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AS SOON AS I CROSSED the street, I heard a clicking-racket. The first tick left me reaching for my nine, discreetly tucked under a duck-yellow poncho. After a quick search of the dimly lit parking lot, I relaxed.
The multiple snaps of a shutter release button suggested someone was taking pictures of Wasteland’s Holiday Wonderland, a Christmas fair located behind the diner. I kept walking, keenly aware of the seasonal tunes at my back. It was hard not to skip to Burl Ives and Holly Jolly Christmas.
Upon reaching the first row of parked cars, I froze. Chills climbed up my spine.
I’d lived in the bayou too long. My sixth sense was on Christmas break or otherwise asleep. Silently, I prayed a Baptist prayer and hoped God wasn’t out to lunch or dinner. I couldn’t be sure which since no one had mentioned heaven’s time zone.
I fiddled with my keychain and secured the split silver ring around my index finger. With a nontraditional weapon in my left hand and trusted nine in my right, I whipped around with unmatched confidence. I wasn’t a coward. I’d face the threat hiding in the shadows.
The earlier rainstorm left a sheet of fog in its wake which brought to mind another fact. Tourists typically didn’t take pictures in weather like this. After a quick search, I honed in on the clicking noise again. Maybe a freelancer was bringing up the rear with some belated shots for a last minute article.
The goosebumps on my arms suggested otherwise. Deadlines had less to do with words and more to do with actions. I gripped my gun a tad tighter.
Someone had been watching us. Someone had gotten the jump on four trained CIA agents.
I squatted next to my Jeep’s back right wheel and inched closer to the lopsided bumper. I’d backed into someone’s mailbox a few weeks before and hadn’t arranged for repairs. If things went sideways, I’d have a rubber shield. Sometimes postponements were meant to be.
Then again, my armor could split in two upon impact. It would depend on the perpetrator’s weapon of choice, point of impact, and some other elements that I didn’t have time to think about.
The noise continued. With keys and gun clutched in my hands, I couldn’t retrieve my phone. Shouting might work but trained CIA agents didn’t scream for help. And I’d never live down a wolf’s cry.
Cursing my negligence, I rolled across the ground to another vehicle. I didn’t want to lose a tire if a battle commenced. Exchanged gunfire could prove costly.
A car door slammed and I jumped. Someone was definitely out there. Had the perp followed Harrison and Director Morrow? Probably not. Harrison would’ve spotted a tail.
It must’ve been that nitwit Nichols. Unlikely, I mused, shaking my head. Agent Pretty often primped as she walked. She would’ve noticed someone’s reflection in her card-sized mirror.
I heard muffled voices and focused on proximity. In another minute, they’d pass me.
Perp has a sluggish walk and is accompanied by a small woman or child with quick steps. I cocked my head and listened. The footsteps stopped.
I stared down at combat boots and white sneakers. “Really?” I scurried away from my hiding place and faced the previously perceived threat.
Two elderly women who make Cagney and Lacey look like plastic dolls with water pistols. Subjects are undoubtedly packing. The nervous one has three weapons in her purse along with five bottles of cough syrup, also known as the best moonshine on either side of the bayou. My gaze shifted to the other subject. The more dangerous suspect has a steady hand and she’s holding all she needs, aiming that sucker directly at me.
Harrison was right. Gertie and Ida Belle were too curious for their own good. He’d mentioned it on more than one occasion and generally in a fit of anger.
I was on the wrong end of a shotgun. “Thank God we’re friends.”
“We shouldn’t be after that stunt,” Ida Belle said, keeping her gun trained on me. “You left the diner and never once checked your six.”
“My six?”
“That’s what SEALs say to one another,” Gertie quickly informed me.
“Last time I checked, you’re not swimming in a lagoon with someone hanging onto your tail.”
“That would be a dolphin,” Ida Belle said. “And not at all what Gertie just referenced.”
Gertie grinned. “Please try to pay attention, dear.”
“Which brings us back to the original discussion,” Ida Belle said. “You can’t be too careful.”
“Tell me about it.” I gently placed my hand on the barrel of her shotgun and lowered it. “No wonder I have nightmares about women in white robes holding me for ransom.”