Rescue You

by Elysia Whisler

  “You’re saying no inside, while saying yes with your mouth,” Constance explained. “Yes—” she nodded “—and no—” she shook her head “—occur at different joints. When you’re thinking no, your neurons are already firing for no.” Constance shook her head again. “But you’re thinking no, and saying yes.” She nodded. “The muscles you primed to say no are fired but don’t get to move. And you’re in pain because of it.”

  Detective Callahan rubbed his neck and cracked a smile. “So lying is literally a pain in the neck?”

  “Sure.” Constance had a better sense of him, now that she’d touched him. He was crisp and tidy as the mint gum he chewed. Hard-nosed and insightful but could list to the lazy side if not kept in check. “Your body tells you everything you need to know. If you pay attention.”

  Detective Callahan took his cup of coffee and sipped. “You massage humans? Or just the dogs?”

  “Both.” These days, Constance preferred the dogs, but kept that to herself.

  “You work at one of those big chains? Massage Glory or whatever?”

  Constance collected her purse. “No,” she said. “They can’t afford me.”

  He smiled, then handed her a business card. “Here. Call me if you think of anything. That’ll get you straight to me.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and—” he kept his hand outstretched “—I will take that card of yours. Just in case my buddy needs it.”

  Constance dug out one of Pete’s business cards and handed it over. She pointed toward the detective’s neck. “Come clean if you want to feel better.”

  As she left, she resisted the urge to rub the back of her own neck. Once she was safely out of the police station, she called Sunny.

  “Are you in jail?” Sunny said as soon as she answered.

  “No. All good. On my way home.”

  “Better stay off the Matteri property for a while. Even the abandoned lots, like where you found Chevy.”

  “You give yourself that lecture?” Constance’s voice was terse. “You’re the one who went too far last time you hit Janice’s mill. You took too many at once.”

  “I couldn’t help it.” Sunny’s voice went soft. “I wanted to grab them all. In fact, there’s a beagle I want to go back for. He was too afraid to come with me last time—”

  “No. You have to lie low with Janice. But that reminds me.” Constance paused and bit her lip. She really shouldn’t egg Sunny on. “Thirteen White Fern Road.”

  There was a pause at the other end. “You spotted a new dog?”

  “Yes. While I was out working yesterday. I had a travel-to on that road. This was a distant neighbor I drove by. Large, black dog. Maybe a rottweiler? He was outside both before and after the massage. Just seemed thin. Something’s off. But needs further investigation to know for sure.” Constance had never liked the fact that her sister stole dogs. On the other hand, she couldn’t stop herself from letting Sunny know when she saw one that was neglected. It was a dual-edged sword she’d yet to learn how to wield.

  “I’ll check it out for sure.”

  “All right. But be careful. They might be watching you now.”

  “You know I will.”

  three

  In his dreams, they were still alive. At least for a little while. Devon, with his big grin and the dance moves that won him the ladies’ attention, and Masters, tall and droopy like a willow tree, smiling half as often as Devon and couldn’t dance a lick. Rhett rushed all his men into the bunker as soon as warning sirens blared. Only Devon and Masters were missing. In his dreams, Rhett knew about the rockets before they hit. He’d call out, searching for Devon and Masters, but his voice came out silent.

  The explosions happened, no matter what, no matter how many times Rhett’s slumbering brain tried to rewrite the story. About ninety percent of the time, the explosion was his alarm going off. Most people dreaded the alarm, but not him.

  The alarm was a relief.

  He reached, and a few empty beer bottles hit the floor. One smashed into sharp chunks. They were old, had been there for days, but Rhett wasn’t much into cleaning lately. He wasn’t going to lie—those beer bottles would be fresh every night, just enough to dull the dreams, if his physical well-being weren’t so important to his job. He fumbled with his cell phone and rubbed his bleary eyes just enough to see so he could turn the damn thing off.

  He got up. Pissed. Took a shower. Cleaned up the glass. Ate.

  Did the stuff everybody else did. The fog began to lift, the memories to recede. The nightmares retreated to their corners, shied by the sunlight.

  It was one bright, sunny fucking day.

  Despite being ten miles away, the booms from the Quantico marine base shook Rhett’s town house enough to make the glass rattle in the cupboards. The shadow box containing his Purple Heart, propped on an end table with old magazines, shuddered against the wall. A gift from his mother. Rhett sank to the couch, covered his ears and waited. He willed the shadow box to fall over, the glass to shatter. But it settled at an angle, teetering but safe.

  “The beer bottles break and the shadow box doesn’t.” Rhett shook his head and glanced at the ceiling. “Shut up,” he said. “I got it under control.”

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. Melinda. “Hey, fatso.” Even though she weighed about a hundred pounds.

  “Worst brother ever.”

  “Yep. Got the award to prove it.”

  “You awake?”

  “Um. Duh.” Rhett tossed his dishes in the sink, next to the others.

  “You at work?”

  “Going now.” He found his car keys, buried in a pile of unopened mail.

  Melinda made some kind of growling noise. “Beast,” she said. “Do you think you could bench-press your little sister’s fat ass?”

  Rhett tripped over his sneakers, then grabbed them. “Two of you in each hand.” He sank down on the top step and shoved in his left foot, then his right. “Hey. Why’re you bothering me so early?” He cradled the phone against his ear and laced up his sneakers.

  “Mama’s making me ask about Thanksgiving. Again. You coming down?”

  Driving down to North Carolina, in holiday traffic. Papa, making enough food to feed a small army. Turkey, yes. But also Papa’s “secret recipe” hot sauce, homemade corn tortillas and, the next day, chilaquiles with leftover turkey thrown in—Papa loved mixing up the cuisine. Lazing in front of football all day with Mama, moving from the couch only long enough to eat. All sounded great, except for the traffic. “Nah,” Rhett said, even though he wouldn’t mind seeing his baby sister and little nieces. And getting the leftover food. Mama would stuff his car full and he’d be in hog heaven for a week. “Too busy. I told Mama that weeks ago. She only hears what she wants to hear.”

  “That sucks. Just be forewarned, Mama may do something stupid if you don’t come.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You know Mama.”

  “It’s fine. I want to work.” He’d much rather train the bulky powerlifters, the soccer moms who wanted to be “toned,” the rich girls with all the money to spend but not a speck of intensity or even the little old ladies cheating death by lifting their very first barbells than do the Happy Family Holiday Thing. Anything was better than the Happy Family Holiday Thing. That was a pill he just couldn’t swallow right now. “And hey. I’ll save you another call, Mel. Tell Mama I’m not coming for Christmas, either.”

  A long silence followed. “You really want me to tell her that?”

  “Yep. Might as well.”

  “Why not, Rhett? Surely you can get away for a few days—”

  “Not—” Rhett stood up and tested his leg “—coming.” His quad was worse today than yesterday. But he should be fine once he got warmed up.

  “All right.” Melinda gave a resigned sigh. “Go sweat i
t all out. But call me later. Tonight, maybe, just to check in.”

  “What if I have a hot date?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.”

  Click.

  Rhett braced himself for the cold, which he felt in both knees and his left shoulder. He ran his hand over the right thigh, which took the drop in barometric pressure hardest. He didn’t need a weather report to know a cold front had moved in overnight. His battered body told him everything.

  Just as he cracked the front door, the booms shook the house again. Rhett leaned in the door frame, closed his eyes and waited. Once it passed, he cleared his throat, opened his eyes and watched his breath turn to steam. All good.

  No big deal. He was all good.

  * * *

  Rhett grabbed the headphone cord near Samuel’s ear and yanked the bud out. “Hey.”

  Samuel took out the other side and let it dangle down his chest. “What’d you say?”

  “I said, don’t wear this shit in my class. This isn’t open gym.”

  “All right, man.” Samuel spread open his big hands and took a step back. “Chill.”

  “Don’t tell me to chill.” Rhett pointed a finger at Samuel’s chest. “You came to me, remember? You want me to get you ready for your next meet. You want to increase your jerk by fifty pounds. You have all these goals. None of which are going to happen if you’re not serious.”

  “I am serious, man. Shit. Sorry.” Samuel’s pale face went ruddy from ears to chin. He pulled his phone, attached to the earbuds, from his pocket and set it down on the jerk blocks. “Let’s go. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Good.” Rhett pointed at the phone. “Get that shit off my jerk blocks. This ain’t your living room. Grab a barbell. That’s what’s supposed to go there.”

  “Yes, sir.” Samuel stripped off his hoodie and tossed it on the bench. He thought better of it, grabbed the hoodie, folded it up neatly and laid it on his gym bag.

  As he went to grab a barbell, Rhett saw Hobbs in the corner, laughing. “What’s your problem?” Rhett shot at him.

  “Just glad I’m not one of your PT clients, Santos.” Hobbs walked over, iPad in hand, his chuckles dying down as he watched Samuel put on his wrist wraps, his face solemn.

  “People need to get in here ready to work. Don’t waste my time.” Rhett’s voice rose at the end, to ensure Samuel could hear him.

  Samuel sniffed, his teeth holding the strap while he wound the fabric around his wrist. He was a good guy actually. Just young. Late twenties, college-educated, never had to care about anything but himself. He was strong and worked steady, but lacked that edge Rhett desired in a client. Old or young, man or woman, Rhett didn’t care. But give him a client with fire in the soul and a hungry heart and he was a happy man.

  “Just leave the customer relations to me, man,” Hobbs said. “You’re a bit abrasive.”

  “The gym is thriving,” Rhett shot back. “I’ll run my gym my way.”

  “Settle down.” Hobbs spread his hands open. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to talk holidays. So, you’re going to be around all Thanksgiving weekend?” Hobbs let his humor die away, reluctantly, and tapped on his iPad.

  “All Thanksgiving week,” Rhett corrected. “And Christmas, too.”

  “Even better.” Hobbs tapped the screen with his stylus, a lazy smile on his square jaw the only remnant of his mirth. “I guess. Kind of lame actually. You’re not going home?”

  “No.” Rhett watched Samuel warm up his jerk, using the racks for what they were meant for. “But that doesn’t mean I want to cover everything.” He gave Hobbs a sidelong glance. If he hadn’t known Hobbs since basic training, he doubted he could put up with that easy-rider attitude. Then again, Hobbs was right, about Rhett staying out of the customer relations. He turned back to Samuel. “More speed under the bar!”

  “Liar.” Hobbs flashed that easy smile again, the one all the ladies went crazy for. It was genuine, but not special. Any woman with a pulse was treated to that grin. “You’d happily cover every single class if I fired every last coach and turned in my key. Anything to keep your heartbeat up.”

  “Go home to Nebraska,” Rhett said. “I’ll be here for the holidays.”

  Hobbs was quiet a second while they both watched Samuel, who was adding weight too quickly, load up his bar. Rhett let it happen. Experience was the best teacher.

  “You know what you need?” Hobbs’s grin was back.

  Rhett waited for the usual. You need to get laid.

  “You need fresh blood. A new project to sink your teeth into. A superstar teenager who could make the Olympics. Something like that.”

  “You know what you need?”

  Hobbs’s smile didn’t fade while he waited for the punch line.

  “A kick in the ass.”

  Hobbs bent over and stuck his rock-hard butt in the air. He puckered his lips. “Only if you do it, big boy.”

  “Get away from me.”

  As Hobbs burst into laughter and headed for the office, Samuel failed his third warm-up jerk. The barbell slammed into the jerk blocks so hard everyone in the gym—which was about twenty stay-at-home moms doing boot camp—gasped and snapped their heads toward the weight-lifting area.

  “I think I warmed up too quick,” Samuel said, his long face sheepish.

  “Ya think?” Rhett sighed. His leg ached. He was going to need more coffee to get through this day.

  “Hey, Rhett.” One of the boot camp ladies strolled by, her ass hanging out of a pair of booty shorts that were a size too small. “When can I get a private lesson?” She sipped from her water bottle, which left a ring of pink lipstick around the nozzle.

  Rhett nodded toward Zoe, his most reliable coach, high-fiving the rest of the ladies who had just finished their workout. She was young, fit, stronger than most of the men and had an infectious personality. “Check with Zoe.”

  The woman—Candy? Caty? Corey?—thrust out her chest. Her cleavage sported a sheen of sweat. “I was hoping you could do it. I like the boot camp but I’m really interested in learning the barbell. I want to learn it right.”

  “Zoe’s USAW certified,” Rhett said. “You go through her Level 1 before you move on to Levels 2 and 3. I do mostly Level 3, some Level 2 on a case-by-case basis.”

  “Okay.” The woman twirled a piece of her dark hair around her finger. “I’ll check with Zoe, then.” She turned with a little huff and grabbed her baby backpack from the floor.

  “Jeez, dude.” Hobbs hadn’t quite made it to the office yet. “Can’t you tell when a chick is hitting on you?” He watched the woman walk with determined strides toward the exit.

  “Yes.” Rhett followed Hobbs’s gaze. Kitty. That was her name. “I can.”

  “You’re made of stone.”

  “I’m particular,” Rhett countered. “She gives fifty percent every workout. She’s here more for the social hour than the exercise. She’s got those fake nails.” Rhett gave a creeped-out shiver. “And, most important, she’s a client.”

  “And you take everything too seriously. You don’t have to fall in love with her. Just go on a date and have some fun.”

  Rhett stiffened. He glared at Hobbs, who knew he’d gone too far. “You got somewhere to be?”

  “I sure do. Like, right now. Far, far away from you.” Hobbs shook his head. “Man of steel,” he repeated as he walked away.

  Rhett ran his fist over the scarring on his right leg and winced. If only that were true.

  “Leg still being a pain in the ass?”

  Rhett knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in months. He turned around and his mouth spread into a slow smile. “Callahan. You lazy SOB. How long’s it been?”

  Sean offered a sheepish grin. “Two months?”

  “Try four.” Rhett knew
exactly how long it had been since Sean had been in for a workout. “And you’re getting the soft belly to prove it.” Rhett couldn’t actually see Sean’s abs at the moment. He was wearing a winter jacket over his shorts and Semper Fit T-shirt. But he’d known Sean long enough to know there was a soft spot for the doughnuts that stereotyped the police world.

  Sean rubbed his middle. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m carrying a little extra. But—” he dropped his gym bag on the floor and peeled off his coat “—I’m here.”

  “Guess you’ve been too busy catching thieves to keep in shape, huh?” Rhett nodded toward the main area of the gym, where the first evening class was starting to gather. “We’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve texted so many times. Invited you out with the guys. You never come.”

  Rhett felt a wave of guilt, followed by fatigue. Just the thought of hanging out in a noisy bar made him want to burrow under the covers. “I’m a busy man.” He faked a casual voice. “You know where I’m at.”

  “Hey, I’m a busy man, too.” Sean beat his chest with a grin. “People will steal anything that’s not nailed down. Money, groceries...dogs.”

  “Dogs?” Rhett laughed. “Now that’s a good story, I bet.”

  “Had this woman in today. Works with rescues and service dogs. In fact, I’ve got the contact info. You might be interested.” Sean’s voice trailed off as his gaze went from the spot Rhett kept working on his quad, to his gym bag, now on the floor by his feet. “Eh, never mind.” Sean waved a hand. “We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to go get warmed up.”

  “Good idea.” Rhett kneeled down, against the wall, and did the couch stretch for his bad leg. Sometimes it helped. At least for a little while. As he leaned there, breathing deeply into the pit of his stomach and exhaling slowly against the pain, he realized he was both glad and uncomfortable that Sean was here. He’d missed his best buddy and USMC brother, there was no denying that. But Sean was also the only person that could see right through him. Rhett got away with exactly zero bullshit with Sean Callahan, and the same was true the other way around.

  “C’mon, Santos!” Sean called from across the gym. “Quit babying your leg and get over here.”