There was fire in her eyes and ice in her voice. “You can be worried; Jesse, but you can’t control me. I told you I’d give you the opportunity to come up with a way to keep me from hurting anyone and I meant it. You can either take my word for it or you can hit the damn road.”
I marked her determination with a quick nod. “Okay, I was out of line. I’m sorry. Still friends?”
Gail continued to stare at me for a moment. Then her fists unclenched and she returned my nod. “Just remember, no one owns me Jesse, not you, not anyone.”
“I won’t forget again. Load up; you can eat my dust back to the highway.”
The anger dropped from her and I saw the tension ease from her body. She held out her right hand, palm upwards. I took the cue, drew her Colt from my waistband, and set it in her hand. She checked the chamber and holstered her weapon. “Where are we going?”
“To start with, my apartment, I wish we could ride together, there’s a lot more I want to find out.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that after tomorrow night, assuming there is an after for either one of us.”
Chapter 4 – No Spooning
I parked in my assigned space under a wide overhanging carport. I killed the engine and got out. Gail’s van was idling behind me. She had a big V-8 in the Chevy and the dual headers thrummed loudly in the quiet parking lot. I pointed her toward the nearest visitor space. While she backed her van into the space, I took my belt holster with its spare magazines out of the glove box and then returned my earplugs to their case. When I turned, I found Gail striding across the asphalt toward me in the yellow glare of the halogen lights. She had her Mossberg under one arm, a small satchel over her shoulder, and her first-aid kit in her left hand. She had donned a light jacket over her blouse to cover her kidney holster. Shotguns were a familiar sight in Alabama and rarely drew anyone’s attention, but open carry of handguns, while not prohibited by law, usually ended up with someone notifying the local police, go figure.
I nodded toward her satchel and asked, “What’s in the bag, wooden stakes? More silver bullets?”
Gail grinned and patted the bag. “My overnight supplies and a change of clothes,”
“Oh?” The mundaneness of it was a little disappointing. “Want me to carry something?”
She shook her head. “It’s not heavy. I appreciate the chivalry and all, but a hunter handles her own gear.”
I held up my hands. “Right, of course, didn’t mean to strike a nerve. Come on up, I’m on the second floor.”
She followed me up the outside steps to the second-floor landing. There were two apartments on the landing, mine and Marge Callahan’s, a senior at the University of Alabama-Huntsville. We’d hooked up a couple of times over the last year, but it wasn’t anything serious.
I unlocked the right-hand door, reached inside, and flicked on the lights. As I held the door for Gail, I noticed the strong aroma of the night’s pizza permeating the apartment.
Damnit, I’d left the half-eaten pizza on the coffee table when I rushed out after her call.
Gail stepped past me, took a quick glance around the room that was divided into a carpeted living area and a small kitchen with linoleum flooring, and nodded. “Nice place, Jesse. Is there any pizza left?”
“Ah, sure.” I went to the coffee table and picked up the pizza box and a napkin. I held both out to Gail.
She set the first-aid kit on a chair and opened the box without taking it from me. She grabbed a slice of pizza, ignoring the napkin, and asked, “The bathroom back that way?”
“Sure,” I said with a tilt of my head. “Just the one bedroom and the bathroom off the hall.”
“Great, dibs on the shower,” she said, taking a big bite from the slice of supreme as she marched toward the back.
I said, “Hey, I could use a drink. Can I fix you something?”
“Bourbon if you have it, neat, make it a double,” Gail said as she disappeared into the bathroom with her first aid kit, overnight bag, and the Mossberg.
“Two doubles coming up,” I said, more to myself than to her. I took another slice of pizza, shoved the narrow end in my mouth, closed the box, and gathered the half-empty beer can and its coaster from the table. I put the pizza in the oven, emptied the beer into the sink, and ran a little water to disperse the smell. After tossing the can in the recycling bin, I put the cork coaster back on the stack of others and wolfed down the slice of pizza. I washed my hands at the sink and dried them with the napkin Gail had disdained.
I stood for a moment, looking to see if anything else was out of place. Satisfied that my apartment was guest ready, I opened the cupboard above the refrigerator and took down a bottle of Makers Mark. I iced one glass and left the other neat, then splashed equal amounts into the glasses. I left the bottle on the counter and walked down the hall to the bathroom door. The shower was running.
I knocked loudly.
“Come on in,” Gail said.
Holding both glasses in my left hand, I opened the door and stepped into a swirl of steamy air. Gail had tossed her bloody blouse (my blood, not hers), jeans, socks, and underwear (unmatched bra and panties) into a heap in the corner. The first aid kit was in the sink. The Mossberg leaned against the toilet and her Colt’s holster lay on the toilet’s tank. I didn’t see her pistol.
Through the frosted shower door, I could see the water cascading against her
