Los Angeles Friday,” Cane pointed out. “Morie’s taking Harrison with them. She can’t bear to leave him even with Mavie for a couple of days.”
“She’s a great little mother,” Tank said. He pursed his lips. “And I hear you and your new father-in-law have a hunting trip planned for next month up in Montana.”
“Heard that, did you?” Mallory chuckled. “We do. Now that he’s a grandfather, he’s a lot less judgmental and harsh.”
Tank didn’t want to mention how much Mallory had mellowed. So he just grinned.
“I’ll call Merissa back and set up our date for Saturday,” Tank decided. “I can be fairly certain that the restaurant won’t be bugged.”
“I wouldn’t make that bet,” Mallory replied. “Especially if you told her where you’re going.”
“I did,” Tank groaned. Then he brightened and laughed. “I’ll drive her over to Powell instead, and we’ll eat at the Chinese restaurant. But I won’t tell her until we’re on the way.”
“Creative thinking,” Cane said.
“I’ll have my friend sweep the truck before I leave.” He paused. “If he’s got the time, I might hire him on as a temporary. Nobody has to know what he really does for a living.”
“Do it,” Mallory said. “Better safe than sorry.”
* * *
TANK SENT DARBY Hanes into town that afternoon for throwaway phones. As soon as he had his, and it was activated, Tank placed a call.
“Hello?” It was a male voice, deep and quiet.
“It’s Tank,” he replied. “How are things?”
There was a pause. “Not good. How are you?”
“Fine, so far.” He hesitated. “Are you free for a couple of weeks? It’s a job, and it pays well.”
There was a rush of breath. “How the hell did you know I’m out of work?” came the reply. “Just finished one job and didn’t even have another lined up. Bills are piling up, house needs repairs...” He was lying through his teeth, but Tank wouldn’t know. He didn’t speak of his private life to outsiders. He maintained the fiction that he was a starving mercenary, living from job to job.
Tank chuckled. “Great! Well, not about the bills, I mean. But you’re hired.”
“You’re a lifesaver! What do you need done?”
“I’ve got a rogue fed after me,” Tank said. “I just hired a surveillance company to put up cameras and install bugs—but I have a nasty suspicion that the installer will turn out to be the rogue fed who’s after me.”
“Damn! You do have the worst luck!”
“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “How soon can you come up here?”
“As soon as you email me a ticket” came the reply. “I haven’t unpacked from the last job. It will be a pleasure.”
“You aren’t working for your...for your old boss, I mean?” He bit his tongue. He’d almost slipped and said “your father,” but he didn’t dare do that. Rourke wouldn’t get on the plane. Most people suspected that Rourke was the illegitimate son of K.C. Kantor, the ex-merc millionaire. Nobody said it to Rourke’s face. Nobody dared. Besides, if the man was living from hand to mouth, it was unlikely that he had a rich father looking out for him.
“No, the boss and I had a falling out,” Rourke replied heavily. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Things have gone from bad to worse. And Tat won’t speak to me at all.” The last was said with subdued rage. Tat was a socialite journalist who’d gone with Rourke and General Machado to retake Machado’s country in South America. Rourke and Tat, his nickname for her, had a very long history. Rourke had known her since she was a child. They had a rocky friendship.
“Put her neck hairs up again, did you?” Tank asked.
Rourke cursed. “She’s gone in with the troops, over in Nganwa,” he said, naming a small country involved in a nasty revolution. “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. It’s a bloodbath over there. I know seasoned mercs who won’t go near the place!”
“Journalists are usually protected,” Tank said quietly.
“Sure they are. Want to hear how many bought it last year on assignment?” he asked pessimistically.
“Sorry to hear she’s in danger,” Tank said finally.
“Her own damned fault. Stupidity has a price. For two bits, I’d go in and drag her out...” He hesitated. Swallowed. “Send me the ticket. I’ll be right up.”
“I’ll email it on my alternate account,” Tank said.
“Good man.”
“Thanks, Rourke,” he said quietly.
“Hey, what are friends for?” came the reply.
* * *
MERISSA WAS WEARING a soft beige dress that clung to her slender figure, outlining her pert breasts and tiny waist and flaring hips. She wore flat shoes with it, and her blond hair waved in soft curls around her elfin face. She wore a small Christmas tree pin on the dress and a matching clip in her hair.
She smiled shyly at Tank, who stared at her with open admiration. “If it’s too dressy...” she began self-consciously.
“I don’t very often see women in dresses these days,” he replied with a gentle smile. “I think you look lovely.”
She flushed and then laughed. “Thanks.” She indicated her shoes. “I can’t wear high heels. I suppose this looks peculiar...”
“It looks fine.” He didn’t question the odd remark. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” She peered into the living room. “See you later, Mom. Lock the doors,” she added firmly.
Clara laughed softly. “I will. Got your key?”
“Yes.”
“Have fun.”
“Thanks.”
Tank stuck his head in the door and grinned. “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.
“I know you will,” Clara replied.
* * *
ROURKE HAD ARRIVED the day before. He got to work at once on the security cameras, swept the house for bugs—and found several—and swept the truck just before Tank got in it for his date.
“We’re going to Powell to have supper,” he told her. “Sorry, but we’ve had a hitch in our security.”
Merissa was very still. “It was him. The man in the suit.”
