Page 10 of With You

“Um, we could roll up a blanket and put it between us, or see if there are some extra pillows and make a wall. Something like that should work.” I grabbed my water bottle out of the cup holder and took a healthy swig, my throat dry at the thought of lying in a bed with him again.

His laughter started out small, a chuckle really and then grew to a full-bodied guffaw as he bent forward, still gripping the wheel, tears forming in his eyes with the hilarity. If I didn’t think he’d crash the car, I’d karate chop his throat as payback.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just that I was referring to the sit-down with Thompson. But I like where your head’s at.”

My cheeks and other more intimate parts grew warm at the misunderstanding. Especially when he turned with a full smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. It was impossible not to smile back and I figured it was easier to laugh at myself than make a big thing out of it.

“That makes more sense than what I thought you were asking, it’s still weird you know?” Roe’s smile turned sad and it had me wondering if even after all this time, thinking about that night was hard for him, too.

“Yeah, I know.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. Right when I was thinking I should slap his hand away, because it felt way too good, he removed it on his own.

“So, Thompson,” Roe continued. “I’m not sure what he has to tell us if anything. This could be a complete waste of time and we may have to turn around and head back home tomorrow. He’d only agree to talk in person and on his own land, the guy is clearly paranoid as fuck. Which I hope means he knows something that will be useful to the case. You should probably handle the questions so I don’t say something inappropriate and fuck things up.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself. But I don’t mind taking the lead, I’m used to it from working with Gage.” We shared another smile at the expense of our quietest coworker who typically filled the role of observer when we did interviews. Truthfully he was usually an observer no matter the situation.

Roe turned onto a dirt road that under other circumstances I never would have noticed. There were no signs or landmarks that made you think the road led to a sizable ranch. We arrived at a large, unmarked and padlocked gate with an old intercom system.

“What do you think the odds are that I push this button and get electrocuted or worse?”

“Let’s hope not. I think the nearest hospital is three hours away.”

“Remember me fondly, Sam.” Roe leaned out of the car window and pushed the silver button. A crackling dial tone sounded followed by three beeps.

“What?” a deep, scratchy voice growled through the speaker.

“Uh, hi. It’s Monroe Ross and Samantha Hebert with Falls Security? Gray sent us?”

“Why did you say it like you weren’t sure?” I whispered.

“I don’t know! I’m nervous!” he hissed back.

“Give me a minute,” the scratchy voice was followed by a clicking sound like when you placed a phone receiver down in its cradle.

Roe tapped his fingers against the wheel and I bounced my leg, both of us anxious to meet our host. Eventually, an old beat-up truck crested the hill. It came to a stop, angled across the driveway, preventing us from going farther, even if we did manage to get past the big ass locked gate.

“I think he’s waiting for us,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and reaching for my door handle. Roe followed suit and turned off the engine before climbing out of his side. We approached the gate cautiously, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.

The driver’s door to the truck opened with a squeak and a pair of long legs encased in denim swung out. Dusty cowboy boots landed in the dirt, they looked well-worn, like they’d been through years of work outside.

When he rounded the truck, I got my first glimpse of Sebastian Thompson. He’d be considered tall by most standards, a few inches more than me, but had an odd gate. He seemed to be favoring his right leg, swinging it around more than his left and I catalogued the motion wondering if this was his injury that earned him the medical discharge.

His grey t-shirt was ringed with sweat around his neck and clung tightly to his stomach and chest. Thompson appeared to be in good shape. Impressive thigh muscles flexed under his jeans while he walked and I could appreciate the amount of work that went into those biceps which were as big around as my head.

We spent a lot of time in the gym back at Falls Security. My own reasons for working out like I did were two-fold; one, stay in shape so that I don’t get injured or worse on the job and two, keep my skills up so that none of the guys could pin me down when we sparred. There was a leaderboard posted next to the door and I liked seeing my name on top.

I wondered if Thompson got those muscles from hours of bench presses and squats or if he was simply farm strong. A body built by hauling heavy bags of feed around and taking care of animals twice his size. His face was shielded from view thanks to a faded Texas Rangers baseball cap and he kept his gaze on his boots as he shuffled forward.

Sweat beaded on the dark brown skin of his arms as he pulled a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. The solid chain slid through the bars of the gate and he swung it open for us, making eye contact for the first time since he’d driven up.

A trimmed, black beard lined his jaw. Growing out facial hair was common when men were out of uniform, being told how you could look all the time got old damn fast. His eyes were brown, a shade lighter than his skin, they looked tired.

Remembering myself, I strode forward, hand outstretched. “Mr. Thompson, thank you for meeting with us. I’m Samantha Hebert, Sam.”

“Nice to meet someone who isn’t fond of their long name either. Call me Baz.”

His handshake was warm and firm. I appreciated that, too many men gave weak ones because they worried they’d hurt my delicate feminine hands.

I kept my guard up every time I met a fellow member of the armed forces. It usually went one of two ways, either they’d treat me with respect, recognizing a fellow troop or they dismissed my service record because I didn’t have gross, hairy balls. Baz seemed to be the former and that made me like him already.

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