vehicle. He switched between the two sections of vehicle several times, stepping around the deputy with each change of position until at last Troy reached out to grab his shoulder.

Bruce glared at him and said, "Careful."

"What the hell are you doing? That's evidence, you moron."

Bruce grumbled, "Stupid kid," and turned on his heel.

"Wait," the deputy yelled. "What'd you see?"

"What did you see, Deputy?"

"A burned-up wreck."

Bruce shook his head in disgust and stalked back toward his house. His progress was only interrupted by the arrival of another vehicle at his front gate. He grumbled to himself in annoyance before heading in that direction. It bore all the hallmarks of a police cruiser and he had every expectation of encountering the sheriff when he got to the gate.

When he arrived, he was surprised to find two women emerging from the car. He recognized both immediately and muttered, "Damnit."

"Afternoon, Bruce," Janice called brightly as she strode purposefully over to the gate.

"Janice," he replied tersely. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, I was having coffee this morning after my shift, and I ran into Reyna. You remember her from the other night, right?" Bruce nodded briefly without sparing a glance for the woman and small boy who had joined Janice at the gate. "Anyway... she told me no one was talking to her about her car, or the accident, or anything. Well... I just so happened to have run into Sheriff Means at the hospital last night and he mentioned the crane coming out here this morning. So... I told her I'd run her out here so she could see for herself."

"How fortuitous."

"Right..." Janice gushed after an uncomfortable pause. "Well, I'd like to introduce you to Reyna and her son Alton."

"We've met."

"It doesn't count if she was unconscious, you stiff necked grump. She already knows what you did, so you can skip the self-effacing B. S."

Bruce turned to Reyna and said, "If you aim to see the car, you'd best get a move on. They're nearly done winching it up."

He unlocked the gate and ushered them through. Charlie chose this moment to come bounding up from where he had been supervising the hatchback's extrusion to greet the newcomers. Reyna yelped in surprise and had just started to pull her son behind her protectively when Charlie started enthusiastically licking the young man's face. Bruce hurried over and took hold of the hound's collar, yanking him back angrily.

"It was fine," Reyna said softly. "He was just being friendly, and Alton loves dogs."

Bruce made no reply other than to whip his belt off and thread it through Charlie's collar as a makeshift leash. For Charlie's part, he continued to try to reach the young man with an undeterred exuberance. Bruce pointedly ignored the fact that Reyna was having to restrain Alton from dashing over to resume his introduction to Charlie and started walking toward the creek.

Without a glance back toward his guests, he grunted, "Your car's over there."

He heard mumbling between the two women, but he ignored it and picked up his pace. He was relieved to see that neither of the car's passengers seemed to have sustained any lasting injuries as a result of the crash, but he was annoyed that the warm morning had kept him from donning a shirt or jacket which would have hidden his own bandages.

Upon arriving at the riverbank, Alton made a bid to run into the water which Reyna only interrupted by the slimmest of margins. She hefted the toddler up to her hip with a hiss of pain.

Bruce's eyes snapped to Janice, and he said, "What was that?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Janice replied with a frown.

Bruce looked to Reyna, who just glared back at him. At length, he said, "How bad is it?"

"My wrist has seen better days," she admitted.

"You should still be wearing the brace," Janice interjected.

"Alton drew dinosaurs all over it."

"Even better," Janice observed with a grin.

Bruce sighed and said, "If you really think he'll be ok with the mutt loving on him, maybe they could take a look at the car."

"I wasn't the one who panicked over a dog licking a little boy's face," Reyna huffed as she set Alton back down gingerly.

Before Bruce could disentangle Charlie from the leash, Alton had tackled the much larger canine to the ground in a bear hug. Rather than risk the boy getting ensnared in the belt, Bruce dropped it altogether. Soon, the pair was locked in a battle to see whether sloppy licks or enthusiastic hugs were the more effective means of introducing oneself.

Bruce watched them carefully, marveling at Charlie's behavior since his only companion had never taken to another human in the past. In short order, Alton had picked up a stick and was trying to get Charlie to play fetch. Bruce chuckled at the boy's wonder over Charlie successfully retrieving the correct stick after it had been thrown only a few meters, deciding it was not the time to point out that Charlie would have had little difficulty accomplishing the same task had the stick somehow been relocated to the other side of the county.

He became aware of heightened emotions behind him and turned to find Reyna angrily poking the annoyingly immature deputy in the chest. He leaned in and retrieved his belt lest young Alton get tangled up in it before approaching the spot where Reyna and Janice were squaring off against the young deputy.

"I told you there was another car," Reyna seethed.

"What are you talking about?" Deputy Maynard replied in irritation.

"It's right there, you dope. Look at the driver's side."

"What about it? It looks just like the rest of the car."

"Are you insane?" Reyna shrieked. "It looks nothing like the passenger's side. Isn't it required to be able to actually have the power of sight to work in law enforcement?"

"Settle down, lady."

"I will not!" Reyna turned to Janice and said, "Is he always this dumb?"

"Ma'am, if you don't settle down I'll have to take you into custody."

"No, you won't," Bruce drawled.

"You don't make the rules here," the deputy snapped in irritation.

"You sure about that?" Bruce asked with quiet confidence. He let the silence linger for a long beat while he tried to ignore the three pairs of eyes staring at him. At length, he added, "Especially not when she's right. Honestly, Deputy. Certainly in three years on the job, you've done at least one accident investigation. Or at least received training on how to do one."

"More than you," Maynard grumbled.

"Then I'm sure you noticed that huge difference between the two sides of the car. One's flat as a pancake up to the height of a concrete barrier. The other's got the clear impression of a bumper, about the height off the ground of a truck's front end. There's a matching indentation in the rear panel. As I'm sure you know," Bruce added with a tolerant quirk of his eyebrow, "this supports Ms. Lewiston's claim of being rear-ended and then pitted into the embankment. Clearly, only a great fool, or someone on the take, would believe that this was a single car collision."

"I don't have to listen to your accusations."

"You're welcome to leave at any time. In fact, I encourage it. Just let me know if I need to contact the sheriff to ensure that your report is accurate."

Deputy Maynard made no reply to the threesome along the bank, instead stomping over to the worker who had hooked up the car and saying, "How much longer is this going to take?"

"Lighten up, Deputy," the foreman mocked. "We're just waiting on you guys to stop gawking and get out of the way."

"Then get on with it."

Everyone standing along the bank watched in fascination as the car was winched up to the flatbed parked on the shoulder of the highway. Bruce stayed long enough to ensure that no one would be injured, but once the back bumper of the hatchback contacted the flatbed he turned and headed towards his house. When he resumed his seat on his front porch, everyone was still unmoving along the riverbank. They were watching the process of the car being secured to the flatbed with rapt fascination.

Once the wrecked car was strapped into place, the people standing along the bank began heading in the direction of the gate. Bruce noticed the women in particular looking around in confusion before spotting him on the porch. He could think of no logical response to the wave Janice sent his way, so he did nothing beyond watching Charlie scamper along next to young Alton as though he had every intention of leaving with them.

As the group reached the front gate, he saw them looking in his direction again. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. Thankfully, Charlie heeded his call and raced toward the house. Bruce watched them all leave, noticing the fact that Reyna carefully latched the gate while ignoring the inscrutable way she had regarded him throughout the duration of her stay.

Seven

Reyna

"Well... we're waiting..." Reyna muttered irritably to herself as she tried, and failed, to patiently wait for the return of the owner of the town's body shop.

"Is there something wrong with your foot?" Skip, the ancient owner asked almost absentmindedly having silently returned from the shop's interior to materialize at her side next to the charred husk that used to be her car.

The question caught Reyna off guard because, as near as she could tell, it was the first time the enigmatic man had spoken other than to grunt since she had arrived at his shop more than ten minutes earlier. She glanced self-consciously down at her no longer impatiently tapping foot as though to determine the answer to his question. At length, she sighed and said, "So... what's the damage?"

"Damage?" he asked with a chuckle. "This wasn't a fender bender here, lady. Nothing remains which is recognizably an automobile anymore. This is an ex-car. I seriously doubt there's even anything left which has any value as scrap, considering the fire. Totaled doesn't even come close to describing this situation."

"Don't sugar coat it," Reyna muttered in irritation. "Just give it to me straight. I can take it."

"What'd you expect me to say? Your car was actively involved in a lengthy conflagration which only ended when everything flammable had been completely consumed. Even the frame is warped beyond recognition. I'm genuinely flummoxed at how you weren't burned up along with it."

"We were fortunate to crash near a good Samaritan. He pulled us free."

"We?"

Reyna indicated Alton who was standing shyly behind her and said, "My son was in the car with me."

"Well... thank goodness you had the good sense to crash in Bruce's front yard." He paused before muttering, "Reckless bastard," under his breath.

"You'd have preferred he waited for the paramedics?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you and your boy are alright. And you were lucky to end up where you did. Folks around here are plenty courteous, but how many people have you ever known who'd risk burning to death for a stranger? That Bruce is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Most polite fella you could ever want to meet, but cold as the Chosin Reservoir in December. And a knack for finding trouble like you wouldn't believe. You're not the first person he rescued. Nor the first who he injured himself in saving. Not by a long shot."

"Are you saying he's an adrenaline junkie? One of those nuts who carries a police scanner around with him so he never misses any excitement?"

"Not as such," Skip said carefully.

"Well... what, then?"

"I don't think it's the danger he seeks... at least not directly."

"You're not making a ton of sense."

Skip paused, as though experiencing a moment of indecision, before saying, "Few years ago, not long after he came to town, we had an unusually bad crop of assholes coming through the local high school. Nothing terribly sinister, just assholes raised by assholes." Skip winced as his eyes dropped to Alton who was still standing behind Reyna. He mumbled, "Sorry."

"It's ok. He's heard me say worse."

"Anyway... if it had just been one or two of them no one would have ever noticed. Any group of more than a dozen people is bound to have at least one, um, a-hole. Problem with this group was that there were eight of them. And the leader's daddy was a town councilman who wasn't afraid to throw his weight around when it came to his pride and joy. So these boys managed to make it all the way until their senior year without so much as a harsh word to tamp down their behavior."

"What'd they do?" Reyna whispered worriedly.

"They decided that another boy, one who had been part of their little gang back in grade school but had drifted apart over time, needed to be punished for having the gall to admit to himself and others that he was gay."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Damn fools overheard too much cable news at home and decided to be 'heroes'. Your friend Bruce caught wind of it, God knows how because they were on the other side of town. Rumor is he said he heard the engines of the overpriced cars their daddies had bought them when he was in town getting supplies and went to investigate. He found these animals circled around this poor boy, throwing a blanket party for him."

"A what?"

"Damn fools had gotten it into their heads that if you put a bar of soap in a sock and beat someone with it, it wouldn't leave any marks."

"Jesus," Reyna breathed. "How bad was he hurt?"

"Significant damage to his face: broken orbital socket; lost a bunch of teeth; partially ripped ear. Plus, several broken ribs, obviously. Good thing Bruce got there when he did."

"What did he do? Did he call the police?"

"Not at first. Now, mind you, none of what I'm about to tell you shows up in any official report. As far as the authorities are concerned, those boys were playing football in the woods and the game just got a bit too spirited."

"And unofficially?"

"It was a reckoning the likes of which none of those boys will ever forget. Lord knows how he did it, it was eight against one and none of those boys were pushovers. They lettered in football and baseball all four years. But none of that mattered. By the time the sheriff showed up, that poor boy they were tormenting was already in the hospital. But Bruce made sure none of the attackers would ever forget their grave mistake."

"What did he do? How could he be sure?"

"Damndest thing about football," Skip replied with a conspiratorial shrug. "Brutal game if you ask me. But I can't recall ever hearing about a game before where everyone involved shattered both knees and elbows, along with tearing all their major ligaments in those joints. Not to mention having their testicles crushed beyond repair. Doc said they'd recover but it was likely best-case scenario that they'd be the equivalent of eighty-year-old invalids. And obviously they were all sterile."

"My God," Reyna breathed.

"Indeed. Not surprisingly, we ain't seen a hint of bigotry around here since. Almost as if folks decided the ends didn't justify the means."

"So this Bruce styles himself some kind of vigilante?"

"Perhaps," Skip allowed. "Although it's not like he swings out of the shadows whenever a crime is committed. I haven't had but a few conversations with the man myself, but I don't get the impression he styles himself as some kind of savior. Closer to the truth might be that he felt compelled to get involved. But, once he realized what was happening to that boy, God himself wouldn't have been able to stop him from intervening. Especially considering how dangerous it was."

"How do you mean?"

Skip shrugged and said, "I'm not sure. Just a feeling I get. Like how Bruce might be a bit less concerned with self-preservation than you'd expect. Little things, mostly. Like how he always deflects when you mention the danger he places himself in, like he considers his own condition as being entirely beside the point."

"You said before that our crash wasn't the first time Bruce got hurt saving someone."

"Heck no," Skip enthused. "Hell, that time I was telling you about with the bigots, Janice down at the hospital said Bruce was hurt damn near as bad as the boy he brought in. More blunt force injuries than she could count and a broken arm. And that's to say nothing of the fact that he was covered in so much blood you'd have thought he'd come from the slaughterhouse. And that was just what she could see."

"He disappeared before they could treat him, didn't he?"

"Yup, like a thief in the night. Word is he did the same when he brought you and your boy in. Burned up like he'd just danced a jig with the devil himself, but refused treatment and disappeared into the night."

"Idiot," Reyna spat. "Burns like those will scar unless treated properly, to say nothing of nerve damage. We were out at his place this morning and his arms look like shit." Alton chose this moment to tug on the hem of Reyna's blouse, prompting her to add, "Sorry, honey. Mommy meant to say crap." She returned her attention to Skip and added, "I suspect he had second and third degree burns over most of his left arm and part of his right, but it looks like he treated it by popping all the blisters and calling it a day."

Skip smirked and said, "Seems reasonable."

"Sure, if you want to be horribly scarred. Not to mention if you want to be in a lot more pain. I always hated guys like that when I was on duty."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Heck no, I work for a living. I'm a nurse. In other words, the one who had to pry crudely applied bandages off of some poor dummy's skin so we could clean out the infection before fixing him up. What I can't figure is how your guy Bruce got away with it. I'm all for putting a stop to that kind of hatred, but how is it common knowledge that he crippled those boys, but he never got arrested?"

"Even if the sheriff had wanted to lock him up, he didn't have a leg to stand on."

"How do you figure? To hear you tell it, he basically maimed those boys."

"Men, not boys. They were all over eighteen at the time. And so what if he did? It was perfectly legal for him to intervene, considering what they were doing to their victim. After that, it was eight against one."

"Didn't their families make a stink? You said one of their father's was influential in local government."

"Operative word... was. After that night, all those families had to move. This might be a conservative area, but few folks around here have any stomach for that kind of hatred. No one around here wanted anything to do with their families anymore. Those that owned local businesses soon had to declare bankruptcy. The rest were fired or laid off. All of them moved within a few months. That youngster's daddy tried briefly to make a fuss, but he was made to see the error of his ways."

"But, how? I've met men like that. They don't learn lessons."

"How else? The sheriff appealed to heightened self-interest. He pointed out that were this to end up in court, his son's actions would be a matter of public record. Either way his son is crippled for life, but now their family isn't forever labeled as violent bigots."

Reyna shrugged and said, "Maybe they should be."

"Perhaps... but they all eventually made the decision to move rather than pressing charges."

"What happened to the boy they attacked?"

"Real bright boy. Got accepted to a top engineering school in Atlanta but his family couldn't afford the out of state tuition. Then, right before graduation, he got a scholarship out of the blue. Last I heard, he was interning with a company that makes self-contained water purification units for impoverished areas."

"That's amazing." She thought for a moment before adding, "I'm guessing Bruce was pretty popular around here after that."

"After a fashion. Challenge was that he never claimed credit for saving that boy. Hell, he wasn't even seen in town for a few months after the incident. And if anyone ever brought it up to him, he'd deny his involvement. That's assuming you could get him to say anything at all. He's been here for damned near half a decade and I don't think I've heard the man say twenty words. But any suspicion people had about the quiet man who bought the plot of land on the flood plain east of town ended that day."

Eight

Bruce

"Come on, you stubborn bastard," Bruce grumbled as Charlie poked his head between the door and the jamb as his owner tried to depart. "Get in the goddamned house."

At length, Bruce succeeded in closing the door without decapitating his indefatigable companion and ambled toward his truck. He had learned a lesson about leaving Charlie out to patrol while he was away from the house after twice finding the bloodhound halfway to town on his return trip. While his neighbors were typically understanding and had shown no hostility toward either Bruce or his companion, he had no wish to tempt fate.

He made his way to town via a circuitous route, as was his custom. The town was not big enough for this to significantly lengthen his trip, and he had been trained too thoroughly to ignore such a simple precaution. He turned east out of his compound, as though he was headed to Orlando, and proceeded in that direction until reaching a highway running north-south. This gave him a chance to check in on his neighbors, ensuring nothing was amiss there. The drive took far longer than did the reconnaissance. Thanks to the preponderance of his neighbors being cattle farmers, he traveled a dozen kilometers before he passed the last of the properties directly abutting his own.

As he drove, he noticed a car he did not recognize a few hundred meters behind him. He kept an eye on it as he took the next turn. When the car turned to follow, Bruce slowed to ten percent below the speed limit to bring the car closer. It took a few minutes for the car to finally approach, and Bruce's suspicion only grew when the car failed to pass despite the road being straight as an arrow and no oncoming traffic. Slowing even further, he started to look for a place where he could turn the situation to his advantage. As he prepared to take a sharp turn onto a service road which the following sedan would likely have trouble navigating, he noticed the driver of his pursuer in his review mirror. The man was at least in his seventies and his face was a mask of confusion and terror.

"Fuck," Bruce grunted in frustration as he sped up again.

He managed, through supreme force of will, to avoid making a comment about elderly drivers. He continued his indirect drive toward town, noticing nothing else which caused any suspicion. When he pulled within sight of his destination, he circled the block before parking in an unmarked lot behind a closed law office. He sat in the truck for several minutes, scanning his surroundings carefully. It was quiet in town thanks in large part to it being mid-morning on a weekday.

After several minutes, Bruce finally decided that all was well and quickly exited his truck before walking briskly through the alley toward his ultimate destination. He entered the grocery store through the rear entrance, which was helpfully unlocked thanks to a delivery in progress. He made his way carefully to the office and slipped inside unnoticed. He peered carefully at the security feeds which showed every corner of the store.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice behind him barking, "What the hell are you doing in here?"

Bruce's head snapped around to find a slightly built Japanese woman named Mariko standing with her hand on her hip. He signed resignedly and muttered, "Busted."

"Damn right, you're busted," she snapped as she crossed her arms in irritation. "I mean it, Bruce. What are you doing?"

"Just being cautious."

"You know everyone else in town just walks in the front door and fills up their cart, right? It's not necessary to go all CIA on your fellow citizens before you risk the wilds of the produce aisle."

"Don't be so sure," Bruce muttered as he nodded his head at one of the monitors which showed the town deputy staring intently at the domestic beer selection.

"He's harmless. Now go on. You can't be back here."

"Why not?" Bruce asked softly before grinning slightly and adding, "Afraid I'll find the cash drawer on the shelf behind the 'How to Succeed in Retail Without Really Trying' or the safe behind the photo of your boss's wife?"

"No," she grunted in irritation before adding, "How'd you know that?"

Bruce merely shrugged and stood up from the desk. He gestured toward the door and said, "After you."

He followed her out of the office and soon found himself in the front of the store. She gave him a final stern look before stepping behind one of the registers and donning her apron. He collected a cart and began his shopping while keeping a wary eye out for unwelcome newcomers entering the store.

In no time his cart was filled to near bursting and he was trying to figure out how to balance the last few items on top of the stack. His task was interrupted by a voice behind him calling out, "Well lookie what we have here?"

Bruce turned to see Reyna standing behind him, her hand lightly resting on the handle of a shopping cart in which Alton sat placidly. He nodded at her slowly and said, "Ma'am," before turning back to his shopping.

But the newcomer was not so easily dissuaded and moments later he sensed someone entering his personal space. He turned in irritation to find her peering closely at the suppurating wounds on his left arm. He groaned and muttered, "Can I help you?"

"That's infected."

"And?"

"You could wind up in the hospital."

"Not likely," Bruce grunted.

Reyna huffed and said, "At least let someone clean it up and apply proper bandages."

"No. Good day."

He began to walk away, but was brought to a halt when Reyna barked, "Has the fever started yet?"

He whirled to face her and snapped, "What business is it of yours?"

"You got those burns saving my son and I. I'd say that makes it all kinds of my business. If you won't go to a doctor, at least let me take a look at it."

"What are you, some kind of healer?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

He glared at her in irritation for several moments before grunting, "Its fine. And you don't owe me anything."

She stomped up to him, close enough to jab a finger into his sternum, and seethed, "I didn't say I did, you arrogant ass. I'm profoundly grateful you saved my son. And myself. But that's not the same thing as suggesting that you did what you did for some kind of personal gain." She sighed wearily before continuing, "I'm just trying to help you because it's the right thing to do. The same as you did for me."

His face lost its scowl, if only briefly. He shook his head and said, "I appreciate it. But I'm still not interested. I've healed from worse than this." He dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper before adding, "Unfortunately."

Reyna chose to ignore the comment, choosing instead to push ahead. "At least let me tell you how to dress it if you won't let me look at it?" He glared at her in response, prompting her to add, "If you say no, I'll just follow you home. I already know your guard dog is a pushover."

"If I say yes, will you drop this?"

"Yes," Reyna replied after a pregnant pause. "Follow me."

She stalked purposefully in the direction of the store's pharmacy section pushing her own cart before her. As Bruce begrudgingly followed her, his eyes scanned quickly down her body. Before he even realized what he had done, he had taken full measure of the way she filled out the jean shorts she was wearing despite her petite frame and slim build. Upon coming to his senses, his eyes snapped up but not before Reyna had glanced back at him and noticed his gaze. She smirked at him playfully before turning at the end of the aisle.

"What the fuck are you doing," he seethed quietly to himself. Almost without conscious thought, he shifted his right hand to his left forearm and drove his nails into the oozing wounds there. He did not permit himself any outward display of the agony which shot up his arm, accepting the penance for what it was.

When he caught up with Reyna, she had already pulled several items off the shelf. She grinned at him again and said, "You seem... distracted. Did you see something you..." Her eyes widened in horror as she noticed the blood streaming down his arm. "Holy shit! What happened?" She ripped open one of the packages of gauze and applied it to his arm, which she held fast with her other arm to prevent his attempt to jerk it away from her. She glanced up at him and said, "Stop wiggling.

"I do not wiggle. What are you doing?" he grunted as he tried again, still unsuccessfully, to reclaim his arm.

"I'm treating you, you oaf. What happened? Did you walk into an endcap while you were staring at my ass?"

Bruce did not deign to reply directly, instead snatching the gauze from her hand and holding it over his wound. He then said, "There. Happy?"

"No!" she huffed.

He sighed mightily and said, "Regardless. I really must be going. I appreciate your assistance." He paused again before concluding, "Good day," and walking toward the front of the store.

"Wait a minute," she said helplessly before following him.

Bruce approached the checkout and said, "Can we expedite this? I seem to have injured myself."

"Oh," Mariko stammered. "What happened?"

"Nothing of consequence."

"You're really just going to run away?" Reyna snapped as she arrived at the checkout. Bruce ignored her, focusing his attention on bagging his groceries as they were scanned. "I'm talking to you," Reyna continued, her irritation obviously rising.

"You'd have more luck talking to a rock," Mariko interjected with a sympathetic look in Reyna's direction. "When he gets that look on his face, that means he's done with the conversation and no force on earth will convince him otherwise."

"I'm just trying to help you," Reyna continued doggedly to Bruce. "You're still bleeding, for God's sake."

"Sir," a new voice called out from the direction of the rear of the store. "I'm going to need you to step away from those ladies."

Bruce's head did not even move. He knew the source of the voice and he had no intention of giving the voice's owner the satisfaction of a reply, choosing instead to continue bagging his groceries.

Deputy Maynard approached to within a meter of Bruce and barked, "I'm talking to you."

Bruce glared at him and said, "Choose your next move very carefully, young man."

"Are you threatening me?" Maynard screeched.

Reyna snickered and muttered, "Settle down, Beavis."

"What was that?" Maynard barked as he turned his attention to Reyna.

Bruce smacked his hand down on the counter and said, "You will not raise your voice to a lady in my presence, sir. I'm sure you haven't forgotten the mistake your weed connection from high school made a few years back."

"If you threaten me again, I'll place you under arrest."

Bruce shook his head and said, "We both know what happens if you arrest me again without cause."

"I have cause. You're bleeding all over the place. That's a health-code violation. And you threatened me."

"You willing to bet your job on that, Deputy?" Bruce scoffed. He stared Maynard down for several seconds before adding, "I didn't think so."

He placed the last of his groceries in a cart before pulling out a money clip which contained what appeared to be at least a thousand dollars and an ID... and nothing else. He peeled off enough money to cover his total and handed it over. Marika made change and handed him several twenties, to go along with smaller change. He crammed it all into the charity collection bin next to the register and left without another word.

Nine

Reyna

"Do you believe that guy?" Deputy Maynard grumbled after the doors of the grocery store closed behind Bruce.

"Quit while you're ahead, Deputy," Marika advised sagely. "You'll never intimidate him. Hell, I'm not so sure you could intimidate him if you had a tank." Maynard glowered at her, prompting her to add, "No offense. I mean, I'm not sure anyone could intimidate him. Certainly no one in this town."

"Whatever," the Deputy snapped before lamely setting the six pack of beer he had been carrying under his arm down on top of a display of clearance items and stomping out of the store.

"How did that guy end up a deputy?" Reyna asked conspiratorially.

"Sheriff Means felt he deserved a chance at a respectable career after he failed out of State and his daddy told him he was done lending him money."

"Seems like a risky proposition."

Mariko shrugged and said, "In his defense, he has gotten better."

"What's the story with that weed connection Bruce mentioned?"

"Oh, that's nothing. Just a case of a dumb kid with an overdeveloped sense of his own superiority. He crossed paths with Bruce and decided to throw his nonexistent weight around. It would have been a non-event, but the dumb bastard decided to take a swing when Bruce told him to back down."

"I assume Bruce convinced him of the error of his ways?"

"You could say that. Broke all the fingers on his right hand and shattered his nose."

"Jesus!" Reyna gasped. "All for one punch? How much damage did he do to Bruce?"

"None. The punch didn't even land."

"My goodness. I shudder to think what would have happened if he'd really pissed Mr. Scary off."

"Indeed," Mariko replied quietly.

"That was a knowing assent," Reyna observed softly. "Did he hurt you?"

"Oh, no. Never."

"I'm confused."

Mariko shook her head firmly and said, "Bruce would never hurt a woman. Ever."

"You seem pretty confident about that."

Mariko peered around for a moment to ensure there were no eavesdroppers before saying, "About three years ago, I was in a toxic relationship. It started off nice enough, but he soon showed his true colors. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it turned violent and I still didn't leave the bastard."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Reyna said firmly. "I was there too. God knows if I ever would have gotten away from him if fate hadn't intervened."

"What happened?"

Reyna nodded in Alton's direction and said, "I got pregnant. It was one thing for me to have to endure that miserable piece of garbage. But I couldn't bring a child into that situation. I waited until he went to the Keys one weekend and disappeared. He tried to confront me at work but forgot to check his surroundings. Only time I was ever glad he slapped me. The cop who was on duty in the ED that night arrested him on the spot and made sure assault charges got pressed. By the time he was out of jail, I had a new job and had moved to the other side of town."

"Good for you," Mariko enthused. "My story isn't nearly so brave. We were at the local watering hole one night and he decided I had disrespected him. He dragged me outside by the hair. Once we were in the alley, he set about delivering the beating he'd decided I needed."

"Oh, Jesus. I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't so bad. Especially considering he only got one shot in, and I mostly managed to block it. Before I knew it, my soon-to-be-former boyfriend was screaming in pain and Bruce was helping me up. I hadn't even seen him in the bar but there he was, standing between me and the biggest mistake of my life. Bruce asked if I was ok and then told me to go home. I must have hesitated, because Bruce glanced back at my boyfriend and said, 'he won't bother you again'. I'm not sure why, but I believed him."

"How'd he do it?" Reyna asked quietly.

"I don't know. I went home and changed the locks. I then spent the next few days living in fear of the other shoe dropping. But it never did."

"Based on some other stories I've heard; I suspect he sent him to a well-deserved stay in the hospital."

"That's what I thought too, but I did some digging, and he didn't go to the hospital. He didn't go anywhere."

"But..."

"You misunderstand," Mariko interrupted. "No one in town ever saw or heard from him again. He didn't have any family here and his friends were more the 'drinking buddies' variety than ride-or-die's. As near as I can tell, he disappeared from town that night and never returned."

Reyna shuddered and said, "Do you think he..."

"I don't care," Mariko said firmly. She extended her hand and said, "I'm Mariko, by the way. I take it you're the woman Bruce pulled from the fiery wreck a few nights ago?"

Reyna took her hand and said, "Is there anyone in town who hasn't heard about that? I'm Reyna, by the way. And this is Alton."

Mariko smiled at the toddler and said, "He's darling."

Reyna smiled warmly and said, "Thank you. I couldn't agree more."

"You should check out the town library. They do events for kids under primary school age on weekdays."

"Thanks. I'll do that."

"And maybe later, we could get together for a drink."

"I'd like that, although I can't imagine how I'd go about finding a sitter. I can count the people I know in town on one hand." She paused for a moment before smiling and adding, "Well... almost."

Mariko smiled and said, "Well then maybe the drink can come to you."

***

Reyna led Alton into the impressive building near the town square which housed both the library and city hall. The building featured an eclectic mix of architectural styles which stood apart from the other local buildings which were mostly post-war brick boxes built more for their ability to withstand hurricanes than visual appeal.

Alton gripped her hand tighter when a few burly men stepped out of the tag office arguing loudly about some sort of recent sporting event. Reyna smiled at them shyly and opened the door to the library. Alton's anxiousness evaporated instantly as the comforting aura of old books and soothing candles enveloped them. Reyna spied a sign announcing a story-reading event for young children and followed the directions to a room filled with undersized chairs and a handful of children listening to a corpulent middle-aged woman with a friendly face and a calming voice reading a story. Reyna quickly got Alton seated in a chair before retiring to lean against the back wall to observe.

Before she could settle in, the woman reading looked up at her keenly and stopped reading. The latter said, "Ms. Lewiston, I presume?"

"Um... yes?" Reyna stammered.

"As I suspected," the strange woman replied confidently. She turned to another of the supposed parents standing along the back wall of the room and said, "Mrs. Lawrence? Can you take over?"

A buxom woman with unnaturally red hair nodded and stepped forward, confusion evident on her face. For her part, the corpulent woman boldly handed the book over and said to Reyna, "Walk with me?"

"I can't... I've got to watch..."

"Alton will be just fine, I assure you."

Reyna shook her head in confusion and managed to say, "But... I'm sorry... who are you?"

"Everyone around here calls me Ms. Ethel."

"And how do you know me?"

"It's a small town, young lady. Surely, you've figured that out by now."

"Fair enough," Reyna replied carefully before following the woman out into the hall. "What do you want?"

"I think the better question would be: what do you want? You've been here a few days and it seems like you're likely to stick around for a while. I can't imagine your, shall we say, mysterious benefactor is eager to continue to subsidize your presence here."

"Hey," Reyna replied angrily.

Ethel held up her hand in surrender and said, "I'm not criticizing, my dear. Merely ensuring we're all on the same page. How else would we figure out if we're in a position to help each other?"

"I... um... what?"

"You wish to stay in our town for a while until whatever it was that happened with your car crash becomes a little clearer, but you don't yet have a way to support yourself because you're trying to stay off the grid and the hospital contacting the state nursing licensing department would kind of screw that up. Not to mention the fact that you've got no infrastructure here. So, even if you found a job, you're not sure what you'd do about your boy. That about cover it?"

"Yes," Reyna grumbled. "What of it?"

"I'm not trying to depress you, my dear. I'm just making sure I've got all the facts straight before I offer you a job."

Reyna shook her head wearily and said, "I need a drink."

Ethel chuckled and said, "Would you settle for coffee? I have a bit of a weakness for the stuff, so I make sure this facility is well stocked. Come on."

Ethel led her to an unmarked door which Reyna quickly determined concealed a break room. Ethel poured a cup for each of them and brought it to the four-person table where Reyna had dropped into a chair. After they'd both taken a sip, Ethel said, "I swear I'm not trying to ambush you, sweetie. I'd be content to let you stay in my town as long as you like. And I have it on good authority you'll never want for anything while you're here."

"Wait," Reyna interrupted. "What do you mean by that?"

"You've been here nearly a week at this point, am I right? You're staying in the hotel, shopping for groceries, generally getting around town. Not to mention an overnight stay in the hospital. Have you been asked to pay for anything?"

"No," Reyna replied despondently. "Everyone just keeps saying we'll settle up later or there's no charge."

"This town is as nice as they come, honey. But no where's that nice."

"So how..." Reyna began before her eyes widened and she said, "Bruce."

"Exactly."

"I'll kill him."

Ethel shook her head knowingly and said, "I wouldn't advise trying."

"I don't care how much of a badass he thinks he is. I won't stand for this kind of patronizing misogyny."

"Oh, I don't think he's doing it because you're a woman. I honestly think it's just because he can. I've probably only said a few dozen words to the man in my life, but he strikes me as the type who has an almost insatiable need to help people."

"But why?"

"I don't know. What I do know is you're not talking him out of it. Seems to me the only way to put a stop to it is to provide for yourself. Which brings us back to the job I've been trying to offer you."

Reyna sighed and said, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. It's just all so much."

"I know, honey."

"What's the job?"

"I own and operate a day care in town, among other things. Our nurse just retired, and I need a replacement. You need a job, not to mention that I'm sure you'd love the chance for your son to play with kids his own age. You come to work for me, and his attendance is free."

"It sounds wonderful, but I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to be on anyone's payroll."

"Don't worry about that right now. I'll pay you in cash and we'll make all the payroll gobbledygook work out later." Ethel reached out to take Reyna's hand and added, "Trust me, honey. You won't find a better deal anywhere in town."

Reyna smiled warmly and said, "Thank you."

Ten

Bruce

"Bruce?" Janice said in surprise from her spot at the library's check-out counter.

He nodded at her as he proceeded to the table holding several internet-connected computers which were available for public use. He took a seat and brought up a browser.

Janice approached behind him and said, "So... what brings you into town on this fine morning?" After several moments of silence, she added, "Oh, really? That's fascinating. I'm just here picking up a few books to read when things are slow at work. What's that? Oh, they're just your typical romance novels. The steamier, the better. You're here for the same reason? What's your favorite sub-genre? Wow! Never would have guessed it would be reverse harem!"

"Are you done?" Bruce grumbled.

"Not by a long shot. Want to talk about tentacle..."

"I'm going to stop you right there, ma'am. I'm just doing some research on the weather."

"See... was that so hard? And you know damn well my name is Janice."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Nope," Janice replied happily. "My shift doesn't start until seven."

"You might want to pack a bag."

"Why?"

Bruce gestured at the monitor which showed the weather radar for the tropical storm which was approaching the gulf coast.

Janice said, "What about it? It's supposed to keep moving north and hit the panhandle."

"Not anymore. It's veering east. And it's getting stronger."

All of the mirth left Janice's expression as she bent to peer at the screen. After several iterations of the animation, she finally muttered, "Shit. How could they have been so wrong?"

"All their models are based on the last fifty years of storms. They haven't yet figured out how to model things based on the increasingly chaotic environment."

"Remarkable."

"Not quite the word I would have used."

Janice shook her head and said, "No. I meant that I'm nearly certain that's the most words I've ever heard you say at once."

"I don't have time for this."

"I'm not mocking you, Bruce. I was thinking more along the lines of how fascinating it is to hear what you're thinking."

"We need to warn someone."

Janice sighed and said, "I think we need to warn everyone. I'll tell the hospital. You tell the sheriff."

***

Twelve hours later, the last of the sunlight was fading and the rain had already begun. The storm had been upgraded from a tropical depression to a tropical storm. Its formerly due-north course had turned into a predicted track which took it across the state and directly over the town. No evacuation had been ordered but they were still predicted to experience winds of up to one-hundred kilometers-per-hour.

Townsfolk were rushing around making last-minute preparations, frequently glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky. A squad car dodged around a few pedestrians as it headed out of town. Inside the car, the mood was frosty.

As they left the town limits and the car accelerated to well over the speed-limit, the driver finally broke his silence to say, "How did you know?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sheriff," Bruce grunted in reply.

"How'd you know the storm would turn?" Sheriff Means replied in irritation.

"I watched the weather."

"I've been watching the weather for the last week, same as everyone else in town. And they were still saying last night that the storm would continue north."

"I didn't say I watched an entertainment program masquerading as informative. I said I watched the weather. Don't you remember year before last, when that storm was supposed to hit Savannah and it hooked a left at Ft Lauderdale?"

"Of course, I remember. That was the storm where the water tower got damaged."

"In the days before that storm hit, the movement of cirrostratus showed a southerly inclination. The NWS said it wasn't relevant to the storm track, but they were also wrong about its ultimate path."

"So you're some kind of meteorologist?"

Bruce shook his head and grunted, "I just pay attention, is all." He was silent for several moments before adding, "Are you planning to tell me where we're going?"

"The high school. I told them about the change in the forecast this afternoon, but those fools refused to cancel the game."

"So... now what? You going to shut off the lights and let people figure things out on their own?"

"No, as tempting as that would be. I'm going to walk out on the field and grab the referee's mike to tell everyone to go home."

"Seems reasonable. Why'd you need me?"

"All my other deputies are busy, and I need someone up in the booth to make sure they don't cut the mike. This team has playoff aspirations and isn't likely to take kindly to their friendly neighborhood sheriff sending everyone home. Especially since they're up two touchdowns and it isn't even halftime yet."

"Why would they listen to me then?"

"You can pretend all you want that you're just a loner who exists apart from this town, but we both know its bullshit. People know you, and they respect you. More than I can say for some of my deputies."

"I told you that wouldn't end well."

The sheriff sighed and said, "It hasn't ended at all. That boy will come around. But, for now, I need your help. Can I count on you?"

Bruce sighed before finally saying, "Fine."

***

"Fancy seeing you here," Skip enthused to Bruce from his rocking chair as the latter exited his truck. Skip was positioned on the porch of the unfortunately named Twilight Palms assisted living facility just west of the town square, heedless of the gathering storm around them. "Figured you had a couple of decades more marinating before you'd be a candidate to join us."

"Evening," Bruce replied with a curt nod.

"I assume you've come to help me find justice on account of those cheating bastards in the north wing."

"Hardly. I'm just here to help you folks prepare for the storm. Think you ought to be getting inside."

"We'll see," Skip evaded.

Bruce was curious about the comment, but he had spoken the truth about his mission. He proceeded inside and sought out the on-call nurse, a wiry middle-aged man with a beard that went to his belt-buckle and a breath-taking comb-over.

Upon spying his quarry, Bruce approached him quickly and began without preamble. "The wind is already picking up outside. We're in for a dozen or so centimeters of rain before midnight and winds up to one-hundred klicks."

"What?" the man squeaked. "I thought it was supposed to hit all those crooked bastards in Tallahassee."

"That was yesterday. Now it's headed right for us. The rain will start within the hour and the wind will keep getting worse through tomorrow."

"Why wasn't I told?"

Bruce merely glared at him before saying, "Not my job. Now, do you want help moving the beds to your gymnasium, or don't you?" The man answered by rushing down the hall, shouting for everyone to get to shelter. Bruce muttered, "So much for not causing a panic."

He spent the next two hours engaged in the backbreaking work of moving the residents' beds, which balanced the fact that they were on wheels against weighing several hundred kilograms each. Frequently, there was also an array of other medical equipment which also had to be moved. While he was busy moving furniture, the facility's staff was busy stringing extension cords across the room since nearly every bed required power for one reason or another.

The other thing that was seemingly constantly at work while his body was busy preparing for the storm was a single thought which replayed in his mind on repeat like a viral social media video: Will Reyna and Alton be ok?

His thoughts had gone frequently to the newcomers in the days since their last encounter in the grocery store. It had been many years since Bruce had taken more than a passing notice of anyone, much less a member of the opposite sex. It was a part of his mental make-up he had thought was long deceased, like a belief in Santa Claus or a higher power. But his mind had constantly gone back to the moment when his eyes had dropped to her ass in the store, to say nothing of the coquettish look she had given him upon noticing his wandering gaze. And it was not just that Reyna represented a near perfect example of what was possible when it came to the derriere of a human female, it was the spirit behind that playful smirk. She had narrowly survived what Bruce genuinely believed to be an attempted assassination, but it had not dimmed her zest for life in the least.

He grunted in frustration and headed outside to get some air. Stepping out onto the porch, he shook his head angrily in an attempt to clear his racing thoughts, before grumbling, "Stupid. Really fucking stupid."

"Come again?" he heard a chuckling voice call out behind him.

"Nothing," Bruce grunted at Skip, who was still seated in the same rocking chair, before returning to his work.

"Didn't sound like nothing. What's the matter, you drop the oxygen concentrator that lying cheat Smithers uses to sleep on your foot?"

"I said it was nothing."

"In my experience, the only time something can be both 'nothing' and get a man that twisted up is love. Anyone I know?"

"The rain's already started," Bruce deflected. "You should really get into the gymnasium."

Skip grinned wickedly and said, "You think I'm scared of a little rain and wind? I've lived through twenty-seven hurricanes, and I haven't hid from them either. I'll go in when I'm damned good and ready." He paused for a breath before adding, "This woman who's got you in knots. It wouldn't be that pretty lady you saved from burning to death last week, would it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Just thought you might want to spend a bit less time trying to interrupt my evening pipe and a bit more time paying attention to the fact that that hotel is a damn sight less prepared than this building when it comes to storm damage."

***

"What the hell are you doing?" Reyna shouted after hesitatingly opening her door in response to the banging on the exterior wall of her room.

"These windows aren't storm rated," Bruce replied calmly without pausing his efforts to nail two stacked sheets of plywood to the concrete blocks surrounding the windows of her room. "I'm just giving you some ad-hoc storm shutters."

"It's eleven o'clock at night. Are you insane?"

"The storm doesn't care," Bruce replied gruffly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

He gestured to the rain which was coming down at a rate his father had called, 'so hard it stacks up hand-high on a fence post before it can run off' and the wind was already strong enough to be heard clearly.

"I thought the storm was going to hit," Reyna began, but Bruce cut her off saying, "Why do people keep pretending what the twenty-three year old on TV who majored in communications and has a great rack says takes precedence over what's actually happening? Look around. We're in for a hell of a night."

"And what are you, on the town council's select sub-committee on ultra-last-minute storm preparedness?"

"I'm trying to help you," Bruce seethed just before angrily swinging his hammer in the direction of the nail but hitting his thumb instead. "God damnit," he groaned as he lined his next strike up more carefully.

"Jesus," Reyna sighed. "You just can't stop hurting yourself around me. Let me get some ice for that."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. You could have broken it. At the very least, you're likely to lose the nail."

"Who gives a shit?" Bruce muttered under his breath before raising his voice to say, "I'm going to go take care of the window in the bathroom. Do you have food and water inside?"

"A bit."

He pushed his keys into her hand before hefting a few sheets of plywood. As he walked out of the shelter of the overhang and into the storm, he called over his shoulder, "There's a dozen bottles of water in the front seat and a sack of snacks on the floorboard. Grab them and get inside."

"But what about your keys?" she called out, but he had already disappeared into the darkness.

Eleven

Reyna

Reyna begrudgingly collected some of the items from Bruce's truck to bring inside her room. She also left her door slightly ajar since, thanks to the boards Bruce had nailed over her window, she had no other way of keeping an eye on the parking lot. The storm was certainly gaining in strength, although it was still nothing compared to some of the hurricanes that had hit Miami in her life.

Alton was content to read one of the many books she had checked out from the library, leaving her with little to do other than stare at her phone since she was determined to not raise a child addicted to screens. She continued to eschew social media, leaving her no options beyond checking the news or texting her admittedly small group of local contacts. She ultimately decided on the latter and opened up the text thread she had going with Mariko and Janice.

Reyna

'Just had a visit from the town asshole'

'Apparently he decided I was too helpless to deal with a little old storm and decided to barricade us into the room'

'What is it with this guy?'

Janice

'Bruce?!?!?'

'No way! Last I heard he was on the way to the stadium with the sheriff'

Mariko

'I thought he was at the old folks home moving them into the gym'

Reyna:

'well... you all heard wrong. he's hear making a God-awful racket with his dumb hammer'

'why would he go to the high school? or the assisted living center?'

Janice

'because Sheriff Means doesn't trust any of his deputies... duh'

'he's always bugging Bruce to help him when he thinks things might go sideways'

'as for the old folk's home... likely because they need his help'

Reyna

'I thought he was some kind of recluse'

Mariko

'that's just what he wants people to think'

'he's always helping out... he just prefers to try to stay in the shadows'

Janice

'but I've never heard of him taking such an interest in one person'

Mariko

'especially not one who's hot to death'

'methinks he fancies you, milady'

Reyna

'bullshit... he's just trying to piss me off'

'hence this asshole alpha nonsense of acting like I'm some helpless waif who can't wait for a big strong man to come along and rescue me'

'God forbid I even attempt to care for myself'

'to say nothing of my poor son who is obviously in desperate need of a male role model'

Janice

'settle down girl'

'doing something to help you doesn't have to mean that he thinks you're incapable'

Mariko

'I'll say it again... I think he likes you'

Janice

'what she said'

Mariko

'seriously... what's not to like?'

'I mean sure... he's super growl-y and apt to scare small children (how does one person get so many scars?)'

'but he's also a genuinely good person'

Janice

'you could do a lot worse'

Reyna

'y'all aren't helping'

She chucked her phone on the table with a groan of frustration, telling herself her newfound friends just did not know her well enough yet to understand she could never fall for someone like him. Of course, had they known her better then they would know that she had unequivocally sworn off all men. But, her internal debate captain insisted, she especially had no interest in some grunting Neanderthal who thought he knew better than her. She had raised her son on her own, while working full-time in one of the most demanding professions that existed. She was quite certain she did not need anything... from anyone.

She was shaken from her reverie by a particularly loud gust of wind which blew the door to their room from barely cracked to wide open. She yelped in surprise and rose from her chair to re-close it. As she did, she realized it had been some time since she last heard hammering coming from the bathroom area of their room. She peered outside and found Bruce's truck still parked annoyingly in front of her door.

She stuck her head out of her room and looked in each direction in hopes of spotting her itinerant guest and getting rid of him, but she could see nothing through the sheets of rain being driven by the howling wind. A crash sounded from the direction of the street, and she looked in that direction in time to spot a street sign sliding along the pavement. A car drove slowly by, prompting her to whistle in amazement at the combination of cajónes and stupidity it would take to go out in this weather.

Her whistle turned to a gasp, however, when she spotted Bruce in the car's headlights. She squinted, trying desperately to get a better view of the man as she amended her prior thought and downgraded driving in this weather to merely foolish in comparison to the apocalyptic stupidity of going for a stroll during a near-hurricane.

"Damn fool's going to catch a palm tree to the temple," she muttered.

She continued to watch, being honest enough with herself to admit that she could no more have looked away than she could have made time stand still. He seemed to be desperately trying to drag something along the street. As he approached a streetlight, she was amazed to realize that it was a construction-grade generator bolted to a trailer.

"Jesus," she murmured. "That thing must weigh nearly a tonne!"

She glanced back at Alton to verify that he was still sleeping peacefully before she crammed the keys to Bruce's truck in her pocket and headed out into the storm. Her clothes were soaked within seconds, and she experienced a moment of regret that she was wearing little more than pajamas: just a high-cut pair of sky-blue workout shorts and a pink tank-top that was on the thin side... and nothing else. But this regret paled in comparison to the fire she felt burning within her to knock some sense into the clearly deranged town asshole.

As she reached the edge of the street, she heard a crash off to her left. Her eyes snapped in that direction in time to spot one of the laughably local billboards along the roadside, which featured a picture of a man who had somehow become convinced that the best way to sell fertilizer was with a picture of himself and his family brandishing automatic weapons, disintegrate under the force of the gusting wind. She watched in horror as a sheet of metal was torn free and started skipping along the ground in their direction. The force of the wind quickly flattened the board against the tarmac, but this only allowed it to pick up speed.

Her gaze went to Bruce to find that he had also heard the noise and was rushing in her direction with a pronounced lack of self-preservation. A glance back toward the shattered billboard made it clear she was in no danger, but Bruce was rushing headlong directly into the path of what was now, as near as makes no difference, a horizontal guillotine.

"Look out!" she screamed.

Bruce looked up at her in irritation to find her pointing frantically in the direction of the piece of metal, which had settled into a headlong path travelling at least eighty kilometers per hour while skipping along only a meter off the ground. He appeared to sigh, more in frustration than fear. He glanced back at her briefly, as though to ensure that she would not do something foolish, before his eyes settled on the instrument of his impending doom.

Just as the sheet of metal got within about a dozen meters of him, he leapt into the air and pulled his feet up beneath him. The billboard remnant, which Reyna now realized was at least five meters square, passed harmlessly beneath him before he landed awkwardly and dropped to one knee.

He only stayed in his crouch for a moment before rushing to her side. She started to wave off what she assumed would be an expression of his heartfelt thanks to her for saving his life, but it quickly became evident that gratitude was the furthest thing from his mind.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he shouted over the wind.

"Saving your fucking life, you ungrateful asshole."

"I told you to stay inside."

"You did no such thing! Besides, I'm not yours to order around!"

"I didn't say you were," he growled, his voice having lost some of its fire. As she looked at him closer, it was plainly evident that the man was completely exhausted. His eyes reminded her of women who had been in labor for fifty hours, or cancer patients in hospice care: there was just nothing left driving him forward outside of something which transcended energy reserves as most humans understood it. He snapped her from her inspection by tiredly adding, "Would you please just go back inside? Its fucking dangerous out here."

"You should take your own advice. I only came out here to give you your fucking keys, so you didn't have to drag that goddamned trailer like some beast of burden.""

"If I take them, will you go back inside?"

"No!" she declared firmly. "I'll take shelter when you do."

"Please just go inside," he pleaded wearily. "I've got stuff to do out here. I promise I'll take shelter when I'm done."

"Why? What could possibly be so important that its worth your life?"

"Everything's worth more than my life," he muttered so quietly she never would have heard him if she had not been standing only a few centimeters in front of him.

She opened her mouth to reply, but then understanding flooded her mind like a tsunami and she knew with absolute certainty that he would never willingly abandon the labors he had inexplicably set for himself. She was nearly as certain that he was also the type of man who would sooner die than raise his hand to a woman. She decided it was a chance she was willing to take and reached out to grip his not-unformidable forearm.

"What are you doing?" he stammered.

"Saving your life. Come on."

She yanked him firmly in the direction of her room. He struggled against her grip. But, as she suspected, he was unwilling to overpower her to free himself. She pulled him into the room and threw the deadbolt on the door. She was harkened to see Alton still sleeping peacefully upon their return and went to his side to gently kiss his forehead. She heard a noise from the direction of the door and turned to see Bruce unlatching the deadbolt.

She turned to him and said, "Don't."

"I have things to do. People are depending on me."

"No," she replied softly. "They aren't. You operate in the shadows, Bruce. More often than not, people aren't even aware of what you've done. I don't know what set you on this course in your life, but surely you've done enough for tonight."

"You're wrong," he whispered with a fierce intensity.

"Perhaps, but those people out there aren't asking for your help."

"It doesn't matter..."

"I wasn't finished," she interrupted primly. He shrugged helplessly, prompting her to continue, "They aren't asking for your help, but I am. It would make me feel much better if you'd wait out the storm here with me and Alton. As I'm sure you've noticed, there's no one else in the hotel tonight. God knows what would happen if another billboard got blown apart, but this time the shrapnel hit our room."

He glared at her for several moments before murmuring, "You're not playing fair, ma'am."

She smiled brightly and enthused, "I'll take that as a yes. Thank you, sir, for your kind offer of protecting us from the storm. How should we pass the time?"

She groaned inwardly at the unintentional inuendo. Before she could stop herself, she glanced down at her skimpy pajamas, which were still, as near as makes no difference, transparent from the drenching she had received thanks to the storm. Her nipples were plain for anyone with eyes to see and she had little doubt that it would take only a passing glance to determine that she was overdue for tending her lady-garden. She noticed, however, that his weary eyes did not drop from her own. In contrast to days earlier in the store, his demeanor gave off all the hallmarks of active disinterest. It was as though he was using the last remnants of his energy to prevent anything inappropriate from occurring.

At length, she broke the uncomfortable silence by saying, "I don't suppose you've got a deck of cards in your truck?"

Twelve

Bruce

"Water?" Reyna asked cheerily from her spot where she was seated against the bed's headboard.

"Negative," Bruce grunted from his seat on the floor where he was leaning against the room's door.

"Granola bar?"

"Not hungry."

"Whiskey?"

"Nothing," he growled with an angry shake of his head.

"Fine. Don't say I didn't offer."

Bruce closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. Outside, he could hear the wind howling as the storm continued to grow in intensity, but that paled in comparison to the maelstrom of his racing thoughts. It had been many years since he had experienced a scare like he had when the billboard had disintegrated, and he thought Reyna was in danger. The fact that that danger had quickly pivoted to himself was completely beside the point. He had been stunned to see her standing in the rain, but not nearly as surprised as he had been to discover she had braved the storm on his behalf.

"I can actually hear you grinding your teeth over there. Is it really so terrible, being here with us?"

"I'm glad I was in a position to help."

"Be honest with me. What were you doing with that generator?"

"Taking it to the assisted living center. Their generator is older than I am and can't be counted on, and a lot of their residents require medical equipment to stay operational or they'll be in bad shape."

"Did they ask you to find a backup?"

He sighed and said, "Of course not."

"You just decided to risk your life... just in case?"

"You wouldn't understand," Bruce grumbled.

"I think I do understand, Bruce. Not the why, but I've been in the ICU for far too long to not recognize the what."

He frowned at her and said, "You don't know me, lady. And believe me when I tell you, you're better off for your ignorance."

"Perhaps," Reyna allowed with a shrug. "But I recognize that you've been hurt as badly as a man can be hurt. And not just physical hurt. It takes something worse than that to make a man decide his life isn't worth anything anymore." Bruce merely glared at her in response. She continued, "A few years ago, I was hurting for money so I picked up some extra shifts anywhere and everywhere I could. That included some shifts in the hospice wing. It was brutal, thankless work. I only took three shifts before deciding it wasn't worth the money.

"In any case, I met a man during my last shift who reminded me of you. He did two tours in the gulf and another in Afghanistan. His mother told me he was a medic. In any case, he was suffering from end-stage kidney disease. Apparently, he had come in contact with some pretty gnarly shit when he was deployed. The rub was, it was only end-stage because he had refused treatment for two-years before things got bad enough that his mother found him unresponsive in his house and called an ambulance. The crazy thing was that in the hospital he never stopped arguing that he be released; he insisted that he had to paint a fence for the widow of one of his former teammates. When it was pointed out to him that leaving the hospital would only make his death come sooner, and more painfully, he was just as dismissive as you are. Is that what happened to you?"

He shook his head angrily and said, "No."

"Then what happened?"

"Nothing," he grunted dismissively before closing his eyes and dropping his head to his knees.

Reyna did not press the issue, but further words were not needed. His thoughts proceeded at incalculable speed without need of further fuel. It had been years since he allowed himself to consider the times he termed 'Before'. Before he had assumed the mantle of town good Samaritan; before he had come to Accassihiapa; before the dark times which proceeded his arrival. He had long ago made the decision that such thoughts could only make things worse. Flashes filled his mind like a child's picture flip-book: two young children seated before a Christmas tree, an attractive woman in her mid-twenties looking on lovingly; a hospital room, empty except for a patient made unrecognizable by all of the equipment hooked up to them; an intersection in a third-world town filled with angry looking men with guns; a small clearing in the jungle filled with a dozen dying or dead bodies.

The memories filled him with regret and self-loathing, reminding him why he had sworn to never consider the past again. He glanced up to see Reyna still regarding him intently, but he could not hold her gaze. She was an impossibility; a unicorn: something that should not be possible in a species as appallingly repugnant as humanity. She clearly had impossibly strong character, as demonstrated by her reaction to a clear attempt to murder her and her son. She was also profoundly intelligent and insightful, both in her profession and the more uncommon emotional and empathetic arena. Finally, she was unmistakably, devastatingly beautiful with the face of an angel and the body of a beauty queen. It would have been no effort to resist any one of these alone. Even avoiding someone two of these attributes would have been well within his capacity.

But, as Bruce sat uncomfortably on the floor of her hotel room, he realized he was no longer confident that he had the mental fortitude to refuse anything this remarkable woman requested. The knowledge at once calmed and terrified him. The latter because he had convinced himself that he had fully cured himself of the need to depend on, or be beholden to, anyone else in this life. The former, ironically enough, for the same reason.

"I'm sorry," Reyna murmured softly. "It wasn't my place to press."

"No," Bruce replied quickly. "It's not you. It just isn't something I talk about. Ever."

"I wasn't trying to be nosy. I just wanted you to know I'm a good listener if you want to talk."

"They teach you that in nursing school?" Bruce asked with a wry smile.

"I won't say they won't let you into nursing if you don't have an abundance of empathy, but it's pretty critical to the job. All the terrible nurses I've ever worked with were the ones that bitched endlessly about their patients behind closed doors, rather than suffering right along with them."

"You never had a patient that drove you up the wall?"

"Oh, I'm not saying there weren't some real assholes every once in a while. But it wasn't the fact that they were sick that pissed me off, or even the fact that they hated being in a hospital. Hospitals are horrible. In all honesty, they're not even that good at making people better, they're just the best we have in our profit first healthcare system. No, what I loathed about those patients was the fact that they made it personal, or they had been somehow transported bodily from the nineteen fifties and saw zero problem with copping a feel."

Bruce's expression hardened and he growled, "How could such a thing be permitted to happen?"

"Easy there, tiger. This was years ago and there's never enough orderlies around, especially on an overnight shift. But, to answer your question, the worst was a guy, must have been in his late fifties, who literally tweaked my tit when I bent over the bed as he was grabbing my ass."

"What is his name?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Reyna replied confidently. "For one, I had him removed from the hospital and brought up on charges. For another, he died a year ago. Apparently, he had a massive heart attack while illegally poaching in Rwanda. It was five hours before they got him to medical help. Word was he suffered greatly before he finally succumbed."

"Still too good for him."

"You're really an eye for an eye kind of guy, aren't you? Or, considering the fact that you think slowly dying from a heart attack isn't sufficient punishment for sexual assault, perhaps I should call you a shoved-in-a-wood-chipper for an eye kind of guy."

"I'm not opposed to criminal punishment, but all available evidence suggests that it does a terrible job of preventing bad people from doing bad things."

"You'd prefer we identify people in the womb with a potential to turn bad and lock them up before they graduate pre-school?"

"You could make a pretty convincing argument that you could wipe out virtually all crime by imprisoning all young men between fourteen and twenty-six, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea. My position is just that if the penalty for rape was being shoved into your woodchipper live on the six o'clock news, as opposed to a few years in jail, you'd see a lot fewer rapes. Same with nearly all crimes of passion."

"Sounds like a great idea, but good luck getting the assholes in the state house to sign off on that."

"I don't need their approval."

Bruce could see a shudder make its way down Reyna's body, but he did not regret his words. If this captivating woman truly wanted to get to know him, he had no intention of showing her a false face. The man he was today was never someone he intended for anyone to ever 'get to know'. He waited for her reply with bated breath, finding that for the first time in many years, he actually cared about someone else's opinion.

At length, she returned his gaze and said, "I don't scare easily, Bruce."

"That much is certain," he agreed quietly.

She smiled in response and said, "I wasn't bothered by what you said. Far from it. I have personal experience with just how willing some men are to risk the relatively light punishment our society levels for rape. And, before you ask, I don't want to talk about it. I only mention it to reassure you that you haven't frightened me." She chuckled to herself before adding, "In fact, I find myself feeling safer with you than I have felt with a man since my father died."

"When?" Bruce asked gently.

"Long time ago. While I was in school."

"I'm sorry."

"Like I said, it was a long time ago."

"I meant, I'm sorry he never got to meet his grandson. He seems like quite a kid."

Reyna's gaze softened as she glanced over at her slumbering son. Bruce could see the moisture in her eyes crest and make its way gently down her cheeks. She wiped the tears away unashamedly before replying, "Me too. He would have made a great grandpa. Thank you, by the way. Alton's the best thing I ever did."

"Does his father know you're in trouble?"

"His father doesn't know he's a father. He's an asshole that I took far too long to be rid of. When I found out I was pregnant, I dropped everything and got out. New job, new apartment, new life. And I never regretted it for a minute."

Again, Bruce's eyes hardened as he asked, "Is he who you're running from?"

"I wish. Him I could deal with."

"Who then?"

"Not tonight," Reyna replied wearily. "Besides, I don't want you going off on some damned-fool idealistic crusade to save me in the middle of a fucking hurricane."

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Bruce said gravely.

"I'm not asking for your protection, Bruce. I don't want anyone else to get hurt." She glanced at the clock, which changed from thirty-four to thirty- five minutes after three in the morning as they looked, before adding, "I'm exhausted. If I go to sleep, will you promise you won't disappear into the storm?"

"I promise," he replied calmly.

"Thank you," she murmured as she slumped down onto her pillow. After a moment's pause, she scooted over to the far side of the bed. "I know you'll refuse, but there's plenty of room on the bed if you decide to be a human for a moment and actually get some sleep yourself. Good night, Bruce. And thank you. For everything."

"Good night, Reyna," Bruce replied quietly.

He watched her breathing become slow and even, which stood in stark contrast to his thoughts which had never been more chaotic. At the center of the maelstrom was a single thought, ringing out like a tornado siren amongst the pandemonium: that he would stop at nothing to find, and neutralize, whatever evil threatened Reyna and her young son.

Thirteen

Reyna

"I can't believe you've been living here," Janice muttered after following Reyna into the hotel room.

"No, no," Reyna replied with a chuckle. "Don't hold back on my account. I can handle the truth. Tell me what you really think."

"I'm just glad you upgraded, is all. There's no light in this place."

"That's because a certain unnamed vagrant appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the storm and nailed extremely heavy siding over my windows."

Janice chuckled and said, "What? I figured the hotel did that."

"Did you not notice that my room is the only one boarded up? In any case, I can't imagine the management at this place doing anything which could possibly be perceived as customer service. I couldn't even get them to bring me new linens. They just pointed in the direction of a closet in the office with the implication that I could help myself.

"I take it this 'unnamed vagrant', as you call him, was Bruce?"

"Of course it was Bruce," Reyna groused sarcastically. "Who else would show up in the middle of a tropical storm and just start vandalizing property willy nilly?"

"Hard to say," Janice replied with a suspicious expression. "I've never heard of anyone doing anything like that. Including Bruce. Must be some reason he did it for you."

"Are you nuts? Near as I can tell, he's always doing crazy shit like that. Hell, a half hour after he finished turning my room into a cave, I found him dragging this enormous construction generator down the street with his bare fucking hands, completely ignoring the fact that debris was whipping down the street at a hundred kilometers an hour. Damn fool would have been bifurcated if I hadn't warned him."

Janice shuddered and said, "Laterally or longitudinally?"

"The wind blew that ugly billboard apart and one of the pieces of sheet metal backing was just sliding along the street about dick-high off the ground. Damn fool hopped right over it like it was nothing and then started yelling at me for being out in the storm, as though I hadn't just saved his life."

"Good for you. There's a shortage of cocks attached to non-assholes in this world. Would have been a shame to have lost one of them."

Reyna's eyes grew wide, and she shouted, "You fucked him!"

"I don't think anyone has fucked him. At least I've never heard even a whisper that such a thing happened. But I wouldn't have turned him down. I know he looks like he French kissed a weed-whacker, but he seems like he'd be a decent sort of fellow if you could ever get past the whole shut-out-the-world, gruff exterior thing. Why, are you thinking of doing the no-pants dance with him?"

"Hell no! He's an asshole."

"Perhaps. So?"

"I promised myself a long time ago. No more assholes."

Janice sighed and said, "Same here. But there are assholes, and there are assholes. I think your friend Bruce is the first sort."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The second sort will lie to you; or steal from you; or think there's no such thing as 'no' if you're in a relationship; or turn your friends against you to prevent you from leaving them; or take a swing at you when you 'made them mad'. The first sort is a good person who is trying to keep people at arm's length, sometimes without even knowing it."

"Jesus, Janice," Reyna gasped. "I'm so sorry."

Janice waved her hand dismissively before continuing, "Water under the bridge. He married my nemesis from high school after I dumped him for good. They deserve the shit out of each other. I honestly can't believe that neither of them is in prison at this point. Anyway, I'm just saying that maybe don't say no to something until you know exactly what that something is.

"Now, we'd better finish up here so you can turn your key in. Mariko is completely amazing, but she might have slightly exaggerated her amount of babysitting experience. And I know from extensive experience with my nephews just how... shall we say, creative, little boys can be."

"I'm sure Alton will be good."

"It isn't him I worry about. It's her. She's liable to overcompensate, which would leave us with a toddler hopped up on sugar tonight instead of sleeping peacefully. I don't know about you, but I've got serious plans tonight for that bottle of gin I gave you for a housewarming gift."

They got to work and within a half hour, all of Reyna's worldly possessions sat in the trunk of Janice's car. Her check-out procedure was just as informal, and just as aggravating, as the check-in had been. The surly clerk merely snatched the keys out of her hand and not-so-subtly implied she was a moron for asking about payment.

She walked out of the office even more annoyed with Bruce, since he was unquestionably responsible for the room. That, along with the job she had started the week prior, were the main reasons for their relocation. As the thought of Bruce popped into her head, she asked herself the same question she had been asking at least a dozen times a day since he had disappeared from her room as she slept after the storm had abated ten days prior: 'where in the fuck was he?'.

She had convinced Mariko to drive her by his house several times during that time span. Each time, she saw the same thing: nothing. No truck, no Charlie, no Bruce. No sign of any life. She had thought briefly the previous day about stalking up to his door in case something had happened to him, and poor Charlie was locked inside, dying of thirst. But Mariko had pointed out that Charlie had been seen sleeping on the hood of one of the derelicts at Skip's junk yard the day before. This only heightened the mystery in Reyna's mind. If Bruce had arranged for someone to watch Charlie, that meant he had left town altogether. She could not help but wonder where he had gone, and if his absence was related to her presence. They had had at least the appearance of a moment together before she had finally given into exhaustion. In fact, she strongly suspected she knew more, far more, about Bruce than anyone else in town.

This knowledge, however, only made her angrier that he had vanished. She had discreetly inquired around town and discovered that he was even more of a recluse than she had accused him of being. She set out to text him only to discover that he did not own a phone. Attempts to find him on social media, or to email him, revealed that he did not own a computer. The sheriff even claimed that, as preposterous as it sounded, Bruce's house was not hooked up to any utilities. She had been able to spot some solar panels behind the house on her last drive-by and this part of the country was certainly not without its share of wells. She supposed one could live off the grid without it seeming too much like the dark ages, she just could not imagine why one would go to all that trouble.

She was interrupted by an unsettling feeling at the base of her spine. She glanced around to find Janice staring at her from the driver's seat with a playful smirk on her face. Reyna frowned shyly and said, "What?"

"Welcome back."

"Huh?"

"You were daydreaming about a certain tall, dark and mysterious fellow that lives just outside of town."

"I was not!"

"Bullshit. You as much as told me that there's something happening between you two. And that's to say nothing of the fact that you've been asking around town about him like some kind of noir detective. Now, after we talk about how he showed up in the middle of the storm like a guardian angel, you're sitting there with a thousand-meter stare. What else could you be thinking about?"

"Fine," Reyna huffed. "But I wasn't daydreaming about him. I was just wondering where he went."

"Who's to say. It's not like he's ever let anyone else keep close enough tabs on him to notice if he took off for a week in the past."

"You're suggesting I'm special?"

Janice smiled warmly and said, "I know you're special. I'm just suggesting that I think he knows it. Now, since you've rejoined this plane of existence, care to help me carry your stuff into your place?"

Reyna grinned sheepishly and said, "Of course. Thank you so much for helping me."

"What are friends for?"

It took a depressingly short amount of time to move all of Reyna's belongings into the furnished two-bedroom apartment that Ms. Ethel had helped her secure. Two suitcases which she had picked up at the secondhand store, which were filled with clothing from the same store, and five plastic shopping bags filled with toiletries and a couple meals worth of food that could be prepared on a hot plate. And... that was it. Her apartment in Miami might as well have been on the moon for how accessible it was. She found she missed little of the items she'd been forced to abandon. As with many of her generation, her keepsakes were mostly digital. She had lost her phone in the crash, but she assumed her photos were still hanging around somewhere in the ethereal mystery that IT people called the cloud.

As she walked through the door of her apartment, Mariko relieved her of the suitcase she was carrying and handed her a highball glass. She looked around and found Alton seated on the floor and surrounded by what appeared to be several dozen stuffed animals to whom he seemed to be lecturing on how to properly draw a firetruck.

Reyna eyed her drink warily, noting that a not insignificant amount of vegetation seemed to be floating in it. She glanced in Mariko's direction and said, "What is it?"

"It's a cucumber gin fizz. Drink up. I've got a whole page of links bookmarked for cocktails I want to try tonight."

Reyna carefully took a sip, followed quickly by a gulp, before enthusing, "That's amazing!"

"I know!" Mariko replied with a knowing grin.

"Where's mine?" Janice asked after returning from depositing the last of Reyna's belongings on her bed.

Mariko dutifully handed over another glass and guffawed when Janice drained half the cocktail at once. "Thanks," Janice gasped. "I needed that."

Reyna snorted and said, "Good one."

Janice looked at her questioningly, prompting Reyna to add, "Bluto? From Animal House? My dad and I used to play the quote game all the time. Sometimes we'd go whole conversations without saying anything that wasn't a quote."

"Sounds exhausting," Janice replied with a hiccup.

"I think it's great," Mariko interjected. "Are you still close to him?"

Reyna frowned and said, "He died a few years back, while I was still in school." She rested a reassuring hand on Mariko's arm and smiled reassuringly before adding, "But, to answer your question, I was very close with him. He was all I had."

"Your mom passed too?"

"I honestly don't know. My mom decided she wasn't cut out to be a mother a few weeks after I was born and bailed. I have no memory of her. But my dad more than made up for her absence. He was the best. He would have liked this town. I don't think he was ever truly comfortable in the big city, but he wanted the best schools for me. After I graduated high school, he stayed there to be near me."

"Think he would have approved of you and Bruce getting together?" Janice asked playfully.

"What?" Mariko shouted enthusiastically.

"We are not together. He's just a grouchy a-hole who appears out of nowhere to annoy me and then disappears from my room in the middle of the night without a word."

"Wait a minute," Mariko said primly. "What was he doing in your room in the middle of the night?" She glanced at Janice, a sly smile spreading across her face, and added, "You are fucking him, aren't you!"

"No!" Reyna shouted in exasperation before draining her drink to the echoes of laughter from her friends.

Fourteen

Bruce

"Hey buddy," a gravelly voice called out in the night. "You lookin' to score?"

Bruce turned to face the man he had heard clumsily make his way down the alley. The pusher blanched visibly when he focused on Bruce's features, especially his hard-set eyes, and stammered, "I don't want no trouble."

"Then be elsewhere," Bruce growled dismissively.

As he tried to shake off his irritation, he realized that the upside of the brief encounter was that it increased Bruce's confidence that no one would give him a second look, if indeed they noticed him at all. He was clad in ill-fitting clothing he had found in the refuse bin behind a secondhand store. He was sprawled out on a pile of garbage in an alley and had not showered in nearly a week. He was subsisting on a diet of energy bars and water he collected from puddles and downspouts before purifying them with wretched tasting pills. No one would think he was anything other than an unhoused person who was trying to avoid the notice of the authorities.

After confirming that the junkie who had interrupted him had truly moved on, he turned his attention back to the building he had been watching for the last two days. He had spent the prior four days surveilling Reyna's former apartment in a suburb west of Miami. He had entered the apartment toward the end of that portion of his investigation and discovered that he was not the first one to do so. It had been nothing so theatric as the complete vandalization one sees in the movies, but Bruce spotted the telltale signs of forced entry to go with a level of messiness which he found incongruous with the generally fastidious Reyna he was growing to know in Accassihiapa. During the time he spent watching her building, he had identified two individuals who took a noticeable interest in her abandoned unit. He was now watching the condominium of the first of those people.

She was an attractive woman roughly Reyna's age who gave off the appearance of successful late-twenties professional. She dressed for work in a way which suggested she was either wealthy, or worked directly for someone who was. Her condominium and imported, but rather old, convertible suggested the latter. During the two nights Bruce had spent watching her, she had entertained two different gentlemen. Both had left within an hour of their arrival with goofy grins on their faces.

Bruce's gut said she was a friend of Reyna's, rather than an accomplice to those who sought to harm her, but he needed more evidence to be certain. He was currently waiting for her to depart for her nightly trip to the nightclub district so he could get a better look around her condo.

Four hours later, she emerged from her building's front door wearing a dress which almost certainly required divine intervention to prevent a wardrobe malfunction. It was completely backless, and the front was little more than two strips of filmy fabric which widened as they approached her narrow waist. The skirt she wore was similarly supernatural in that it was so tight; one would not need more than a brief glance to know her grooming habits.

Bruce silently wished her good hunting and glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes later, he rose silently from the bed of garbage that had been his perch for the last several days and crept across the street like a wraith. He ignored the front door and moved to the rear of the building. He pulled a plastic trash bag from his pocket and quickly divested himself of the two outer layers of his clothing. He placed the clothes in the bag before tucking the entire package beneath a sedan he had identified as belonging to an octogenarian who never went out after four in the afternoon.

He knew this action increased his risk of exposure, but he knew it more likely his quarry would suspect something was amiss if someone smelling like a neglected dumpster had been in her condo.

Sixty-two seconds later, he was glancing through a pile of mail on the island in the woman's kitchen, her lock having presented no challenge to him. Her name was Hannah Decker, according to the mail, and she had been living there long enough for her mail to be mostly comprised of junk. The rest of her condo told a story which was in keeping with Bruce's initial observations. Her furniture was nice without being ostentatious. She picked up after herself but was not a neat freak. Her bedtime table contained a large box of condoms and an even larger bottle of lube. Her fridge was reasonably well stocked and devoid of junk food. Most importantly, he found pictures in the hallway of Hannah with Reyna which stretched back several years, including one of the day Alton was born. Bruce was not naïve enough to insist that Hannah was not involved with the attempt on Reyna's life, but he now considered it to be extremely unlikely.

He left her condo less than four minutes after entering. After retrieving the bag with his clothes, he began the trek toward downtown. It took three different buses, and over two hours, before he arrived outside yet another condominium, albeit one whose units went for an order of magnitude more than did Hannah's.

Bruce approached slowly, starting off a dozen blocks away from his target and moving closer over the course of several hours. It had required him to contact former associates he had hoped to leave in his past in order to track the vehicles of the two people he had seen casing Reyna's apartment. But it had been a small price to pay to set him on the path to her potential attackers.

Before he even had a chance to find a good place to wait for his quarry, Bruce spotted the preposterously tricked-out pickup he had seen drive slowly by Reyna's apartment six times over the course of fifty-one hours. He was glad he had followed his training and approached his target with painstaking deliberateness, otherwise he could have been caught in the open rather than expertly hidden in a darkened alcove. It was metallic blue with dual smokestacks belching smoke from the turbo-diesel engine. It was raised to the point that any normal-sized human would require a ladder to enter it. But, from the little Bruce had seen of the driver, he was far from normal.

As Bruce watched, the vehicle came to a stop in front of the building and the driver hopped easily to the ground. He was easily a full two-meters tall and massed at least one-hundred kilos. Both arms were covered in tattoos and any lay-person could easily spot the large-caliber pistol he wore in a shoulder holster beneath an ill-fitting vest.

After the man entered the building, Bruce split his attention between the valet that scrambled to get the truck out of sight and the windows of the opulent condominium. The former allowed him to learn that there was a heavily guarded parking deck adjacent to the building which was fully enclosed and had several revolving security personnel in evidence. The latter paid off when he noticed the door to an expansive outdoor space open, and his target stepped out in the company of another man.

Despite being by far the largest of the duo, the truck's owner was visibly subservient to his companion. Bruce focused on the newcomer and was immediately filled with disquiet. He was a diminutive man who a civilian would never think twice about, but there was a ruthlessness in his eyes which even Bruce found unsettling. The conversation between the two men clearly involved something about which the smaller man was agitated; his aggravation radiated off of him in waves and several times he resorted to merely glaring at his companion in a way which made the larger man blanche.

After a tense stand-off lasting nearly ten minutes, another man exited the condo. The newcomer was as brash as the diminutive man was restrained, but this only cowed the giant all the more. The shouting was audible to Bruce nearly one-hundred meters away, although he could not understand the words beyond them sounding generally eastern European. After several moments of ranting, the newcomer backhanded the larger man in the temple. Considering the behavior he had witnessed, Bruce was hardly surprised that the giant took the blow without so much as an angry glance. What did shock him was when the newcomer swore loudly and cradled his side carefully. After a moment, he ripped his expensive-looking Henley over his head and inspected a freely bleeding gash across his ribs. Bruce focused on the scene with everything he had, trying to memorize every detail. But, as he looked, he saw something which chilled him to the bone.

"Fuck," he breathed silently.

Before leaving, he pulled a small device from his pocket and, after checking to make sure there were no streetlights which could create a telltale reflection, snapped a few dozen pictures. He then faded back into the shadows to consider, to plan, and to hope that his suspicions proved false.

He waited until several hours after midnight before he moved. By this point, he was attuned to the movement of the city around him. There were three unhoused people living in the alley several stories below him, two of whom were sleeping while the third was pleasuring himself as he watched porn on a phone with a cracked screen. The building in which he hid was zoned for commercial use, leaving it barren at this late hour, so Bruce made his way up the fire escape making slightly less noise than one would expect from a particularly wary wolf spider. He belly-crawled across the roof to avoid creating a silhouette. He ignored the door to a stairwell in the middle of the roof, choosing instead to seek out the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. The descent was just as quiet, if much quicker, than the ascent. He dropped a half-dozen meters to the street, rather than risk the noise of lowering the stairs (he also had no desire to advertise that anyone had been on the roof). He landed awkwardly, not quite managing to take the landing on his good knee. He remarked inwardly, however, that his pronounced limp as he fled the scene only strengthened the likelihood that anyone spotting him would disregard him as yet another unhoused vagrant.

Once he was a few kilometers from the stake-out, he began to consider his options. It was too late for bus service, and no cab would pick him up looking like he did. This left little option other than to just wait out the night on the street. The idea did not appeal to him, especially since he had been up for nearly one-hundred hours consecutively. He briefly considered finding a hotel in which he could let a room for cash, but rejected the idea since he was unwilling to risk the likelihood that they refuse him and remember his face, or that they gave him a room but remembered his face.

He kept walking until he was within a few hundred meters of a bus stop which would take him to the airport with minimal fuss and settled down behind a dumpster to plan as he waited for the first rays of morning light. His first order of business was getting to the airport where he had parked his truck. He would make use of the busy terminal to wash up a bit, making himself less noticeable and discarding the clothing he had worn. He would then head a few hours north before stopping for a room and some rest near one of the ultra-wealthy towns which dotted Florida's eastern seaboard. He would allow himself a few hours' sleep before he sought out a library where he desperately hoped he would disprove his suspicions. But even as he considered the plan, he knew it was a fool's errand. There was little doubt about what he had seen tattooed on that man's chest after he had removed his shirt, or what the tattoo meant.

"What the fuck did you get yourself into, Reyna?" he whispered to an uncaring night, even though he was very much dreading the answer.

Fifteen

Reyna

"Now Xander," Reyna said patiently to a squirming five-year old with a buzz cut and clothes that looked like they were older than he was. "I know it doesn't feel good when you've got all the stuffiness in your head. It's ok to want to get it out, so you can feel better. But that's what tissues are for. Not Chelsea's pretty new dress."

The youngster replied by sneezing explosively, without bothering to cover his mouth. Reyna managed to dodge the worst of the spray and added, "What have I told you about covering your mouth when you sneeze?" through clenched teeth.

"I forgot."

"Into your elbow, Xander. Always into your elbow. Now, I want you to go wash your hands. And your face. Then I'll give you a box of tissues to take back to class with you. Ok?"

"Do I have to?"

Reyna managed to avoid gagging when she spotted a string of mucus hanging from his nose and nearly touching his lap. She covered her mouth with one hand and pointed demonstratively at the bathroom with the other. Once Xander had vacated the room, she shook her head as though to exorcise the demon of childhood diseases and squirted a handful of sanitizing goop into her hands. She rubbed it in up to her elbows and was seriously considering smearing it over her face when she heard a knock at the door. She looked up to spot Ethel watching her shrewdly. The silence that stretched between them only worsened when Xander departed with his box of tissues.

At length, Reyna murmured, "What?"

"Just checking up on you," Ethel replied cheerily. "Wanted to make sure you're settling in ok."

"Really? Or are you blocking the door, so I don't run screaming for the hills?"

"I assure you, my presence here is entirely cordial."

"Good," Reyna replied primly. "Because I've dealt with way worse than snotty little boys."

"I'm sure you have. Do you miss it?"

"No. I got into nursing to help people, not because I'm an adrenaline junkie. I started off intending to specialize in neonatal intensive care, but a semester of that in school cured me right quick. It takes a special kind of person to care for someone who has only an even chance of survival and can't communicate other than to cry. At least with adults, you can explain to them why they're sick."

"So, what is your dream job, then? Private practice?"

"Probably not. Nurses in local doctor's offices are little more than medical techs. I want to make a difference, not take notes for the person doing the actual healing. But I wouldn't mind working in a hospital where I knew some of the people I treated. I've never done it, but I imagine it would be far better than the nameless faces in the big city, half of which are accompanied by the police so they can go to jail after I patch them up."

"Well, I appreciate you helping out here while you look for your next opportunity."

"Don't get me wrong," Reyna said quickly. "I really like it here. Not so much the getting sneezed on, but I feel like the parents who come to me for advice really need the help and take what I say to heart. Just last week, I managed to convince a woman to not give some of her left over oral steroids from when she got Covid to her colicky baby. Sounds elementary, but things like that save at least as many lives as working in the ED."

"You mean..." her eyes widened as she straightened both index fingers and moved her hands about a dozen centimeters apart.

"No," Reyna said with a chuckle. "Not erectile dysfunction. Emergency department. Like... in the hospital. Although I'd wager I saw far more penises there than I would have working in a urologist's office. Trust me, it's not as much fun as it sounds."

Ethel tisked and said, "I would think not." She shuddered briefly before adding, "Speaking of which, what's going on with you and Bruce?"

"Wow," Renya grimaced. "You should warn someone before you throw a complete detour into a conversation like that."

"Don't be silly. It's obvious you fancy him."

Reyna shook her head firmly and said, "You mispronounced detest. I detest him. Not that it matters, considering he disappeared like the proverbial tears in the rain. Literally, in point of fact."

"Don't be so sure, honey. I saw him not ten minutes ago, standing on the street corner and bending the sheriff's ear about something or other."

Reyna was up and out of her seat before her conscious mind was aware she had moved. Ethel slid out of her way with a grace and quickness that belied her size, smiling crookedly at Reyna's departing figure.

She quickly spotted Bruce and the sheriff. The former appeared more animated than she had ever seen him. But, where other people would be wildly gesticulating, Bruce was only pointing demonstratively behind his back... directly at the building Reyna had just left.

She approached them quietly enough to hear a snippet of what Bruce was saying. "... some bad people, Nathaniel. The kind no one around here has ever dealt with. That wreck was the barest hint of what those people are capable of. You have to take steps. Not just to protect Ms. Lewiston, but the rest of the town as well."

"What would you have me do, Bruce?" the sheriff replied calmly. "Arm the whole town like we're in an eighties movie?"

"I'm serious, Nathaniel." Bruce seethed.

"So am I. I'll have a meeting with my deputies..."

"Fat lot of good that will do," Bruce muttered sullenly.

"Enough of that. Troy's a good kid. You've got to ease up on him before one of you does something stupid." The sheriff paused to let his words sink in before continuing, "Anyway... I'll also meet with the fire fighters, trash collectors and meter readers. Anyone who's regularly amongst the town folk. You send me those images of what we should be looking out for, and we'll take it from there. No more accidents. You hear me?"

"I won't let any harm come to them," Bruce said with a quiet intensity that Reyna felt in every cell of her body, like she had been frozen, scalded and shocked all at once.

The sensation snapped her out of her reverie. Rather than analyzing what she had just experienced, she lashed out at the men before her, "Just what in the hell are you two talking about?"

Bruce said, "I'll be in touch, Sheriff," and turned to Reyna. He took her by the arm and led her toward where his truck was parked on the side of the street.

"Get your goddamned hands off me," she seethed as she jerked her arm free.

Bruce let her go, just as she had somehow known he would, but he whirled to face her and said, "You need to come with me right now."

"Hell. Fucking. No," Reyna declared confidently, crossing her arms to emphasize her point.

"You got yourself mixed up with some real bad people, Ms. Lewiston. The last thing you need right now is to be making a scene in public like this. Please, just come with me."

"Not on your life. You don't want me to make a scene here? Fine. Care to step into my office?"

Bruce's shoulders slumped in defeat. After several beats, he nodded his acquiescence. Reyna turned and headed back toward the preschool, her thoughts a miasma of conflicting urges. She was furious at his presumption; at his disappearance; at his unexplained absence. All of these emotions made sense to her: they were logical; they were reasonable. What she couldn't explain was why she was so profoundly relieved, even happy, to see him again. And that lack of clarity, that confusion, made her far angrier than any of his actions.

She closed the door of her clinic with far less force than her emotions demanded, but she could not bring herself to let her emotions negatively impact the children. Once the door was closed, however, all bets were off.

She whirled to face him after closing her door, ready to give him a piece of her mind. But he beat her to the punch. "How in the hell did you get mixed up with Georgian mobsters?"

"What?" she shouted. "I've never met a mobster in my life."

"Then why are they casing your apartment in Miami?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"In the last two weeks, two different individuals have taken an unusual, and noteworthy, interest in your former apartment. The first was Hannah Decker."

"Hannah?"

"Yes. She stopped by three times, entering once for six minutes. The second was a man whose name I don't know, but both he and his associates are unquestionably eastern European gangsters who certainly didn't seem to be dropping by for tea. So, I repeat, how did you get mixed up with them?"

"Wait a minute. You were at my apartment? When? Why?"

Bruce sighed and said, "I cannot protect you if I don't know the nature of the threat you face."

She stabbed a finger into his sternum and growled, "I never asked you to protect me, sir. I do, however, recall asking you to stay until the morning. I can't help but wonder why you're so fired up about protecting me when you can't keep a simple promise."

"You asked me to stay until the storm ended. I did just that. The windspeed dropped below thirty kilometers per hour at four seventeen in the morning. Once I had fulfilled my vow, I took my leave."

Reyna's face scrunched up in frustration at his annoying combination of reasonableness and assholery before saying, "But why did you go to my apartment?"

"I already told you. To find out just how deep the trouble you're in is."

"So, what? You found my apartment on the internet and sat out front eating donuts and drinking coffee like a cop on a stake-out? Did anyone try to stick a banana in your tailpipe?"

"Hardly. I can assure you no one was aware of my presence."

"You're saying you just happen to have 'expert in surveillance' on your resume?" she asked exasperatedly. When Bruce only shrugged in response, she raised her voice and said, "Who the fuck are you?"

"No one of consequence."

"Oh, hell no. You will not distract me from your grouchy stalkiness with the quote game."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Bruce's mouth. He said, "I don't believe that stalkiness is a word."

"Well it is now. And, speaking of which, what was that bullshit outside about me coming with you?"

Bruce's expression grew somber, and he said, "You can't stay here. It isn't safe."

"I'm not going anywhere. It's been nearly a month since the wreck. I suspect they just forgot all about it."

"I seriously doubt it. Whatever it was you did, they followed you across the state and tried to kill you. And they're obviously still looking for you. Eventually, they will find you and I can't protect you here."

"Again, and I really hope this is the last time I have to say this, I didn't ask you to protect me. I'm not even sure why you care."

An awkward silence stretched between them. She glared at Bruce, expecting him to look away in embarrassment. But his steady gaze, which gave nothing away except for a calm dedication to the mission he had set for himself, simply stared back at her unabashedly. At length, he said, "I swore I'd protect you.

He said it with such quiet intensity, such sincerity, that all Reyna could manage by way of reply was, "Why?"

"Because it is the right thing to do, and because no one else can. Will you come with me?"

"Of course not. I just started this job, and I just moved into an apartment. Oh, and there's also the small matter of my son!"

"Obviously Alton would have come with us."

"No," Reyna declared firmly, crossing her arms and staring him down to make her point.

"Very well," he replied before standing quickly and striding out of the building.

"What the actual fuck?" Reyna grumbled as she leaned back in her chair.