Crossfire

by TL Schaefer

  CAM DIDN’T EVEN TRY to be stealthy as she listened to the two men, and with Pedersen’s parting statement she knew Carmichael’s words eight years ago had been almost prophetic. Asa Dobbs was indeed Carmichael’s spooky airman. What were the odds she’d run into him in the middle of the Colorado River?

  Slim and none, unless Fate had reached in with her magical fingers and meddled. Which was apparently the case.

  Asa walked right past her without a glance, though she was positive he knew she was there, and headed to the bar.

  The bartender took one look at him and slid out a shot glass.

  Cam joined him, hooking one foot on the brass rail. The bartender raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. “Same, please.”

  “Whiskey,” Asa grunted.

  That’s the drink she would have pegged him for. Simple, straightforward, a right hook to the jaw.

  The bartender poured their shots, then stepped back a pace, waiting.

  She and Asa drained their shots and slammed the glasses back on the bar. She whirled her finger in the air, asking for another round. “These are on me, cowboy. You deserve them.”

  He shot her a dark look, and for the first time she saw the turmoil in his gaze. Pedersen’s words had rocked him to his core. Yeah, she got that, but the fact it mattered to a hardened warrior like Dobbs was intriguing.

  This time they sipped their drinks, and the bartender faded back, tending to his duties without hovering.

  “Wanna talk about it?” she asked, figuring he’d probably tell her to go pound sand.

  “I can see things,” he admitted, and she felt a thrill of triumph. She’d been right.

  He turned to look her in the eye. “I thought I was saving you, but maybe it was Pedersen.” He shrugged. “Either way, it all worked out.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “When I thought it was you, I was going to try to convince us to partner up, figure out what I was seeing.” He shook his head. “You probably think I’m nuts, and you’re not so wrong. It’s been nice meeting you, Cam Ryder. Have a great life.”

  He wheeled around and was two steps away before she caught his arm. “Wait. Stay, have another drink with me.”

  He looked down at her, at her fingers clutching his arm. “I’m good, Cam, and thanks for the company. Now go out and change the world, I imagine it’s what you do.”

  She tugged at his sleeve. “That’s not it at all. Hear me out, okay?”

  He looked at her long and hard before shrugging as if it made no difference to him.

  To her, though, it made all the difference in the world. She hadn’t felt this invigorated since her time downrange, when what she did actually mattered. Asa Dobbs intrigued her, especially since she had a basic inkling of what he might be capable of. She suspected he’d saved her life long before yesterday. That perhaps he’d saved it years ago in Afghanistan.

  The bartender offered them another drink, and she demurred the hard stuff, asking for a glass of red wine instead. Asa considered her for a long moment, then nodded and took the same.

  They departed the bar for a small table by the windows without a word of coordination. He’d given her a huge concession by admitting he had visions, so it only made sense that she’d open herself up, at least a little bit.

  Before she started, she saw Carin at the entrance to the bar, a question in her expression. Cam shook her head, waving her friend’s concern off. It was sweet that Carin worried, but she’d spent years in situations far more dangerous to her safety than this one.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I got sacked by the network a few years ago.”

  His jerk of surprise told her he hadn’t.

  “They put me to pasture in the field when I turned forty-five, some nonsense about insurance. I think they just wanted to bring in someone younger.” She took a sip of her wine. She’d told this story many times before, but she thought maybe the stakes were much higher today.

  “They moved me to the political desk, and it wasn’t a very good fit. I refused to spin something the way they wanted, and so I got the boot. I guess I wasn’t politically correct enough for the Capitol region.” She said it matter of factly.

  She’d known the DC assignment was bogus from the moment she walked into the studio. The crew resented her inexperience in their arena, and the lawmakers and lobbyists hated her because she had a smidgen of morals.

  “I hit the road and started shooting personality features for the internet. You’d be amazed at what you can do with today’s technology.”

  Asa still hadn’t made a move, either toward the door or his wine, so she continued.

  “I’ve put a few miles on my RV in the last two years. Met a bunch of interesting people. I’ll bet some of them were just like you. Especially a girl in Omaha.” Still nothing. “Her name is Olivia.” She met his gaze, not daring to blink.

  Something compelled her to make sure Asa Dobbs didn’t leave without her today. Entirely too much rode on it, though she had no earthly idea what could weigh so heavily.

  He settled into his chair in a way that made her realize he’d been ready to bolt if necessary. Now he seemed all comfortable and somehow lethal. Like a big cat, gazing at her with sleepy eyes. He raised the glass of wine to his lips and her gaze was drawn to the action like a moth to a flame.

  Then he smiled and almost burned her world down.

  “Before Pedersen, I was trying to figure out how to make you hear me out,” he admitted.

  She blinked hard a few times. Asa Dobbs looked fantastic, was hitting all of her buttons right now, but there was more here than a quick lay. What he was, what they might be, was more important than physical gratification that would only last a night.

  She cleared her throat, took a nervous sip of wine, and had a brief pang. When had she been tongue tied? Not for at least a decade, maybe more. But the importance of this weighed on her more than almost anything had in her life.

  As if she had any idea what “this” was.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she replied. “Carmichael said something about you, all those years ago, said you’d seen the ambush.”

  His expression went shuttered in seconds, and she was almost sorry she’d said anything. But she’d never been shy, had never been one to sugarcoat things.

  “At the time I figured it was pillow talk, but now, after the things I’ve seen, or think I’ve seen, on the road, I have to wonder.”

  He remained silent, making her think his admission on their teamwork was a slip of the tongue. So she bulled forward. It was all she knew, anyway.

  “I heard Pedersen. If you hadn’t intervened, he’d be dead right now. What was so important about him?”

  Dobbs studied her with an expression she’d only seen downrange, usually after a firefight. It wasn’t a thousand-yard stare. It was as if there was a three-foot force field around him, and nothing could get through.

  She didn’t think he would answer, and almost spit out her wine in mid-sip when he did.

  “It’s not him, it’s his daughter.”

  HER ACCEPTANCE OF HIS talent, of his statements, seemed too easy. If she’d been anyone but Cam Ryder, he’d suspect she had an alternate, perhaps tabloid, agenda.

  But no, she was who she was and a wave of relief spread through him. There wasn’t a whole lot of subterfuge around Cam, which likely why she’d been canned from the political beat. Yeah, he could see her working on her own, doing the indie thing, producing personality features for the ‘net.

  Where did that leave him? Had Pedersen—and his daughter, by extension—actually been who he was supposed to save? Then Cam answered his question without even realizing he’d asked it.

  “Who were you supposed to save that day in Afghanistan?” she asked him, her expression and tone direct and to the point, then took a delicate sip of wine. His gaze was drawn to her lips, stained briefly by the wine, before he pulled himself away.

  He gulped. Both her question and her presence, right her
e and now, were disconcerting. He still wasn’t exactly sure who’d been his target on the rafting trip. What if both she and Pedersen’s deaths were tragedies? How could he live with himself if he made an assumption? Especially one that might be wrong. No, he’d go with his gut on this one, team up with Cam and see where it led. He had absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, letting his gaze go past her, to the deck and beyond, to the canyon. “I’ve never tried to find out. I have the vision, I tell someone, and usually they do something about it.” He left it at that. No need for her to know about the details of his employment by the NSA, or about Global Dynamics.

  “Until today, that seemed to be an adequate course of action.” He pulled his gaze back from the canyon, centered his attention on her. “I get the feeling that’s about to change.”

  Chapter Three

  In a million years Asa wouldn’t have pegged Cam as listening to girl power music. She’d laughed when he’d made a face the first time Natalie Merchant and Sarah McLaughlin played, then enjoyed rubbing it in every time they stopped for the night.

  They’d fallen into a weird existence over the last two weeks, basically wandering around the southwest, she driving her RV, him scouting ahead in his Jeep. There was no real rhyme or reason to their path, they just drove and then stopped for the night, usually eating at a small-town diner.

  The first night in Flagstaff had been pizza and beer at a locals-only joint Cam had somehow found. By the end of the night she’d collected names of people to visit in Santa Fe and Albuquerque and Laramie. Friends of friends of friends.

  It was actually kind of frightening how quickly she pried open strangers’ lives, how easily they gave in to her. He’d wondered, that first night, if she had a talent of her own, if she was unconsciously using the talent of coercion to get what she wanted, but he’d felt nothing from her in the entire time except her genuine interest in the people around her.

  Now, two weeks later, he could say with reasonable authority she wasn’t Talented, just a damned good journalist.

  This week they’d stopped in Tin Cup, Colorado. It was a small little town, population of about five thousand. There was enough year-round commerce to support a diner, general store, a campground and some cabins. Now, after Labor Day, the tourist crush had thinned to only the hardiest adventurers and fishermen.

  The area around them was beautiful and wild, the people strong and independent.

  Cam’s current video feature was about the descendants of the man who’d settled the town, and how each generation had served in the armed forces. They were in Tin Cup to interview the family of the subject of the piece, who was a coast guardsman currently stationed in Oregon. Her father had been infantry in Desert Storm One, her grandfather an F4 pilot in ‘Nam.

  Right now Cam was in the RV, which she’d named Betsy for some ungodly reason, filming the last pieces. It amazed Asa that she’d been able to set up a small studio in an RV, but everything was so small and portable nowadays he supposed it made sense.

  He thrummed his fingers on the table of the diner, coffee going cold in front of him.

  While Cam had gotten her feel-good story, he was feeling something else entirely.

  The man sitting in the corner booth of the diner had a slick, thousand-dollar-suit look to him that was totally out of place in this small mountain town.

  The waitress, a cute little pixie of a girl by the name of Susie, gave the man a wide berth. So much so that Asa focused on him even more. At first he’d thought the man had made an unwelcome pass at Susie, or gotten handsy with her. But that wasn’t it.

  Now he was settling in to watch. The man had his own cup of coffee sitting untouched, a laptop open in front of him, shiny smart phone next to the computer. All wired in, or at least that was the look of it.

  Susie swung by to refresh Asa’s java, and he jerked his head toward the stranger. “What’s his story?”

  She looked a bit nervous for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “He’s a real estate developer. Buying up a bunch of land for a resort or something.”

  Asa looked hard at her and she flushed at the intensity of his attention. “He makes you uncomfortable. Has he done something inappropriate?”

  She snorted in response, and the action loosened something inside. He didn’t play nicely with predators. Never had. Never would.

  “No, it’s not that. I just feel weird whenever I’m around him. Like I’m supposed to do whatever he says, even if I don’t like it.” She gave the man in the corner one last peek, then turned her attention to Asa. “What about you, honey?”

  He smiled. She was angling for a good tip. Odds were she was married, or had a hulking farmboy of a boyfriend who’d beat the tar out of anyone who displayed just a little too much interest.

  “I’m here with Cam,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the motorhome in the campground on the other side of the parking lot.

  “Oh,” the waitress breathed, awe crossing her face. “I remember seeing her on the news when I was little. She always looked so tough, so ready to take on the world. Is she really like that?”

  Asa chuckled. “She is, indeed.”

  “I’d love to meet her,” the waitress said shyly.

  Asa smiled. The girl’s hero worship would make Cam crazy, which made him even more motivated to have the two meet. Plus, he wanted Cam’s take on the man in the corner. Something was off with the guy.

  “Hang tight for a sec,” he said, leaving a twenty on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  He pounded on Betsy’s door until Cam opened the door, annoyance on her remarkable face. “What the fuck, Asa? Working here.”

  “Need you inside,” he replied. “Need your read on someone.” He didn’t mention Susie’s request. He was interested in, and prepared to be very amused by, Cam’s response to the girl’s admiration of her.

  They entered the diner together, but the man in the corner was gone, as if he’d never existed.

  “He left,” Susie said, bewilderment creasing her forehead. “Right after you walked out, almost like he was waiting.”

  “It’s all good,” Asa said, soothing her. “Hey, this is Cam.”

  Cam shot him an exceedingly dirty look before turning her attention to the waitress, leaving Asa free to look out the big picture window, trying to find the mystery man.

  He was going to be a problem to this town. Asa didn’t need a vision to tell him that.

  SHE AND ASA SETTLED into their now-customary after-dinner drink. It didn’t matter where it was, by a campfire, chilling in front of Betsy, or somewhere only his Jeep could go, they’d fallen into a routine like an old married couple. Or a set of partners. But they were still a set of partners learning about each other.

  “What bothered you so much about the diner today?” she asked as she sipped amaretto. Her whiskey days were few and far between now that she’d cruised past forty-five.

  Asa rolled his glass between his fingers. Tonight he’d opted for vodka, and it wasn’t his first. If it had impaired him in any way, she would have said something. But since the campground was only a block from the local hotel, he wasn’t driving anywhere. Everyone had their own ways of coping, especially people like her and Asa. They’d seen things, done things, most normal Americans couldn’t even fathom.

  If Asa’s gig was booze, and hers was diving into work, then who was she to object?

  “The guy you didn’t get a chance to see,” he finally said, his tone introspective. “Susie was leery of him, and not because he grabbed her ass. I think he may be compelling people to sell their land on the cheap for his development.”

  Well, that was one hell of a stretch, Cam thought as she fought to keep her expression blank. Compelling, huh? “Did you see something?”

  He shook his head and rolled the empty glass between his palms some more. “No. But he feels wrong.” He paused, as if contemplating something, then turned his attention directly to her. “Y
ou’ve asked about what I can see, about when I see it, why I see it.”

  “And you not-so-skillfully evaded the questions,” she said, settling back in her chair. “I want to know what drives you, Asa. What you see when you get that thousand-yard stare.”

  “It started when I was a kid,” his voice went soft and deep, as if he’d gone back in time. “Freaked my family the hell out. I didn’t get them often... I think it was because I didn’t know enough about the world to give my own subconscious a frame of reference.” His gaze met hers again. “I see tragedies, Cam. Occurrences or deaths that aren’t just tragedies to the people they happen to, but that affect a population or dynamic dramatically.”

  Cam sucked in a breath. She’d suspected something like this, but to hear him put it so baldly... It made her wonder exactly what he’d seen when he looked at her that day he’d saved them all on the river.

  “Pedersen’s daughter?”

  “Will do something amazing, probably on the physics front. But if her father isn’t there to raise her...”

  “Then bad shit will happen,” Cam finished. She sat still for a moment, then voiced what she’d been trying to ask for two weeks, without having the words. “Why me, why now?”

  Asa set his glass down. “After Carmichael died I had a vision of myself eating my own handgun.”

  He said the words just as bluntly as he’d described seeing tragedies, and that quickly, she understood. His suicide would have been a tragedy. Given the things she suspected he’d seen and done over the years, it might have been a tragedy of untold consequences.

  She tried to ignore the fact her heart hurt at the idea of a world without Asa in it. He was her companion, nothing more.

  He continued. “So I took a leave of absence and hit the road.”

  “This consulting firm you work for, what’s the story there?”