He grinned wider and repositioned his unlucky crook against the wall, hands sufficiently tied. “Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me.”
Jon groaned. The flimsy twine shredded, and he was forced to go for something else. With a nearly inaudible sigh, he grabbed the small box of sewing threads and kept his voice low. “Yes, jackass, that’s the same Jenna I may have told you about before. And no, I had no idea she was here. We haven’t kept in touch.”
Lance hummed.May have told us about my ass.Jenna was the only girl Jon had ever talked about, and he’d punched out more than one guy for making the wrong off-hand comment. But Lance had always been good at walking the fine line between too far and just pushing it, so all he said was, “Well, I’ll let you return the crafting stuff, then. Wouldn’t wanna get in the way of your romantic reunion.”
Jon rolled his eyes into an upward glare and jerked the thread tight around his poor victim’s wrists. That guy was gonna have numb hands when he woke up, no doubt. There was plenty of ribbon left Jon could’ve gone for, but obviously Jon didn’t like that the guy had aimed a gun at his girl for point-five seconds.
“I can watch Beavis and Butthead while you practice your game,” Lance offered with a shameless grin.
“You’re fucking impossible,” Jon muttered, standing and grabbing the bucket of supplies. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Lance watched his buddy stride back toward the bakery they’d effectively rescued, but averted his gaze before the watching turned into spying. He caught the stare of a young, teal-haired female through the window who wore an apron, so he presumed she worked there, and offered her a smile.
The girl immediately ducked her head.
He chuckled to himself and turned his focus outward, examining the parking lot and town beyond.Misty Glades, huh?
The town was Hallmark-quaint, at least to look at it. Tucked into the forest that had opened up only a handful of miles earlier almost as if the forest had birthed it. He’d seen the old, painted sign, as well as the standard signage a few feet beyond it. According to that, the little community of Misty Glades didn’t even hold 1300 residents. So, it was no wonder they were stuck waiting for an out-of-town sheriff to get his ass to their position and pick up the snoozing crooks on his left.
Lance spread his legs to shoulder width and hooked his thumbs on either side of his belt buckle in a waiting stance. Guard duty had never been his strong suit. He could be still and patient, but somehow it was harder for him when he was holding up a wall and waiting for thepossibilityof a problem. Lying flat and waiting for the perfect shot? He could do that all day. It was a head game for him.
He blew out a slow breath. They were basically volunteering their skills because it was the right thing to do and something they were qualified for. Neither he nor Jon were on assignment.
There was no assignment coming.
Discharged. Fuck.
It’d been a little over a month since that world-changing conversation in Major Miller’s office, on the other side of the world, yet Lance still felt like he was catching up to the news. The Marine Corps had been his life, his home, for seventeen years. A fact which was emphasized when he’d decided to try reaching out to the family he’d left behind—the family who’d thrown him out so long ago—after he and Jon were dry-docked. But his family had disappeared. Changed their number, abandoned the property his father had been so stubborn about clinging to.
Lance was pretty sure he knew why, too. They’d probably had a fucking seizure when they’d realized he wasn’t tucking tail andcoming back to take his lumps and fall in line with their anti-governmental views. He’d written them exactly once, from boot, mostly because the recruits had been tasked with writing home and sharing basic information. So, he’d taken the opportunity to let them know he was alive and that he’d followed through on his word. The letter hadn’t been returned, but he’d never received a response, either.
Guess that means I’m a family of me now.
“It’ll be about an hour before the sheriff gets here,” Jon declared as he came to stand on the other side the unconscious duo. He mimicked Lance’s stance as if it were natural to him. “And that’s if they drive fast.”
Lance bit out a harsh laugh. “Good thing we trained for this, then.” It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, anyway. What was standing around for an hour or two? He turned his head just enough to glance Jon’s way. “Sure you don’t want to spend the time more productively?”
Jon cut him a sidelong glare. He was damn good at those, honestly. “We are not doing that. Drop it.”
“You can’t expect me not to be curious.”
“Did you find IDs on our crooks?”
Lance rolled his eyes and dug the two cards he’d pilfered earlier out of a pocket. “Yeah, yeah, here you go.” He paused while Jon took them to skim the information. “Isn’t water supposed to be more …fluid?”
“Isn’t electricity supposed to be bright?”
Lance barked out a laugh and decided to let it drop. For the time being. He’d have other opportunities, seeing as how they had nowhere else to be.
Her first patient yelled at her for turning on the light when she walked into the room. Not because he’d been trying to sleep, but because he hated the hum of the fluorescents.
Her second patient was leisurely stroking himself, blanket tossed aside and gown bunched up to his belly, while he watched some morning news show.
Her third patient was a kind elderly woman who simply could not understand why Chandie wasn’t there. But she didn’t mean that in a rude way—as she repeatedly insisted.
Lynnette fell into a familiar groove. New patients weren’t so unusual. The corridors were mirrors of the paths she was used to walking, and room numbers were as flexible as patient names really. Someone needed an IV refill. Someone didn’t want to be fussed over and forced her to call in an orderly. Someone was trying so hard to tough out the pain, when it was so clear they needed a higher dosage. Someone else most definitely needed a lower dosage and most definitely was not going to speak up about it.
Injuries of varying types. Illnesses of varying types. It was familiar and relaxing in the way that it occupied her mind. Everything required focus. The harder she had to focus, the less room her mind had to dwell on the concern of the looming problem.
