“And then it was your job to protect him?” I ask.
Jasper snorts. “Hardly. I was a fuck-up when I started out. AJ was made for this job. Probably why he’s still doin’ it.”
The guy ahead of us ambles off with his Shiner. Jasper’s hand rests lightly on the small of my back for a brief moment before he jerks his arm away.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.
“Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double. And whatever Ms. Marsh wants.”
“Club soda with lime.” I offer Jasper a small smile. “I’m technically working.”
“Here?” His sudden concern is almost comical. “You ain’t about to tell me AJ’s under investigation, are you?”
My laugh eases some of the tension currently turning his shoulders into twin slabs of granite. “No. Nothing like that. I was one of the few reporters without an on-air segment tonight. I drew the short straw. Christy McKnight—she’s Channel 5’s style reporter—is covering this event, but it’s her first solo gig.” I nod toward our table in the center of the room. Thank God. She finally has her notebook out in front of her. “I’m her backup. Her mentor. Or both.”
“Is she even old enough to drink?” Jasper digs a twenty-dollar bill out of his back pocket and slides it across the bar.
“Christy? She’s twenty-four.” I frown. She has a glass of champagne in her hand. Dammit. She knows better than that. If anyone catches her drinking on camera, her story won’t hold any weight. Not that she’ll get much of a scoop here.
“Here’s your club soda, ma’am,” the bartender says. “And sir? Your whiskey.”
Jasper takes a healthy swig of his drink, while I manage only a small sip of mine. I should go tell Christy to dump the bubbly. But then Jasper’s hand hovers close enough to my back that I can feel the heat of him, and I let him guide me over to the wall where we’re out of the way but can still see the stage.
“Say what you got to say, Ms. Marsh. But make it quick. As soon as AJ gets his award, I’m outta here.”
Now that’s an interesting tidbit. Why wouldn’t he stick around? My thoughts start to spiral. They’re clearly not close. Yet Jasper came to the gala as AJ’s plus one.
I have to stop. Not everything is a story. If I don’t tell Jasper how sorry I am now, I might not get another chance.
“Mr. Blade, I owe you an apology. Showing up in your hospital room after…well, after you…”
“Lost everything?” He takes another gulp of his whiskey, then shudders from the burn of the alcohol. “Ain’t no never mind, ma’am. The way I see it, you were just doin’ your job.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” I can’t stomach any more of the club soda, and set it on a tray next to us. It’s terrible. Bitter as sin and twice as flat. “I pushed you hard enough you threw me out. Then I did the one thing you told me not to do. I reported on the connection between the Cordova Cartel and the Marquez drug ring.”
“Don’t remember much of that day,” Jasper says with a slow shake of his head. “Didn’t watch the news for a solid week after. So whatever you did or didn’t do…can’t say I care, Ms. Marsh.”
Across the room, the emcee takes the stage to a round of applause. I glance at Christy, happy to see her writing in her notebook—not drinking—and when I turn back to Jasper…he’s gone.
Jasper
I should have walked out five minutes after AJ accepted his award. Then I wouldn’t be trapped at this table babysitting my big brother while he nurses a single glass of tequila. The same glass of tequila he’s been staring into for the past hour.
The commander asked his wife to dance a bit ago. The other Rangers at the table—Sergeant Parker Elmore and some new recruit named Hardison—left already. They’re working tomorrow, and it’s nearly 10:00 p.m.
“We could bail.” I finish my third whiskey of the night—not my smartest decision, even if it is a necessary one—and stare back at the cash bar. A fourth might keep the pain at bay. But it’ll leave me with one hell of a hangover. Dammit. I promised myself I’d be better. Time to switch to water.
“You go. If I leave now, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He brings the rocks glass to his lips and inhales.
“I reckon tequila works better when you actually drink it.”
With a sigh, he shakes his head. “This…ain’t for me.”
Then who the hell is it—? Goddammit.
Grace. Tequila was always her drink.
I sit up a little straighter and set my glass down. “AJ, come on. You need an excuse to leave? Tell Commander Harris I’m lit and you’re takin’ me home. I’ll even act the part.”
