Page 7 of Justice for Radar

What dude did was fuckin’dirty, but I didn’t know this chick from Eve. How did I know she didn’t flip her shit or do something crazy to get her ass left behind?

I mulled it over, thinking about Lucia. My kid, much like myself, had a sort of sixth sense for these things. Unfortunately, it was a skill we’d both learned through trauma. She and Mariposa both went through it with their bio mom and Lucia, my sensitive little flower, had been bullied in school until I’d finally put a stop to it. Of course, by the time I’d found out what was up, it’d been going on for a while.

And no, I hadn’t whooped the kids’ asses. I sure as fuck kicked the shit out of their daddies’ asses, though. You wanna raise little fucking crotch goblins, you can reap the consequences.

I sighed and took another drink of soda and brought myself back around to the problem at hand, which was damn surenot my problemuntil I’d gone ahead and made it my business by bringing her under my roof.

I set it aside for now, figuring I could come back to it. I tended to trust my gut more often than not, but this time I denied it. My gut had told me she was alright enough to help, but I didn’t need to go too far too quick. That in and of itself could spell disaster.

No, best to see how things shook out before I took any extra steps in that arena.

I’d dove in headfirst a few times with these kinds of things and had been burned accordingly. I would like to think I was older and wiser at the ripe old age of forty-five. Hell, I’d like to reach something like eighty with enough time to really enjoy any grandkids if my girls decided to go that route. Of course, that was presupposing I let any boys close enough to ‘em to knock ‘em up. Pretty sure Mariposa was going to go lesbian anyway. Just a gut feeling, and it had nothing to do with her being a radical feminist before anyone gets their panties in a wad.

“Eh-hem…”

I sat up sharply and spun in my chair at the light, feminine sound of my houseguest clearing her throat.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I asked, looking her over.

She was barefoot and she’d used the bathroom, her face freshly scrubbed of tears and makeup, the long lacy skirt of her country dress grazing the tops of her feet, her short jean jacket over the thing with its sleeves rolled back neatly above the elbows giving her a decidedly country feel. Quintessential Texas standing in a Florida home, the hushed vibration of the running AC filling the silence between us.

The polish on her toes was chipped, same with her fingernails, but it was readily apparent why as she chipped at her nails out of nervous habit.

“I was wondering if I could get the Wi-Fi password, so I can send a few completed projects out.”

“Yeah, yeah!” I grabbed a post-it off the stack I kept convenient under the edge of my monitor and wrote it down for her, holding it out. She stepped down into the slightly sunken den off the hardwoods onto the gigantic area rug I had down here and padded forward on silent feet. She had grace with how she moved, and I was having a hard time not taking notice. She was beautiful, and I had a renewed itch to find out just what the fuck dude had been thinking.

She plucked the note with the password from my fingers, sticking the adhesive strip to her index finger and looked down at it. She snorted a laugh.

I grinned. Her smile transformed her face, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make her an absolute knockout.

“Big files?” I asked casually, and she looked a bit guilty.

“Usually. I can zip them down.”

I nodded. “Internet isn’t the best around here lately. Last big storm did some serious damage to the lines that the companies still haven’t sorted out yet.”

She smiled and gave a little shrug. “Can’t be worse than hotel internet,” she murmured.

“Now there’s the truth.” I nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, drifting back to the doorway.

“No sweat,” I told her. “Make yourself at home.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall, back toward the bedrooms.

I shook my head and turned back to my bank of monitors and pulled the radio down from its bracket nearby, queueing it up.

“Scarlett Anne, this is Radar – come back.”

“Yeah, Radar, this is the Scarlett Anne – what’s going on?” Marlin’s rough voice came back over the airwaves.

“Yeah, Marlin. You got my partner out there with you?” I asked.

The mic must have changed hands because the next voice to crackle to life over the airwaves said, “Yeah, bud, this is Atlas. What’s up?”

“We got a mystery to solve, buddy. Come to my place when you get back in?”

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