Page 19 of Devil's Due

I don’t know what drove me to make the offer. “You got family or friends that can take you?”

That streak of independence appears again. “No, but there are things called taxis.”

I may not know her, but she’s cute and pretty. It’s hard to imagine she’s got no one to call on. “No friends who support you?”

“I’ve got family, yes. But they’re not close by. I only moved here fairly recently, so I haven’t got any contacts yet.”

“Workmates?”

“No, what I do, I do from home.

I’m interested. “What do you do?”

“I’m a computer programmer.”

Don’t you need to be able to see to do that?My respect for her grows. But so does a feeling of responsibility for her. I settle back on the couch. “Well, you do now.”

Her brow furrows again. “I do now what?”

“Have a friend who’ll be there for you.”

She laughs incredulously. “We’ve only just met.”

I shrug. Then use words. “Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s because I know how I’d feel if something of mine was hurt, maybe I took a liking to Max. No doubt he’s a hero and that I can respect. Maybe it’s because I think we’ve connected. Look, you don’t know me, but I’m no threat. I don’t want anything from you. You want the truth? This is strange to me too. I’ve only moved to Pueblo today myself. Perhaps I could do with a friend too.” It’s true. Especially as I’ll be in a new clubhouse. Sure, I’ll have brothers, but there may also be times when I need privacy and a break. The Pueblo clubhouse isn’t like Tucson with acres of room on the compound and the suites with only one neighbour. Here my room will be in the midst of all the others.

“You moved here today?”

“Yes. I rode up from Tucson, was on my way to the clubhouse when I saw that car hit Max.”

She swings her body around to fully face me, one leg drawn up beneath her. “Let me get this straight. You rode up from Tucson. How long did that take?”

“Eleven hours, perhaps a bit extra for stops to stretch my legs.”

“Your luggage? That was what your friends took off your bike?” At my look of confusion, she explains, “I heard sounds, elastic pinging. Heard them struggling to get, what, bungee cord done up?”

“That’s right.” Her ears, her interpretation of what she’s hearing, are fucking amazing. I’m stunned she was able to tell.

She looks thoughtful, and her head moves to one side and back. “You spent all evening at the vet’s because I asked you to, then brought me home. Then came in to make sure I was okay.”

For the umpteenth time I shrug.

“Am I right?”

I feel like slapping myself around the head.Must remember to speak.“Sums it up, babe.”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Stupid question. Of course you are. How about I make you a sandwich? And I’ve got beer.”

“I’m alright,” I reply automatically. My stomach, seeming to have heard the mention of food, growls loudly.

She giggles, then gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll help—”

“You stay here.” After issuing an instruction in a tone I can’t argue with, she strides confidently across the room and into a kitchen. There are sounds of something opening and closing, then two opened bottles are brought back and placed in the exact middle of the coffee table. Then she’s off again.

Beer. At fucking last. And it’s a brand I like. I raise the bottle to my lips and take a long thirst-quenching swallow. Stretching out my legs I hear my knees creak.Getting old.The couch is comfy, the back just the right height for me to rest back my head. Closing my eyes, I breathe out, feeling tension seep away.

“Your sandwich.”

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