Thin Ice

by Renée Jaggér

  The bar where we’d agreed to meet was a local hangout for the veteran crowd. It boasted lots of patriotic décor and a memorial wall and gave anyone who came in with proof of service a fifteen percent discount on drinks.

  He was already sitting at the bar when I walked through the door. Jax had never been what you’d call a hottie, but the scars and skin grafts had made him look more intimidating than the guy I’d served with. I remembered his smiles and the way he turned everything into a joke. The Jax I knew could’ve been a comedian if he’d had a little less of a patriotic streak.

  The man at the bar wasn’t smiling. He sat hunched over a drink, staring blankly at the television, where a football game played. Jax was still trying to cover his scars by turning up his collar.

  I walked up to him and leaned on the bar next to him. “You know, a popped collar makes you look like an asshole.”

  Jax’s nose twitched. “Takes one to know one.”

  “Aw, did you think up that comeback all on your own, private, or did your mommy help you?”

  “No, but your mom did. After she was done screaming my name.”

  I gave him a punch on the shoulder. “Four months, and you greet me with weak-ass comebacks like that? Come on, Jax.”

  He took a long pull from the beer and rubbed his shoulder. “Damn, Hart. You’ve still got a mean right. You’ve been working on it?”

  “Have to.” I hopped up on vacant the barstool next to him. “I work in personal security now. Bodyguard.”

  “Coming up in the world, huh?”

  The bartender stopped by, and I put in an order for a few more beers. “What about you? What are you doing these days?”

  He shrugged. “Some freelance work. I get to travel, but the pay is hit or miss.”

  “You should look into what I’m doing. Lots of people need bodyguards, and the pay is much better than being in public security.”

  Jax didn’t say anything, so I thought it would be best to change the subject. We used to talk a lot about the widows and children of the men in our unit. Jax had tried much harder than I had to keep in touch with them. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to them, more that I didn’t have anything to say. I always thought it would be better for everyone if I just let them move on, although Jax seemed to find comfort in that sort of communication.

  “Have you talked to Amy or Patrice?” I asked. Those were the two widows I knew he’d connected with the most over the last few years.

  Jax shook his head. “Amy moved to Montana. Haven’t heard from her since. Patrice remarried about six months ago. Guess she’s busy with her new life. Everyone seems to have moved on. Even you, Hart.”

  “Not really. I’m still the same old me.”

  He twisted in his seat. “Are you? I hear you’re working for some rich pretty boy. You know that can be dangerous. People like that can get into awful sticky situations.”

  A chill ran down my spine. The way he said it, it almost sounded like a threat. How would he know who I was working for? The only person who knew was Sam, and they wouldn’t have any way of contacting Jax. “How do you know about that?”

  Jax shrugged. “I hear things, and I keep tabs on you.”

  The beers came. I passed one to Jax and frowned. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d say that’s creepy.”

  He pulled out his phone and showed me one of Ronan’s Instagram photos. “This guy didn’t get where he is by being pretty in pictures. That house he lives in? It’s way too nice to buy on a model’s salary, and underwear models don’t need people like you protecting them, Callie. Whatever he’s into, it’s going to be dangerous. Trouble for you.”

  “You’re really starting to freak me out, Jax.” I leaned in closer. “Have you been following me? How else would you know that’s who I work for?”

  “I just hear rumors is all. I can dig for info when I want it.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “You should quit, Callie. I’m serious. Girl like you, with the skills you have? You can find work anywhere. Working for that guy is going to get you hurt, and I don’t want to see that.”

  “I can take care of myself, Jax.” I reached for my bottle.

  Jax grabbed my wrist and I jumped. Our eyes met, and he let my arm go.

  “I know you can, Callie. I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying you don’t know this guy. He’s hiding something.”

  “Aren’t we all?” I quipped and took a drink.

  Jax was silent for a long time, watching the game. No, not watching it. That was a blank stare. His eyes might’ve been fixed on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking of everything but football.

  “Do you ever think about it?” he asked after a long beat. “What happened over there, I mean?”

  “Of course I do. All the time. But I can’t live there, Jax. What happened is over. We were given orders to keep quiet about it.”

  He pounded a fist on the bar, making the nearby patrons flinch. “It’s not right. I fought for this country. I’ve got the scars here to prove it.” He gestured to his neck and chin. “But you know what I got for my trouble? A gag order and an unemployment line.”

  A couple of old-timers nearby grunted their approval.

  I patted Jax on the shoulder. “Keep it down, man.”

  “It just pisses me off. All those rich assholes like the guy you’re working for. What’d he do to get where he was? He didn’t bleed for it. Didn’t have to fight for it. I did. We did, and now we work for them. You can’t tell me that doesn’t make you feel at least a little dirty.”

  “I feel just fine about it. Ronan is a good person. Jax, maybe you don’t see it, but everyone’s got shit to work through. Just because you don’t know what it is doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

  He grunted. “Yeah, right. Poor little rich boys and their state-of-the-art security. Glad our whole unit got murdered so you could put it on your resume.”

  I frowned and stood. “That’s not fair. If you’re going to be like this, maybe I’d better just let you drink on your own.”

  Jax closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly letting it out through pursed lips. “I’m sorry. I’m letting my temper get the best of me again. Please. I don’t want you to go.”

  Hesitantly, I slid back onto the stool. “Tell me what I can do to help you, Jax. Are you seeing someone at the VA? They’ve got programs that can help you.”

  “I’ve been through them. They can’t help with what I’m dealing with.” Jax pushed away the beer and scratched the scarred side of his neck. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m here, you know? Why’d I make it out when they didn’t? Why us? What’s so special about us?”

  “I don’t know, maybe nothing. Sometimes, bad things just happen. Can’t change that. What we can do is change how we react to all the shit that gets piled on us.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Now you sound like those VA therapists.”

  “Well,” I replied, “maybe they’re right.”

  Another long beat of silence passed between us. I spent it feeling guilty. Jax was right about one thing; Ronan hadn’t gotten to where he was by being a model. He hadn’t earned it in the traditional sense, but it wasn’t like he was a bad person just because he was wealthy and lived in a nice house. As far as I could see, Ronan was a good guy with his own troubles. Yeah, maybe he could do a little more to help the local community, and he could be less self-absorbed and take fewer selfies, but he wasn’t hurting anyone by living his life. He certainly wasn’t hurting Jax any.

  “Would it make you feel better if you met Ronan, Jax?” I asked.

  Jax shook his head. “No, I’m leaving town tomorrow. Don’t know if or when I’ll be back. I just wanted to catch up before I did. For what it’s worth, you look good. Happy, even. Better than the last time we saw each other.”

  “And on that note, I’m going to hit the can. Watch my drink while I go?”

  He raised his beer. “You got it.”

  There was a line for the lad
ies’ room, despite there being relatively few women in the bar that night. It was like magic; wherever there were women and a bathroom, there was a line, no matter how few of us there were. By the time I got back to the bar, Jax was gone. I scanned the crowd, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “You lookin’ for your friend?” the bartender asked and held out a slip of paper. “Me too. He didn’t settle his bill before he went AWOL.”

  I sighed and dug into my pocket to get my wallet. Just like Jax. Thanks for sticking me with the bill, asshole.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day, I reported to work with an overnight bag in hand. The schedule said his next photoshoot was in LA, and that we’d be staying overnight rather than flying back. After the fiasco last time, that was a welcome change.

  We drove to the same private hangar as before, but this time Vaughn and his people weren’t waiting for us. Good, I thought, getting out of the car ahead of Ronan. At least I don’t have to deal with vampires on this trip. I got on the plane ahead of Ronan and gave the interior a once-over to make sure there wasn’t anyone or anything unexpected on board.

  “You’re taking this so seriously,” Ronan said as he climbed up the stairs and onto the plane.

  “That’s what you hired me to do. Would you want me to half-ass this? Not when your safety and my job are on the line.” I pulled down the emergency handbook on the plane and flipped it open. “Has this thing been updated in the last six months?”

  The flight attendant frowned. “Federal aviation standards haven’t changed. Emergency procedures are still the same.”

  I snapped the book closed. “What do we do in the event of some catastrophic engine failure when we’re thirty thousand feet in the air?”

  The flight attendant hesitated.

  “Parachutes?” Ronan offered.

  I glared at him. “This is a passenger jet. It’s not designed to be suddenly depressurized. Open the cabin door, and you’ll get sucked right out. But assuming you didn’t, do you know the first thing about dropping out of a plane with a parachute?”

  He shrugged and laughed. “No, not really, but I could always magic us to a feather fall when the ground gets close.”

  “Your body will reach terminal velocity in eight seconds,” I said, ignoring his joke and sliding the book back into the plastic holder. “You’ll be falling in excess of a hundred twenty miles an hour with no oxygen. Chances are high you’ll pass out before we get near the ground. What then? We hit the ground, that’s what.”

  Ronan winked at me. “Kiss me? Might wake me up.”

  The flight attendant giggled, and I shot her a warning glare. “I’m pretty sure we’d both be dead. If we’re ever in a situation where we need to jump out of a plane, are there parachutes aboard?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Enough for the entire crew plus two. That’s the standard,” replied the flight attendant. She brought me to the rear of the plane and showed me where they were stashed.

  If I’d had my way, I would’ve opened each parachute and verified they were packed correctly. The last thing you want when your life relies on a working parachute is for it to deploy wrong. But we were about to take off, and I didn’t have the time or space to open them to check, so I made a note on my phone to do it the next time I had a chance.

  When the seatbelt light came on, I rushed to sit in the seat across from Ronan and secure my seatbelt while the captain made his introduction.

  “You seem a little off today,” Ronan said. “A little on edge, even. Everything okay?”

  “Just doing my job. You never know when something might go wrong. Isn’t it best to be overprepared?”

  He leaned on his fist. “Do you ever relax? I’m starting to believe you live for work, and that’s no way to be. What’s the point in life if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?”

  “I have fun,” I protested. “You’re the one who’s always working, flying coast to coast, avoiding assassinations. Besides, you didn’t hire me to have fun. You hired me to guard you.”

  Ronan snorted. “Don’t remind me. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”

  “Okay.” I gripped the armrests as the plane rumbled, climbing in altitude. That was always the worst part unless we hit turbulence. “How about this fae-vampire cold war? Give me a little history. Why hasn’t there been an all-out war?”

  “Well, it’d be bad for everyone, for starters. We survive because the humans don’t know we’re here. Imagine if they suddenly found out the couple across the street were vampires? The Neighborhood Watch would be on their front porch with pitchforks and barrels of tar. Can you imagine if they knew about fae too? The world would devolve into chaos as the humans called for us to be herded into camps, regulated out of existence, or otherwise tagged and registered like animals. It’d be worse for the vampires, who need human blood to survive. Persecution would be relentless. Safety for us comes from remaining hidden. A war would inevitably lead to a reveal the world’s not ready for.”

  The plane leveled out, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. “What if that’s exactly what someone wants?”

  Ronan laughed as if it were the silliest idea he’d ever heard. “Why would anyone want that?”

  I shrugged. “The point is, there are plenty of reasons for a war—more than I think you realize. There are economic reasons, for example. Anyone invested in a military force is going to see a big payday if fighting breaks out. People like Vaughn.”

  “Vaughn doesn’t want a war. His entire job revolves around easing tensions between the fae and vampires.”

  “Second,” I continued, “there are the political reasons for war. War provides a distraction from what’s going on at home sometimes. A news story for people to focus on beyond any political scandals. It takes the heat off political figures. If you see military action spike during an election season, there’s probably a reason for it.”

  “True,” Ronan grunted. “But I’m not aware of any scandals in the vampire court, or either of ours.”

  “Could be one about to break, and this is the set up for a cover-up.” I shrugged. “And then there’s the third reason—ideological wars. Those are about imposing a certain religion or political system on an area or group of people whose way of life is different from the invading country’s. Hitler’s war was an ideological war, as were the invasions of the former Soviet Union, and arguably our wars in the Middle East.”

  “I’ve heard it said that was more a resource war, fighting over control of oil and that sort of thing.”

  “War is rarely a single-faceted event, and it’s almost never about what the talking heads say it’s about. If someone wants war—and we still don’t know that’s the case—there are probably multiple things to gain. Whatever they’d want, whoever’s behind this doesn’t care that the price will be paid in blood.”

  The flight attendant came out of her little cubby and held out a menu to each of us. “Lunch will be served on the plane.”

  “No, thank you.” Ronan waved the menu away and dug out a plastic water bottle as well as a plastic packet of what looked like fish food. “Brought my own.” He unscrewed the bottle and sprinkled the fish food into it, turning the water into thick, green goop.

  I frowned and squinted at the dark green liquid. “Is that the same mix as before?”

  “No, this is new. My personal trainer gave me a special mix. I’m dreading trying it, but it’s supposed to be… Hey!”

  Before he could finish what he was about to say, I grabbed the bottle and chugged it down. After the first gulp, I almost stopped. It tasted awful, like someone had chewed up kale and seaweed and mixed it with their saliva. Just to be on the safe side, though, I chugged the whole thing and tried to convince my stomach to keep it down. “Ugh.” I held the bottle back out to him. “You’re right. That’s foul.”

  “You can keep it. I guess we’re taking that whole food-tester thing seriously now?”

  “Coke, please.�
�� I smacked my lips and tried to swallow the god-awful aftertaste while the flight attendant hurried to bring me a can of Coke and a straw. I ignored the straw, popped the top, and chugged the ice-cold drink. Nothing like chasing a kale smoothie with a sugary soda. “Don’t eat or drink anything without me trying it first.”

  Ronan sighed. “I guess it’s good that I wait until after the shoot. Got to look my best for it.”

  During the plane ride, as part of his whole argument about looking his best, Ronan decided to catch up on his beauty sleep. He snored, and it was anything but charming. I wound up putting on headphones and watching a superhero movie.

  We touched down at LAX a few hours later, and from there we took a car to the studio, which looked almost exactly like the last one. Here I’d been expecting something more similar to a movie set. Not that I knew what those looked like, but this was Los Angeles. In my mind, LA and Hollywood were the same thing.

  I learned quickly that there was a lot more to the city than the movie industry. The production assistant on this shoot was a young man named Logan with spiked pink hair, a nose ring, and glasses that he probably wore for the fashion and not function. Logan was a local history buff, and more interested in imparting that history to me than assisting on set.

  Much like the last photoshoot, this one revolved around putting Ronan in spring and summer attire. That meant brightly colored button-ups and jackets, jeans, shorts, and different sets of swim trunks. Unlike at the last shoot, the staff in the L.A. studio was much more laid back and less hurried. Rather than snapping hundreds of photos and choosing the best ones, the photographer spent a long time posing Ronan, moving lights around and bringing in props to get a small handful of pictures each time.

  On a break, the photographer bragged to me about doing headshots for celebrities and turning down the opportunity to work on a movie. Movies, as he put it, were heartless beasts. It was easy to capture the essence of the story in a two-hour film, but doing it in a single photograph took skill.