Page 68 of Red Rooster

“Ruby,” Palmer barked. “Didn’t you want to get some fruit?”

“I…Oh. I did.” Her gaze moved between them, worried. “I’ll just go and…”

“Yeah. ‘Fore it gets picked over.”

There was no one else in the restaurant, but Ruby nodded and pushed her chair back, walked over to the buffet.

Palmer’s eyes followed her progress, the gleam in them almost feverish; the gaze of someone who’d been in the sandbox too long, who saw hostiles in ever corner, behind every mundane potted plant. He kept his voice low, just for the two of them. “Alright, what do you want? And don’t gimme any bullshit about being a good Samaritan. You don’t owe us shit.”

Jake sighed. “Honestly?”

Palmer’s gaze slid over; his hand was still on his gun. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

He’d known, after that first side-of-the-road encounter, that he’d have to tread carefully. And so he’d rehearsed what he’d say in this situation, because he knew it was coming. And yet, he hadn’t prepared for the way the guy was staring at him: like killing him was preferable to listening to anything he had to say.

Jake took a gamble. “Look, I know you’re not gonna want to hear this – being the trigger-happy, paranoid freak that you obviously are – but I do a lot of pickups on the highway, sometimes almost a hundred miles away, and I hear lots of people’s stories when I’m giving them lifts.”

Palmer glowered at him, but he leaned forward a fraction, and that was something.

“Last year,” Jake continued, dropping his voice to a whisper, thanking God he’d always had a cool head in a firefight, because that’s what this felt like, “I picked up a long-haul trucker who’d just come through Tulsa, and he started telling me this crazy story. Said he was walking out of a gas station and saw this Tahoe full of black-ops looking guys go running across the parking lot, wearing all kinds of riot gear, toting full autos, toward this guy. This scary-looking guy in a Dodge truck with a redheaded girl with him.”

Palmer stiffened all over; he stopped breathing.

“People starting running and screaming, and taking cellphone videos. And this scary guy – this long-haired, military looking guy – he pulls a gun and tells the guys that if they don’t stop they’re all gonna wish they had. And they don’t stop. And theycatch on fire.”

Palmer let out one long, steady breath, expression never changing.

“When I saw you guys in the diner,” Jake said, even softer, sympathetic now, “and then when she spilled her coffee, and she healed me…I put two-and-two together.”

“Yeah. So,” Palmer bit out through clenched teeth. “What you gonna do about it?”

Jake shrugged. “I’m gonna see that your truck gets fixed and send you on your way. I figure it’s none of my business who you two are.”

“Yeah? That’s what you figure?”

Jake leaned back in his chair. “I loved being in the Army. I don’t know how I woulda survived without it. But I know that sometimes your country doesn’t always have your back. I know sometimes you have to go against an order.”

Something like recognition sparked in Palmer’s eyes, but briefly, there and gone again in a heartbeat.

“I don’t know what you’re running from, but I know you’re running. I know that your girl is special–”

Palmer growled.

“–and I know that being special can put a target on your back. I’m not a good Samaritan, no; just a guy who’s seen my fair share of people being used for the wrong reasons.”

They stared at one another, unblinking.

“So,” Palmer said. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. I don’t figure you’ll trust me, but I’m offering my help all the same.”

Ruby’s chair scraped back as she returned, bearing a plate heaped with semi-fresh buffet fruit. She looked between them, missing nothing, a little notch between her brows. But she kept her voice light when she said, “They have pineapple. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Palmer said. He gave Jake one last warning glance, and then looked away, showing his own throat. He moved his hand from his gun to reach for his fork, and Jake felt like that was a small victory.