Buy Little Miss Straight Lace now.“Charlie, hit me again. Please.”Charlie cocked a brow at the man seated at the end of the bar. “Don’t you need a little break, Spidey? That’s three in an hour, fella. Give ’em time to digest, for God’s sake.”“Do I tell you how to pour, Charlie?” But the stocky man knew when he’d been cut off. He huddled over his empty glass, then glanced surreptitiously around him at the almost empty room. Little early yet for the regular Thursday night crowd, but vigilance had become a habit with him. He had seen that Doc guy—the PsyOps dude—a couple times, and he was making sure to keep out of his way. Wasn’t sure if the guy knew he was involved in the whole mess, but he didn’t want to find out the hard way. The guy had made him nervous enough when he’d thought it was all just a little drunken machismo, but once he’d figured out the truth about Doc’s gal…sh*t, he knew he was lucky to be alive, and he wanted to stay that way. And he had never forgotten that he had her to thank for that. Maybe someday he’d thank her for the ten grand he now had hidden in his grandmother’s basement. Not that he hadn’t earned it. Fair and square. He was an honorable fellow.So why did he still feel so lousy about the whole thing? He’d done the best he could, hadn’t he? Under the circumstances. If he hadn’t done what he did, surely it would have been worse for her, right? ’Course, what could be worse than having your gray matter grilled? Looked like the lady still didn’t know her own name. Third Street. Jesus. Not like she didn’t know how to take care of herself, but…three against one? Nobody likes those odds. Then again, maybe she didn’t know how to take care of herself. Not anymore. Not with a hard-boiled head. A toasted tomato. The stocky man grimaced.Such a nice lady, too. Maybe he should’ve done more to help her. Or maybe he should’ve moved to another town. Still could. He was bound to run into one of those PsyOps people sooner or later, just like he did today. And the next one would probably kill him.
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