Jack
“Hey, Jack,” Sugar said, “What’re you up to with that miserable-looking babe?”
“Saving her from a fate worse than anything you could imagine.”
He linked his arm through Sugar’s and they walked toward the Quai Jean-Jaurès followed by Bad Dog, still sniffing for fallen treasures among the market debris. Sugar’s flesh was smooth and warm under his hand, cool and fresh as if she’d just emerged from the sea. Which he knew she had, not too long ago, because he’d swum with her off the boat early that morning.
“You jumping ship?” he asked, over an omelette fines herbes at Le Gorille. Helping women out of their troubles had whetted his appetite and he was suddenly starving, and besides, the damsel in distress had eaten all the croissants.
Sugar’s blue eyes met his. She hitched up her red top and crossed her long brown legs. “Thinking of it,” she said casually.
“No time like the present, Sugar,” he said.
She flashed him a wide white smile. “Great,” she said. “Just want you to know we’ll always be friends.”
He reached across the table for her hand. “Sure,” he said, “and it was great while it lasted.”
“Fun,” Sugar agreed. “It was fun.”
He finished his omelette and called the waiter for the bill. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the boat. You’ll get your stuff and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Sugar’s eyes lit up but she was looking beyond him at the two bronzed young gods heading her way. “Thanks,” she said, “but no need. The guys will help me.”
Jack got up and wrapped himself around her in a bear hug, which made Bad Dog prance on his hind legs and bark jealously. “Take care, Sugar,” he said.
“See y’all around,” she called as she headed into the arms of both bronze gods.
He watched them go, Sugar in the middle, their muscular young arms wrapped around her waist. Have a good time, Sugar, he thought, you’re only young once.
And that brought him back to the problem of Lola Laforêt, the Bambi-eyed waif with a missing husband and a possible murder rap hanging over her ginger head. Just what had he gotten himself into? And what was he going to do about it?
He looked at Bad Dog sitting faithfully at his feet, awaiting the next event. No use asking him, Jack thought, patting the dog’s scruffy head. He’d just have to find out for himself.