Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  “It’s a good thing you haven’t tried to fix the leaking roof,” he commented. “You’d pull the ceiling down on top of you.”

  Miki didn’t bother defending herself. After all, he was probably right.

  “I didn’t expect you back so soon,” was all she said.

  “I popped down to Santa Monica to visit Lena for a bit.”

  “How is she?” Overwhelmed with sudden homesickness, Miki sighed. She hadn’t discovered any trolls or axe murders in this picturesque town yet, but it was definitely starting to feel like a horror novel.

  “She’s as bossy as ever,” he said with a shrug. “We hit Karma Café for dessert. The entire meal was spent with Lena nagging at me to get back and take care of you since she’s stuck with clients all week and can’t visit.”

  Miki sniffed, but refused to feel guilty. They were the ones who’d decided she needed a babysitter. She would be fine on her own. She glanced at the ceiling, the scent of moldy paper still clinging to her. Maybe. She rinsed the mushrooms and peppers, then with a grimace at the disgusting stained countertop, she set them in a bowl while she dug through an open box for her cutting board.

  “And who should walk in but Perry the Pig.”

  A spasm kinked her neck and Miki turned, knife in hand, to stare. Satisfied he had her attention, Ryan leaned back on the stool with a smug look. She had to force herself not to kick the seat out from under him. It wasn’t like he’d tell her any faster squirming on the floor.

  Instead, she shrugged and, acting like her stomach wasn’t knotted and ready to rebel, turned back to the vegetables.

  “I’m not surprised. Perry always did like dessert.”

  “I’ll say.” Ryan snickered. “But unless he’s getting it delivered, he won’t be having chocolate trifle any time soon.”

  “Is there a point to this, Ryan?” Miki seeded the peppers in an easy, practiced move. “If so, can you get to it?”

  Ryan snitched a slice of pepper and Miki glanced up at him.

  “It seems Perry the Pig has gotten himself tossed out of quite a few restaurants lately. He can’t seem to keep his pants zipped at the table, if you know what I mean.”

  Miki’s knife froze and she bit back a groan. Damn. The curse wasn’t waning. It was getting worse.

  “I’m not surprised you ripped the screws out of that cabinet door, Mik. After all, you’ve already put the royal screw to your ex.”

  “That’s why you’re back so soon?”

  “Yep. Lena is keeping Mom distracted.”

  Terror washed over Miki like a blast of Novocain. Frozen and numb, she stared at her brother.

  “No,” she breathed.

  “Yep. Seems Mom’s heard a few rumors and rumblings through the gossip chain.”

  “She’s not coming here, is she?” Miki croaked. Not that she didn’t love her mother, but the woman made Attila the Hun look open minded.

  “Nope, she doesn’t know where you are. All she’s got from Lena is that you’ve gone off to refamiliarize yourself with your returned powers.”

  “And the curse on Perry?”

  Ryan screwed his face up in a frown and shrugged.

  “Can’t say. I mean, if she sees the guy, it’s obvious. But Lena’s been trying to keep her out of restaurants. Those seem to attract the worst of Perry’s passions,” he mused. He raised a brow and angled his chin. “How’d you pull that off, by the way? That’s one hell of a curse to be so specific. It’s like it keeps building on itself. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were compounding it.”

  “I’m not,” she insisted.

  “I believe you. But you have to remove it, Mik. The more trouble Perry gets into because of the curse, the more karmic rebound you’ll get.”

  Not sure what to say, Miki just nodded and slid the chopped vegetables into a pan of hot oil. She shook the pan with one hand, keeping them moving as she tossed in spices and a splash of red wine. She returned it to the heat and, seeing the pot of water was boiling, added the pasta.

  “Miki?”

  “I know I have to remove it, Ryan. I’ve tried remembering the curse. I’ve tried universal remedies. I’ve tried blessing spells to counteract it. And I know I’m going to pay the price for anything bad that happens to Perry because of it.” She shrugged, even though the muscles in her neck were so tight it hurt to move her shoulders. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “What happened to your powers? They were solid when I left two days ago. Today it looked like they’d gone to hell.”

  She wasn’t about to admit her hunky mistake so she shrugged again. “They’ve been bad since you left.”

  Miki made a show of being busy. She stirred the pasta, shook the veggies, and grabbed tomatoes. Ryan watched her wash and chop with a squinty-eyed look of suspicion. Then he shrugged.

  “We’re going to have to work a lot harder then. Lena threatened to pull my eyelashes out if I left again before you’d removed the curse.”

  Miki gave a reluctant laugh. Ryan’s eyelashes had always been a point of contention for his less-endowed sisters. She added the tomatoes to the pan of vegetables.

  “Why don’t you hire that handyman to handle the work around here? Make this place livable and free you up for the important work.”

  Miki’s hand froze, along with the breath in her throat.

  “Gideon? I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Sure it is. We can’t work in this deathtrap, and you obviously can’t fix it yourself. Hire the handyman. Smile pretty for him and wear a skirt and he’ll probably give you a discount.”

  “I can’t afford him, even with a discount.” In more ways than one.

  “C’mon, Mik. How many guys do you think this town has who could do the job? Be practical. Look, if it’s the money, Lena and I can help.”

  She drained the pasta and added it to the pan of vegetables, flipping once or twice to coat the noodles in the aromatic sauce. She dished the meal onto two plates and handed her brother one, along with a fork and napkin.

  “You guys don’t have any more money than I do.”

  “No, but we have an idea.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  “It involves eBay, your old furniture, and another shot at screwing over Perry.”

  Miki looked around the kitchen, which was even worse off since she’d arrived. Her magic was a mess, the curse was escalating, and her house was falling down around her ears.

  But unless she could make this house livable to sell it, she was trapped here.

  Did she have a choice?

  * * *

  Gideon slouched in the hard-backed chair and wished he’d had another cup of coffee with dinner. Maybe that would have helped fend off the waves of boredom-induced fatigue.

  Instead, he tried to focus on the droning voice of the mayor. That just made it worse.

  “Sit up straight,” his mother hissed as she slid into the seat next to him. Without turning his head, Gideon glanced over, then rolled his eyes.

  “What the hell are you wearing? Where did you get that?”

  That was his father’s picture, ironed on the front of a crisp white tee shirt.

  “Keep your voice down, Gideon.” She looked around the room, smiling and nodding as people glanced their way. Then, still seated on the edge of her seat, she opened a notebook and, pen poised, looked like she was ready to take dictation.

  “Why do you bother? Nothing new is ever said at these things.”

  “I’m keeping track of all the promises our current mayor makes and breaks. It’s useful for his anti-reelection campaign.”

  “And the tee shirt?”

  “A reminder of what a real mayor should look like.”

  From the vicious glare on Reggie Compton’s face, he didn’t much like the reminder. Tall, bald, and skinny, Reggie reminded Gideon of a pool cue. And like a cue left out in the damp weather, the mayor was too crooked to be of much good.

  “Perhaps we should pause the meeting
for the Rosses to finish their little family chat?” Reggie spat.

  Deloris tutted, but before she could teach their glorious leader her version of Town Meeting etiquette, Gideon waved his hand.

  “Nah, you’re not interrupting us. Go ahead, continue with what you were saying.”

  Gideon was pretty sure the people sitting in the back of the library could hear the squeaky grind of Reggie’s teeth, but he kept his face straight. He might not be free to run for mayor himself, but he’d be damned if he’d sit idly by and watch this loser run the town any further into the ground than it already was.

  “As I was saying,” Reggie snapped, “Warner Plumbing is no longer in business here in Rossdale.”

  “That’s because they moved on over to McCall,” Marcia, the waitress, explained. “Rob Warner said he couldn’t scrape together enough business here to take care of his family. Not with the flower shop closing and his wife not being able to find nothing else that pays.”

  Reggie went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “I’ve made note to have Warner Plumbing removed from the town’s website. In the meantime, I’d like to compile a list of any townspeople with plumbing experience. In case of emergency or for repairs to one of the city’s holdings, we need a source.”

  Nobody spoke. Gideon slid down in his chair until he rested on his spine, his fingers steepled in front of him. Reggie would rather rip his own mustache off one hair at a time than ask Gideon for help. So Gideon made a special point to never volunteer for anything.

  “We have to have someone. Anyone? What happened to that Landers boy? He did some plumbing out at the Spud Doll Factory for me once.”

  “Don’t you keep track o’nothing?” Joe Denton snapped. The owner of Bea’s Diner wore the same cranky look on his face he’d had the last year and a half since his wife had taken to her bed in mourning of her daughter leaving town. Since Bea had been one hell of a good cook, especially with pies, most of the town mourned right along with her.

  “Landers kid took off,” Joe continued. “He joined up with those crazies out by the lake. Why don’t you quit worrying about your toilet overflowing and do something about them?”

  “Yeah, Compton. Them cult freaks scribbled graffiti all over my tractor and you still haven’t handled it.”

  “Now, Gene, you don’t know it was anyone from The Lights of Atlantis,” Reggie soothed. “They’re taxpaying citizens, just like everyone in this room. They can’t be blamed for someone taking their plumbing business elsewhere.”

  “It’s because of them that we’ve lost the winter traffic,” Gene claimed. “You know good and well those cult people bought up the land all around Glacier Road just so they could close it up. Nobody can reach the good ski areas anymore, so they stay on the highway until they reach Klamath instead.”

  “We’re losing businesses left and right,” Deloris claimed. “Another family is leaving town. It’s like a hemorrhaging wound. The life just keeps flowing out of Rossdale. We’ve lost how many citizens in the past year, Reggie? The past five years? As mayor, what exactly are you doing about it?”

  Reggie spouted bullshit for a few minutes, until Gideon simply couldn’t handle it any longer. By personality and training, he was man hardwired to act. Taking command was in his nature, but circumstances prevented that. But maybe it was time for covert action. The worst that could happen was the town blew to pieces instead of fading into nothingness.

  “Look, we have to do something,” Gideon interrupted, standing tall. “Unless we find an answer, and all pull together to make it happen, we might as well haul in the tumbleweeds and declare this place a ghost town.”

  “Fine idea,” Reggie said with a sneer. “I, after all, am the only business owner providing viable work for the majority of the town.”

  The only thing that kept Gideon from rolling his eyes was the fact that Reggie was, unfortunately, right. As the owner of the Spud Doll Factory, he kept most of Rossdale employed. And himself in office.

  “But I notice there’s a whole lot of ‘we need to do something’ going out there in the audience,” Reggie continued in that same condescending tone. “But where are the suggestions?”

  He waved a hand at his band of merry crooks he referred to as the town council.

  “The council is aware of what your mother and her cronies are up to, Gideon. Go ahead and stir up trouble and complaints. But I’m not the only one who notices for all your complaining, you don’t have any suggestions.”

  It wasn’t his mother’s hand on his forearm that kept Gideon from punching the supercilious look off Reggie’s pinched up face. It was the fact that despite being a huge blowhard, one good punch would probably snap the guy in two.

  “Just because a Ross founded this town doesn’t make the family necessary to its survival. After all, thanks to your family, Rossdale spent years harboring any mystical lunatic claiming to believe in magic. I’m sure that’s as much to blame for our current problems as anything else.”

  Deloris gave a low growl.

  “Why don’t we consider hosting fishing tournaments,” Gideon threw out before his mother could launch the vitriolic rebuttal he knew was brewing.

  He’d planned to mull on it a little longer, but from the looks of things, the town would either fade away or implode in argument before he’d nailed down the details.

  It took a whole minute for the bitching to stop and his words to sink in. Finally, everyone in the room, including Old Maggee who’d been snoring in the back corner, stared at him. Expressions ranged from irritation to indulgence to outright horror.

  It was those expressions that decided it for him. Gideon had plenty of doubts about the idea himself, sure. But now, especially in the face of Reggie’s condescending eye roll, his mother’s put-upon sigh and the terror on half the other faces in the room... well, it was obviously time for Gideon to take a stand.

  “Oh, please. What a ridiculous—” Reggie started.

  “Gideon, the last thing the town needs is a bunch of strangers tramping through like—” his mother said at the same time.

  “Mage Lake’s haunted.”

  “Bad stuff happens out there.”

  “Too close to those Atlantis-worshiping crazies. I hear they threatened to kill anyone who came to the lake.”

  “Okay,” Gideon roared over the bitching. “That’s enough. Reggie, you said you’d consider any suggestions. I just made one. Consider it.”

  “Look around, Gideon. Nobody is interested in your suggestion.”

  Gideon didn’t bother looking, nor did he pay any attention to the ‘shut up and go away’ message in Reggie’s tone. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow.

  “A suggestion has been put on the table. Let’s discuss it.” His tone made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any opposition.

  “Gideon,” his mother hissed.

  “Let’s discuss it,” he repeated, not looking at her. Reggie’s inefficiency was a hell of a lot easier to overrule than Deloris’s prejudices.

  “It’s your suggestion, why don’t you fill us in.” Smirk in place, Reggie returned to his seat on the dais. The floor was Gideon’s. Obviously, Reggie expected him to land on it face first.

  Ignoring that, Gideon moved in front of the dais. He didn’t climb it to take the rickety folding chair Reggie insisted presenters sit in. Instead he stood with his back to Reggie and faced the small crowd.

  “These fishing tournaments are big business. There are any number of groups holding them, both at the national level like BASS and the state level. Mage Lake is some of the best fishing around.”

  “Oh, please,” Reggie said. “Next thing you’ll be suggesting is we invite some of them Hollywood types here to make a film or TV show. Just cause something is big business doesn’t mean it’d work in Rossdale.”

  Gideon didn’t bother looking over his shoulder.

  “These tournaments bring people in for three-day weekends to fish. That might not sound like much, but
those that are serious about it will want to practice fish. They’d come in on their own to get to know the waters.”

  “Why would one of them tournaments want to come here?” Joe asked.

  “Good fishing, for one.” Unfortunately, it was the only reason Gideon had. After all, Rossdale wasn’t known for its hospitality. The long, leggy Miki had learned that the hard way.

  Gideon spared a brief thought to the woman who’d inspired lust-induced dreams. After that hot kiss a few days back, he’d been more interested than he should be in convincing the town to be a little more hospitable.

  “That kind of thing would cost the town a fortune to put together.”

  This time, Gideon did glance at Reggie. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. The man, like any good politician or snake oil salesman, knew how to gauge his audience. By playing the cost card, he’d automatically closed the minds of at least half the room.

  “There isn’t any major expenditure involved,” Gideon claimed, hoping he was right. “Obviously, before we moved on this, we’d get a thorough report of the risks and costs. As well as the potential profits and advantages.”

  “Why on earth should we consider this crazy plan?” Reba, Fred’s flowsy wife, asked.

  “There isn’t much point in hashing through the details of Rossdale’s decline.” Why bother? That’s all Reggie and his toadies usually did at these meetings. “I’m not going to waste all your time recycling the same old lament.”

  From the snickers and sly looks, they got his point.

  “Instead, I want you to consider what this could bring to Rossdale. Traffic through town would mean tourists. They’d be buying food, gas, trinkets, and doodads. Equipment and supplies. They’d need lodging, maybe even fishing guides. We pull this off, we could book six, maybe even eight weekends a season in tournaments. And don’t forget the practice fishing or people who like the area and might want to visit again.”

  He let that sink in. He could see the wheels turning as people considered what it could mean to each of them specifically. Gideon sucked in a breath and tried to shake the tension off his shoulders. He felt like he was walking a tight line here, the lure of leadership calling to him in one ear. The hissing warning of doom wailing in the other.