“Take him out?” Folks at nearby tables were starting to notice the rising tone in Jodie’s voice. “So you were trying to kill him?”
“Krav Maga teaches countermove, control, and counterattack, all in—”
“I’ve heard of Krav Maga,” Jodie said. “So you’re training to be an Israeli killer commando now?”
“Krav Maga is a form of self-defense,” Brad said in a softer tone, hoping Jodie would follow suit. “It’s meant to disable attackers, without weapons. It’s meant to be quick and violent so the defender doesn’t—”
“I don’t know you anymore, Brad,” Jodie said, rising to her feet. “That attack in your house in San Luis Obispo must’ve screwed you up a little, I think—or did you lie to me and the others about that?”
“No!”
“Ever since then you’ve become this compulsive type A, whirling-dervish kind of guy, exactly the opposite of the guy I met at the beginning of the school year. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, and you don’t hang out with your friends or network around campus anymore. You’ve turned into this . . . this machine, working out and learning Israeli commando beat-down tactics and carrying a cane so you can crack some skulls. You lied to me about the cane. What else have you lied to me about?”
“Nothing,” Brad said immediately—probably too immediately, because he saw Jodie’s eyes flare again, then narrow suspiciously. “Jodie, I’m not a machine.” I know one, Brad thought, but I’m not one. “I’m the same guy. Maybe that home invasion did freak me out a little. But I’m—”
“Listen, Brad, I’ve got some thinking to do about us,” Jodie said. “I really thought we could be more than friends, but that was with the Brad I met long ago. This new one is scary. It seems like you’re scarfing up everything this Chief Ratel is feeding you, and you’ve turned into a monster.”
“A monster! I’m not—”
“I suggest for your own sake that you tell this Chief Ratel guy to piss off and maybe get some counseling, before you go completely off the deep end and start roaming the streets in a mask and cape looking for blokes to beat up,” Jodie said, jabbing a finger at Brad. “In the meantime, I think it’s best for me to keep my distance from you until I feel safe again.” And she stormed away.
MARICOPA, CALIFORNIA
LATER THAT NIGHT
A woman with long dark hair wearing a leather jacket, dark slacks, and rose-tinted sunglasses was fueling her rental car at a deserted-looking gasoline station when a new-looking windowless van pulled into a dark parking spot beside the station’s office. A tall, good-looking man in jeans and an untucked flannel shirt got out of the van, took a long admiring look at the woman at the pump, and went inside to make a purchase. When he came out a few minutes later, he walked up to the woman and smiled. “Evening, pretty lady,” he said.
“Evening,” the woman said.
“Nice night, isn’t it?”
“It’s a little cold, but pleasant.”
“My name’s Tom,” the man said, extending a hand.
“Melissa,” the woman said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same, Melissa,” the man said. “Pretty name.”
“Thank you, Tom.”
The man hesitated, but only for a second, before stepping a bit closer to the woman and saying, “I have an idea, Melissa. I have a bottle of bourbon in the van, some nice leather seats in back, and a hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket. What do you say we have a little fun together before we get back on the road?”
The woman looked Tom directly in the eye, then gave him just a hint of a smile. “Two hundred,” she said.
“Done this before, have we?” Tom said. “That’s a little steep for a half-and-half in my van.” The woman removed her sunglasses, revealing dark seductive eyes and long lashes, then unzipped her leather jacket, revealing a red blouse with a plunging neckline and a deep sexy cleavage. Tom fairly licked his lips as he took in the sights. “Park beside me.”
The woman parked her rental car beside the van, and Tom opened the side door for her. The interior of the van was very well appointed, with a leather couch in back, rear-facing leather captain’s chairs behind the driver’s seat, a television with a satellite receiver and DVD player, and a wet bar. Melissa took one of the captain’s chairs while Tom poured two glasses of bourbon. He handed one to her, then tipped his glass to hers. “Here’s to a pleasant evening, Melissa.”
“It will be,” she said. “But first?”
“Sure,” Tom said. He reached into his jeans, pulled out a money clip, and shook out two hundred-dollar bills.
“Thank you, Tom,” Melissa said, taking a sip of bourbon.
Tom motioned behind him, and it wasn’t until then that the woman noticed a sports camera in the corner, pointed at her. “You don’t mind if I turn on my little camera there, do you, Melissa?” he asked. “I like to keep a souvenir collection.”