“I, umm…”
A lightbulb went off in her head.
“No, Stat. I think you’ve got it wrong.” Her confidence returned in a flash. “Intown, my stalker could easily blend inand be hiding behind any corner. I could get grabbed down an alley, or out the back door of any establishment at any time. Meaning, my protector-of-the-hour, waiting in a car and watching for me, might not even notice I’d been taken until it was too late.” She regarded Statler with a tip of her head.
“Out in more rural areas, the chances of not being aware of a stalker would be much slimmer. Think about it. Don’t you see? Long, empty back roads. Me in my van, and you or one of your guys behind me? Nobody would be able to sneak up on foot or in a vehicle to surprise me, because they’d stick out like a sore thumb in the boonies.”
Statler grumbled, but nodded. “You have a point. But I’m still not happy that you’re moving from a route—and people—you know like the back of your hand, to go places with which you’re not familiar.”
Petula gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Don’t worry. It won’t take me long to figure out my new territory and have it down pat.”
“New territory?” Julian questioned, coming up behind them.
Petula loved his warmth as he slid up behind her, but still, she sighed. “How about we wait until we get to the living room so I only have to explain this one more time.”
“That’s okay with me,” Julian confirmed.
He was looking put-together again. His brains were clearly back in their proper place.
“Good,” Petula said as he moved around her.
Before he could pass, she threaded her free elbow through his. Then with her two favorite men on her arms, she walked back to where Stat’s crew had set up food on the oversized coffee table.
“Thank God you’re back,” Dizzy whined. “These cretins wouldn’t let me start eating until you got out of yourlittle…‘conference’.” He gave an irreverent grin, as if he knew what she and Julian had been up to.
Petula, now feeling a little exposed, unhooked herself from Julian and Stat. She turned quickly toward the kitchen so her ever-present blush wouldn’t be noted and dissected. “Well, I’m here now,” she assured him. “And I’m getting myself a beer. Anyone need another?”
“I do,” Hazard said from behind her.
“Me, too,” Blue’s voice rang out.
“Make it three,” Julian chimed in.
They were letting her off the hook.
Petula practically skipped to the kitchen where she rapidly soaked a paper towel in cold water and applied it to her hot cheeks. Hopefully her color would go down, and nobody would mention again what might or might not have happened in the back office.
Once calmer, she walked back to join everyone, handing out the drinks.
“I told them about your route change,” Statler informed her. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she assured him.
The crew had already known she’d yearned for the change, so they were ready with congratulations and back-slaps, which she accepted happily.
Julian, when she gave him his beer, simply smiled and clinked his bottle to hers, as a salute.
The subject thereafter as they ate, swiftly turned to shift-taking; setting up the who’s and when’s for her safety moving forward. Of course, since Maine was an open-carry state, they’d all be armed and taking their jobs seriously.
Julian got on the phone between bites, ostensibly calling a brother or brothers to enlist their help, as well.
Did Petula feel like a pain in the ass?
Yes.
But it also warmed her heart that so many people were ready to step up and come to her aid.
Still, she hoped it wouldn’t come down to it; the need for anyone to actually protect her. But if it did, she couldn’t ask for a better group to—as all the ex-military people in the room would say—have her six.
