Page 8 of Fallout

Clare grinned, a look of relief on her face. “I know just who can do it.”

“The Famous Ones don’t operate out of Benson.” They weren’t a solution.

“That’s not what I’m thinking. If you’re really ready for this. He’s got years of martial arts training. I only wish he’d accepted my job offer instead of sticking around the police department. But alas, Jasper is too loyal.”

Destiny headed for a swivel chair, misjudged the landing, and nearly ended up on the floor. When she’d righted herself on the seat, Simon asked, “You good?”

“Sure.” Her hands were shaking, but that wasn’t the point.Jasper?

Clare could ask him to train her, but that didn’t mean it would go anywhere. Not after she’d torn his heart out when she screamed at him in the hospital. She’d seen the look on his face, so there was no way he’d agree to this.

No matter how good it would be to see him, he had better not say yes. It would ruin her tenuous grasp on sanity.

FOUR

“You’re not on duty, are you?”

Jasper glanced over at his father. “No, but soda water is fine.”

“Because you’re in the mood to punish yourself for some reason?” Dad looked intrigued.

Jasper had zero intention of explaining. “I like the taste of it.”

The bartender set a glass for his father on the bar, and beside it, he put Jasper’s drink. “Have a good night.”

The senator turned and leaned his back on the bar. As though this was his kingdom to survey. Then again, his dad thought that about everywhere he was, no matter that this building belonged to Rammington-Harper.

Jasper took a sip of his soda water. “I need to ask you something.”

“And I’m not going to like it, I suppose.”

Jasper asked, “Has that ever stopped me?”

His father chuckled over the rim of his glass. “Before you ask, your mother wasn’t feeling well. We thought it best that she stay home and not pass what she has on to someone else.”

That wasn’t what they needed to talk about. “I can swing by later. Or tomorrow.”

His dad nodded. “Thanks.”

“Did we used to live on Sierra Drive?” Jasper watched his father. The reactions were always subtle, but if you wanted the truth, you had to see past the surface. A tiny flinch. The way his hand trembled.

“Why do you ask?”

“I recognized the street, and I found the tree house where I played with Caleb.”

The senator whirled around to the bar and slammed his glass down. “I’m not feeling well myself. Perhaps I have what your mother does.” He left the glass on the napkin and strode across the room.

Jasper reached for his father’s glass. Part of him wanted to down the rest of the liquid. But what would that serve? His mother called it a “weak constitution,” though that was pretty hypocritical given she couldn’t control her own issues. Anyway, he’d reminded her this wasn’t the Victorian times.

Richard Hollingsworth had his own ideas about what was wrong with his wife but rarely voiced them. It didn’t match his public persona as a state senator to have a wife who could use a month in rehab somewhere like the Ridgeman Center.

Who couldn’t use that kind of mental and emotional reset?

Taking a sabbatical from the police department wasn’t really a thing, even if he was tired and waiting for something to change.

He left his father’s drink on the bar and threaded through the crowd, greeting a few people as he wove through the guests, until he reached the wall of windows.

The penthouse in the Rammington-Harper building had been designated a ballroom and entertaining space. They’d been an institution in Benson as long as the city had been here. This event was just an excuse for the company to invite their friends to a party and make deals over drinks.

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