Page 72 of Silent Comrade
Al’s face was beet red.
Britt pressed her lips together to keep fromlaughing. After a few moments, she frowned and faced him.“Red?”
“It’s my … name. Kind of. Damn it.” For somereason, he appeared not as tall. Really tired. Must be the slump ofhis shoulders.
Her world tilted. “Wait. I haven’t even beencalling you the right name?” Seemed like something to know prior tohaving brain-exploding sex. Prickles of irritation formed over herneck and shoulders. What other important pieces of information hadbeen left out?
He had lied about his name. Brittdidn’t have time to address the mounting anxiety. Filled with ahefty dose of self-doubt, she couldn’t concentrate on her groundingtechnique.
Rodeo piped up. “It’s just his nickname.Besides, if this big schlump was getting sexy times, he wouldn’tcare if you called him Berniece or Bartholomew. The guy’s a monk.”He fished out a small purple yo-yo from a pocket and sighed, almostlike it was a relief to hold it.
“Shut. Up. Rodeo.” Al—no, Red—raised a clenchedfist.
Britt choked and stumbled back a halfstep.
Rodeo darted a glance from Britt to Red andraised his eyebrows. “Roger that.” He whistled low, brows raised.With an inward roll of his mouth, he sent the yo-yo up and down thestring, the soft, rhythmic whizzes breaking the silence.
Red’s broad chest rose and fell. “My name isAlfred.”
“Tell her the whole name.” Rodeo rocked upon his toes like a kid with a secret he was dying to tell. A verybig, muscled kid.
Red scowled. “Alfred E. Newman.”
Britt frowned.
“FromMad Magazine!” Rodeo burstout.
She thought for a moment. “You’re namedafter that old parody magazine?” she asked.
Rodeo studiously used the toy to do anintricate rocking basket maneuver, all while pulling anuh-ohface.
Red glared at the top of Rodeo’s bent head.“Yeah. The big-headed guy on the cover. My birth mother’s last namewas Newman. She had a hell of a sense of humor, sending herredheaded baby off into foster care with nothing but thatname.”
Covering a laugh in a cough, she managed torespond, “Well, it’s unique. So, now you get called Red becauseof…” She motioned toward his head.
“That, and also it’s the end of Alfred.”
Rodeo whispered loudly behind a hand. “It’sbecause of the hair. It’s like a fire truck.”
“Shut it, man,” Red growled.
In a high voice, Rodeo quipped, “Not scaredof youuu.”
Britt sobered up. “Hey, what were you sayingabout my sister? Which one and what’s going on?”
A quick glance between the men, but she sawit: a silent decision about what to say, made in a split-second.Oh, no.
“Your sister, Reagan…” Rodeo began.
Her temples throbbed. Ears buzzed. Herstomach felt like the moment right before the zero drop of badnews. She knew all about that feeling. It had happened with hermother’s terminal cancer diagnosis and when Britt found out aboutBrady’s death. “Tell me.”
“Some of the team are en route to pickReagan and Pele up at the rendezvous point,” he said.
“I don’t follow.”
“They’ve been out of communication sinceyesterday. Deep in the Smoky Mountains in an area of the park noone visits.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” she said. “What’sshe doing so far into the mountains?” Reagan worked at a camp onthe edge of the Smokies, so hikes weren’t unusual for her.Bushwhacking cross-country wasn’t her typical activity, though.
