Page 5 of Protecting the Flame

“Paisley,” the girl said. “Thank God, I’m still a Moore.”

“Paisley? Seriously?” Emma laughed. “Panty-ass name.”

“Hey!” Scott purpled. “Who the fuck you calling panty-ass?”

“Who threatens to beat up a kid?” Emma shot back. “I’m documenting all this for the record.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy!” Scott’s ferret-like nose twitched. “You ain’t got the right!”

“We’re in a public space,” the girl reminded him.

Ooo, that kid needed to learn when to cool it. “Last time I checked,” Emma said, “it’s still a free country, child abuse is illegal, you are in a public space, and reporters gather all the news that’s fit to print.”

“Really?” The girl looked at Emma with new respect. “You work for The New York Times?”

In my dreams. If her commanding officer had anything to say about it, her next assignment might be a permanent posting to Outer Mongolia where she’d be a regular contributor to the Tibetan Tribune. Did the Air Force have listening posts out there? If not, they might build one just for her.

“The Times might be interested,” she said to the kid. “Or The Washington Post, that’s a good one. So, Scott…” She touched off another burst and wondered when airport security was going to get its act together and storm to the rescue. “Is that Paisley like the design or with a Y?”

“Please.” The girl’s mother slid in front of Scott, though whether she was shielding or restraining him was unclear “Thank you, but we’re okay now.” She put a hand on Scott’s arm. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

For a second, Emma thought it could go either way. But then it seemed as if the guy’s common sense kicked in. “Yeah, we’re good. We’re fine.” Stuffing his fists in his pockets, Scott gave them all a parting glower. “I’m going to get a coffee and something to eat, have a smoke. I’ll meet you there.”

As Scott stalked off, the girl looked up at her mother. “That went well.”

“Do you ever stop?” Rachel backhanded a wisp of hair from her forehead. “You’re making this so much harder than it already is. He’s trying.”

“I agree, he’s very trying.” Then, the girl sighed and leaned into her mother’s side. “Sorry.” She looked, suddenly, as if working so hard to be the only adult in the room was simply too much. “I’m just mad.”

“I know.” Looking toward Emma, Rachel gave a wan smile. “Thank you for your concern, but we’re good now. Are you really a reporter?” When Emma nodded, Rachel said, timidly, “You wouldn’t use—”

Emma shook her head. “Of course not. No harm, no foul.” Besides, threats were only words. Threats were like the bullets in a loaded gun: lethal only if you pulled the trigger.

“Thanks,” the girl said as she and her mother walked off. “I’m Mattie.”

“Emma,” she said. “Later, gator.”

She never dreamt for a second that this might come true.