Uncle Sarge

Of course, she’d gotten his machine.

So, now she was whiling away her time working on her plants. If only another customer would walk in off the street. Just not one as potent as TSgt. Larsen. And, maybe with a slightly more challenging request.

She puttered in her indoor garden, losing herself in Zen-like meditation. Working with the plants soothed her. When life with her ex had been at its rockiest, her plants had been her salvation. She smiled as she loosened the soil around a split-leafed Philodendron she’d nursed back from near death.

The phone rang.

Jennifer jerked out of her trance-like state and dropped the cultivator on her foot. That brought her back to her senses, and she limped to the phone. “Yes? I mean, Checkmate Detective Agency,” she said sharply as she sat down and massaged the red mark.

It was Rich Larsen returning her call.

“I’ve found an address for your sister,” she said, ready to provide the details.

To her surprise, Rich uttered a too-familiar exclamation. “Hoo-ah!” Then he hung up.

Stunned by what that single two-syllable word, the all-purpose cry of exclamation that combat controllers used, meant, Jennifer stood, holding the receiver until the phone company off-the-hook signal chimed in.

Her ex-husband was a combat controller. Was Rich Larsen one of them?

RICH MADE the ten-minute drive from his apartment just outside Hurlburt AFB in five. Good thing the afternoon rush wasn’t yet in full swing. He hadn’t bothered to change from his camouflage battle dress uniform; he’d just rushed out. He wasn’t supposed to be wearing BDUs on the street, but he didn’t give a damn about the regulations. This was too important.

He was pulling into a parking spot across from the agency when he realized that Ms. Bishop could have told him over the phone. He shrugged. He was here now.

He grabbed his scarlet beret, jammed it on his head, then locked the truck. He had to know what Ms. Bishop had uncovered. God, he hadn’t even thought to ask whether it was good news or bad.

Preparing for the worst, but hoping for the best, he shouldered open the door.

Ms. Bishop was waiting at the desk. Today she had her hair pulled back from the sides and anchored at the nape of her neck with a large barrette. She had on another flowered dress, and until she stood, she again looked like a member of the church choir.

The dress did nothing to disguise the sinful curves below that angelic face, however, and when she rose to greet him, he drew in a short breath. He said nothing, just waited for the blood to rush back to his brain.

“I’ve typed everything up for you,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “She’s married now….” Ms. Bishop glanced down at her notes. “To Michael Connolly. They live in Pensacola. Here’s the phone number,” she said, tapping the spot on the sheet.

Rich took the paper from her and held it gingerly as if it were a live grenade. He looked down at the information, neatly typed, and wondered at the ordinariness of it. A name, a social security number, an address and phone number. Name, rank and serial number. Everything you needed to prove you were real.

Was it real? Had Ms. Bishop really located his sister so quickly? He looked up from the paper, and he swallowed. “Did you call?” Why was his voice so thick and husky?

She smiled. “I thought you’d like to do that yourself.” She gestured toward the phone. “Be my guest.”

Rich wondered if he ought to do this here. Would he be better off calling from the privacy of his own phone? But Ms. Bishop had been a part of it this far, she might as well be there for the grand finale. He reached for the phone, his hands remarkably unsteady, and dialed.

His breath caught as the number connected. Ms. Bishop smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. One ring. What if she wasn’t home? Two rings. He held his breath. Then the unmistakable sound of a phone company recording dashed his hopes of speaking to Sherry today. Out of service.

He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “The phone’s disconnected. Now what?” he said as he returned the receiver to its cradle.

Jennifer’s smile faltered. Why hadn’t she thought to try the number first? “Are you sure it’s disconnected?” She reached for the phone Sergeant Larsen had just put down, pushed the Redial button and waited. She pasted a smile back on her face as she listened. “It said, ‘out of service,’ not disconnected. It could be out of order or they were late paying their bill for this month. They’re probably still there.” She met his eyes. “You could go. Knock on the door.” As soon as she said it, Jennifer knew it was a big mistake.

He grabbed her arm, and the touch of his large, strong hand set her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a glass jar. “Go with me. I’ve changed a lot since I last saw my sister. She might not recognize me.”

He paused and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’m a big guy. It might frighten her to have somebody like me show up on her doorstep. If Sherry sees someone like you with me, she might be more willing to let me in. Besides, I’m not familiar with Pensacola, I might never find the place.”

As Jennifer considered the foolhardiness of going off on this expedition, he threw in the final piece of bait. “I’ll spring for burgers on the way and you can navigate.”

Burgers from a fast-food place sounded a lot better than the tuna casserole she had planned. Jennifer glanced at the clock. Almost quitting time. “I—I guess so,” she heard herself saying. “Just let me lock up.”

“Hoo-ah. It’s a date,” he said, his face regaining the animation he’d lost when he’d heard that tone.

“No,” she corrected. “Not a date. This is business.” Then she glanced at the way the fabric of his drab olive T-shirt stretched across that broad chest. She knew all about the kind of man who wore those scarlet berets and shouted hoo-ah. She’d been married to one. Duke had been the best at everything except commitment. She figured they were all the same. At least, until they’d gotten old enough to settle down as Al had. It must have something to do with the training.

No, she had a feeling that this story was going to wind up with a happy ending, and maybe it was foolish of her, but she wanted to see it through. Typing bits of information into a computer and waiting for it to regurgitate the answers was a living, but she longed to see the human side of her job. She wanted to see the results of her efforts.

This is business, she reminded herself. So why was she thinking about anything else?

“I FIGURE once I’ve eaten with a person, they have the right to use my first name. That okay with you, Ms. Bishop?” Rich glanced sidewards and chuckled at the flustered look on her face. “You can call me Rich. Tech Sergeant Larsen’s a little long, wouldn’t you say?”

“I—ah—er—yes. Sure.” She paused. “And you may call me Jennifer.” Then she added, “Rich.”

“Jennifer. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.”

She smiled and blushed. “I hope not. I always felt it was such an ordinary name. After all, every other girl in my class all through school was a Jennifer. I’d rather be a Rosemund or a Victoria. At least there aren’t fifty of them lurking around every corner.” Her smile quirked to the right.

“At least everybody knows how to spell it,” Rich said. “What if you really did have one of those unusual names that nobody knew. That could be a problem,” Rich said as she looked everywhere but at him.

“Yeah,” Jennifer murmured.

The litter from the take-out meal scattered in her lap seemed to be more important to Jennifer than continuing the conversation. Rich shrugged. After tonight, it wasn’t likely they’d see each other again. He shouldn’t be getting his feelings hurt because a woman—an ordinary-looking one, at that—didn’t want to make conversation with him.

Once they found Sherry’s house, Rich reasoned, and he’d assured himself that his sister was alive and well and living in Pensacola, he’d take Jennifer home, and he’d never see her again.

They rode on in awkward silence until they reached the bridge that crossed Pensacola Bay and led into the city. “I guess we should pick up a map.” Rich pulled into a service station. “I need to gas up anyway.”

“Good idea,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see if they have one while you pump.”

Jennifer reappeared before he had filled the tank. She unfolded the map and pored over it while he settled the bill.

“Ah, here it is. Smith Street,” she said as Rich started the engine. “It’s on the other side of town.” She directed him to the main artery and settled back against the seat.

Rich drew in a breath and steered the truck toward the northwest side of town.

Jennifer knew she should be breaking his tension by talking, but darn it, sitting this close to him, she could barely think. She’d thought he’d made her office feel small, but in the confines of his small pickup truck, separated only by the space between bucket seats, it was all she could do to breathe.

She would be so glad when they were done with this.

Jennifer glanced at his strong profile and his lean jaw starting to bristle with golden five o’clock shadow and wondered if she might just explore…No, she told herself, it was too soon. Besides, she knew about his kind of man. Those special tactics combat control operators were love ’em and leave ’em all the way. She’d already been left once. And once was more than enough.

She busied herself reading the map and watching the landmarks fly by. Finally, they pulled off the main road and into a neighborhood.

Only a few more blocks and Rich would reach his sister’s address. Only a few more blocks and he’d be reunited with the only relative he had. She smiled at that.