Page 8 of Welker

They were alone and he wanted to make small talk.

Moira scrounged for a response to his comment. She wasn’t stupid. In her head she could always come up with witty repartee, but even so, what eventually came out of her mouth was perpetually far different than what had originated in her brain. It’s why she always thought long and hard before speaking aloud in any kind of a social situation, and generally kept her sentences to three or fewer words.

“That might work,” she finally acknowledged.

Welker nodded, as if satisfied with her answer, but when he gazed around at her littered yard, he lost his good humor and addressed her more seriously. “You can’t stay here, Moira. First of all, by what I’m seeing, without even looking inside I know there won’t be a lot of stuff left intact.”

Yup. Her mattress was lying in the grass, its stuffing emerging to waft all over the moon-lit lawn like so much dandelion fluff. The frame was in matchsticks, and her one splurge, her big-screen TV which she enjoyed the hell out of for watching sports, had been smashed and impaled on a cast-iron pole where one of her bird-feeders had hung.

“I have a couch,” Moira rebutted dryly.

“Are you sure?” Welker raised a brow. “I have a feeling we’ll find everything inside your house has suffered the same treatment as what the assholes threw out here.”

Welk was probably right. She’d heard an awful lot of smashing and crashing while she was roof-bound.

He continued, relentlessly. “Do you have another place you can stay?”

Fuck. Over her dead body would she call dear-old-Dad and ask to crash at his manse.

“I’ll get a motel room.”

Welker scoffed. “Seriously? In a small town like this? You’ll be found immediately. Those pricks will have your location in a blink, and what kind of security do you think those establishments have? A paper-thin door; one of those foolish, sliding-chain locks. You’ll be a sitting duck, Bliss. Whereas, if you stay with a friend and are careful, they won’t be able to find you.”

Welker had a point. Again. Why did the man have to be right all the time? When she didn’t answer him right away, he prodded once more. “So, do you have a buddy who can put you up?”

Dammit. There was only once answer, and yes, it screamed “loser” to the freaking moon and back.

“I’ll find a place,” she told him resolutely, hoping her sour expression would keep him from prying further.

But this was Welker. She should have known better.

“Find what kind of place?” he continued, the relentless jerk.

“A rental,” she answered, crossing her arms over her sweatshirt clad chest. At that moment, Moira didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed that her civies were utilitarian and baggy. She suddenly felt stifled.

What if, when Welker had come upon her, she’d been decked out in something slinky as he’d ridden to the rescue? Would he have?—?

Moira shut that train of thought, right the hell down. What was she thinking? If she’d been in sexy lingerie—which she’d laughingly never owned—she would have scuffed the shit out of herself during her climb and for the duration of her stint on the roof. Moira was, if anything, practical, and the thick sweats she always wore when off duty, had proven that tonight. Lingerie was stupid. Or so she told herself.

“Moira. Don’t be stubborn,” Welker began again, but he was drawn away from saying anything else by the sound of tires approaching fast on her dirt road.

Welker and Moira both spun in place and held their guns at the ready, but lowered their barrels the minute they recognized the multiple vehicles pulling into her driveway. Mason’s truck was first, followed by JD and the rest of J-squad.

Moira snorted. She and Welker had been so deep in argument that they hadn’t heard his remote siren being turned off.

Mason alighted almost before his truck had come to a stop.

“Christ, Moira. What a mess.” His mouth was agape as he looked around at the detritus littering her yard. The rest of the team didn’t look very pleased, either, as they got their first gander.

“Tormentor’s guys were thorough,” she agreed.

“But you’re okay?” Mason continued. “They didn’t find you?”

“Uh, uh,” she grunted. “Welk showed up and scared them off.”

“Right.” Mason’s eyes narrowed at Welker. “Against orders. Which we’ll talk about at a later time.” It was a threat he’d make good on, Moira knew. Mason didn’t like loose cannons on his team. Whether Welker got a demotion, or a simple dressing down depended on…

Ah, hell. Moira needed to put in a good word for the big dope.

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