A thick line of heavy sweat dribbled down Jason’s back as he approached the open seat. Perspiration popped onto his forehead. The adrenaline rush quelled the burning in his eyes. He lowered himself into the chair beside Clyde Hutton.
He did not look at the former corrections officer, pretending to study the dancer. His eyes stayed riveted on the woman, but his mind was occupied with the man to his right.
Jason sensed Hutton had turned to look at him just before issuing a curt statement.
“I think that seat’s taken, buddy.” The odor of the beer-soaked breath reached Jason in an instant.
Oh yeah! Definitely plastered.
Jason smiled at the dancer and removed a single from his shirt pocket. He placed it on the deck.
“That’s okay. I won’t be here long. By the looks of it, he won’t be back for a few minutes.”
Jason felt Hutton’s gaze linger a moment. When Hutton turned back to the dancer, Jason spoke.
“You come here often, Clyde?”
Hutton turned back to him, wavering from side to side. His eyes widened, then shrank to a squint.
“Rodgers! Jason-fucking-Rodgers!”
Jason hesitated, caught off guard by Hutton’s quick recognition of him.
“You know who I am?”
Hutton nodded through his beer-soaked stupor. “Been expecting you.”
It was Jason’s turn to register surprise. Have I been that careless? he thought. Had he given himself away to Hutton as well?
“You’ve been expecting me?” Jason demanded.
“Yup. Let’s not do this here.”
Jason removed the gun from his waist with his right hand and shifted it to the left in a slow, fluid motion under the overhanging ledge holding the drinks. He put his arm around Hutton’s shoulder and pulled him close, jabbing the barrel into the man’s ribs. A gasp of air escaped Hutton’s lungs.
“Let’s go outside,” Jason whispered. “This better not be a trick!”
Hutton tried to pull his body away. But Jason squeezed him tight, pushing the gun deep between two ribs. Hutton winced and relented.
“I’ll fucking waste you right here, asshole!” Jason whispered.
Jason glanced behind them. No one seemed to notice what was happening. The dancer had moved a few feet away and was plying her wares for another drunken gawker.
“Now,” Jason continued, “you’re going to stand up and walk out. I’m going to be right behind you. This gun is going to be pointed at your back. If you try anything stupid, I’ll put a thirty-eight through your spine. Smile, Clyde!”
Hutton glanced Jason’s way. Jason had his eyes on the dancer. He didn’t feel the reaction he wanted.
“I said, ‘smile!’” He removed the gun an inch and rammed it into a rib. Hutton grunted and forced a weak, nervous smile.
“This night is on me,” Jason said. “Don’t move!”
Jason removed the hand draped on Hutton’s shoulder and reached into his pants pocket. He removed a crumpled fifty dollar bill and placed it under Hutton’s glass.
“Stand up and walk!”
Chrissie could not sleep. The digital numerals of the clock on the nightstand read 2:18 a.m. She had tossed and turned under the covers since climbing into bed, thinking about Jason pounding on the door to her room, their room. She had no intention of sleeping. That wouldn’t happen tonight. Getting under the covers was the only thing she could think to do. Her mind raced.
She had lost him for a second time!
She lost him fifteen years ago to set of circumstances that were beyond both of their control. Jason—and by extension Chrissie—had been manipulated by unseen, dark forces.
Now, maybe, she had lost him to someone else. She wasn’t sure it was a dancer, or if it was a woman at all. She had tossed that accusation at Jason to trick him into telling her the truth. She had confronted him with her concerns tonight, of all nights. For a month, she had refused to bring it up, afraid to allow the monster out of its cage, though it weighed on her mind. As long as she remained silent, there was still a chance she was wrong. But Jason offering her the ring had brought everything to a head. She had to deal with it.
He had given her no clue that he was going to propose. It was a complete surprise. Under different circumstances, she would have accepted instantly. She had hinted at it for months. But Chrissie stopped hinting six months ago. Jason didn’t even notice.
Her concerns about his trips swelled slowly. At first, she thought he was going through a phase, brooding and withdrawn. But later it became apparent it was more than that.
That’s when the doubts crept in.
She loved Jason. Parts of her always would. She wanted to be his wife. No. She had wanted to be his wife. Now, she wasn’t sure. Her child-bearing clock was ticking down to zero. She had wanted to be married and have a family. And she had wanted Jason to be the father.
But now her mind was clouded with uncertainty. The brave man who’d come back into her life, the man who’d risked his life to save hers, and the lives of two presidents, had changed.
In the months following the assassination attempts, they’d both recuperated physically. Getting over the trauma of the assassination attempts at the shipyard had taken time. She thought they’d reached the point where they’d both put it behind them. And she’d thought that once they’d done that, it would be smooth sailing on the ocean of life. She’d never considered the possibility that he would be interested in another woman. Or something else, whatever or whoever it was.
This time she had been the one to make the break. Not Jason.
Maybe their destinies were never meant to merge. Maybe they were paddling against the current of fate!
Chrissie got out of the bed and walked to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, patted it dry with a towel, and looked into a pair of swollen, red eyes. Padding back to the bed, she cast a glance out the window. The moon, bright in a now cloudless sky, cast a silvery glow on the shed and the deck of the house. Chrissie froze in her barefooted tracks.
She moved to the glass.
Had a shadow moved out there … under one of the trees?
Chrissie backed out of a direct line of sight but continued watching.
There was something out there … in the shadows. She could feel it. All her fears, past and present, resurfaced.
Remembering, she visualized the generic dark sedan across the street two years ago. The click of the lock on the front door. The two armed men slipping into her house. Stealing Mrs. Liggieri’s car to escape.
Checking the window again, she studied the scene.
Nothing! Stop it! she told herself. Get a grip!