Debra Webb - Solitary Soldier

Josh seldom played with other children. They were never in one place long enough to make friends, and even if they were, ties to anyone was just another risk Rachel and Josh couldn’t afford. Rachel sighed. Would their lives never be normal?

Rachel stole one last, lingering moment to savor the children’s innocent faces, the warmth of the merciless sun, and the pungent smells of raw, drying and roasting meat from the nearby market. After today, one way or another, her life would never be the same.

Today things were going to change.

Drawing in a deep, bolstering breath, Rachel took the first step toward that end. The stench of stale tobacco, alcohol and sweat enveloped her as she entered the disreputable-looking cantina. Overhead ancient fans slowly stirred the fetid air. Before her eyes adjusted to the dim, smoky interior, Rachel felt one narrowed gaze after the other scrutinize her as if she were the latest addition to the menu. Uncertainty warred with the desperation that was her constant companion.

You can do this, Rach, she reminded the part of her that wanted to run as far away from here as possible. Angel had warned her that he was growing impatient with her useless measures to elude him. What would he do when he discovered that she had come to this man named Sloan? Rachel shivered, and pushed away the thought. She couldn’t think about that now.

This was the only way.

Still holding Josh’s hand in her left and with her right clenched tightly around the strap of her over-stuffed shoulder bag, Rachel weaved her way between the tables and to the bar that extended half the length of the room. She hated to bring her four-year-old son into a place like this, but what else could she do? She didn’t dare allow him out of her sight. And she had to find Sloan.

Their lives depended upon it.

“Excuse me,” Rachel said as politely as possible with fear pounding through her veins. “Do you speak English?”

“Sí. What is your pleasure, señora?” Propped against the worn smooth counter, the bartender’s examining gaze lingered on Rachel’s breasts before he looked up and smiled.

Heavyset, with thick dark hair and a wide mustache, the man oozed what he likely considered charm. Rachel swallowed the fear clawing at her throat and manufactured a tight smile of her own. “I’m looking for a man called Sloan.”

One bushy eyebrow quirked the slightest bit, but the smile stayed in place. “And why would such a pretty lady look for such a dangerous man?” he asked in that heavily accented voice, putting emphasis on the words pretty lady.

“A friend sent me.” What if he wouldn’t tell her where Sloan was? What if Sloan wasn’t even here? He could be working some other case in God knows where. What would she do then? Rachel’s heart pounded so hard she felt sure the man behind the counter could hear it.

“It’s very important that I find him,” she forged ahead, her voice faltering despite her best efforts to keep it firm. Rachel moistened her lips and held her ground as he took his time considering her request.

“El solitario.” With a jerk of his head, the bartender gestured toward the darkest corner of the establishment. “The one who sits all alone.”

Rachel nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

Before she could turn, his next words stopped her. “Do not thank me, señora. It is not my habit to send sheep to slaughter, but you asked.” He picked up a grimy cloth and absently wiped the counter, his gaze still leveled on hers.

Rachel stared at him, uncertain what to do with his offhanded warning. Should she run now and cut her losses? Her hand tightened around Josh’s. Maybe Victoria had been wrong about Sloan.

“It’s very important.”

The bartender shrugged. “Perhaps, pretty lady, you should come back later.” He darted a look at the faded plastic clock on the wall. “It is just four o’clock, his mood will be nasty for a while yet.”

“I’ll…” Rachel backed up a step. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly. She glanced down at Josh and said another quick prayer before starting in the direction the bartender had indicated. Surely the bartender was exaggerating. Sloan couldn’t be as fearsome as all that. Victoria Colby had recommended him. He was a former employee of hers. The Colby Agency had come highly recommended to Rachel. She trusted Detective Taylor’s judgment implicitly.

Ignoring what were most likely lewd Spanish remarks tossed in her direction, Rachel walked straight to the far end of the room. She would show no fear. She was not afraid, she chanted like a mantra with each step she took. Rachel paused a few feet away from her destination and pulled out a chair from an unoccupied table. After settling Josh into the seat, she crouched in front of him and forced a wide smile she didn’t in any way feel.

“Josh, I want you to stay right here until Mommy speaks to the man just over there.” Rachel pointed out the table only a few feet away. “Okay, sweetie?”

Josh bobbed his head up and down, his eyes wide with uncertainty, and even a little fear. Rachel’s heart squeezed in her chest. Josh would start school next year. How many of his classmates will have experienced a place such as this? Then again, how many of them could claim the devil himself as a father?

Rachel pushed aside the painful thoughts and ruffled her son’s dark hair. She pulled a coloring book and small box of crayons from her bag and placed them on the scarred tabletop. “I want you to color Mommy a pretty picture and I’ll only be a minute.”

Josh nodded once and flipped the coloring book to a fresh page. Satisfied, Rachel stood. She forced herself to turn away from the child she loved more than life itself. She looked back twice as she took the few remaining steps, each time hoping to comfort Josh with the halfhearted smile her trembling lips managed to maintain.

Her son waved shyly and Rachel felt a real smile spread across her lips then. Yes, she could do this. She would do it for Josh. Confident in her decision, Rachel turned back to her objective.

The man sat alone, an empty tequila bottle on the table before him. El solitario reverberated through Rachel. A solitary soldier. A mercenary for hire. Just the kind of man she needed. He didn’t look up when she stopped an arm’s length away. He seemed fascinated with the gold liquid in the glass he was turning between his thumb and forefinger.

Rachel’s first up-close impression of the man was dangerous, just like the bartender said. Sloan looked like he would be tall, and he was definitely solidly built. His too-long tawny hair brushed his broad shoulders. The sleeves had been cut from the faded shirt he wore, displaying muscled arms. He looked very strong, and for one fleeting moment Rachel felt a little safer in the knowledge that this was the man who could help her.

But then he spoke…

“Unless you’re selling your wares, I’m not interested.”

Rachel shivered at the husky sound of his deep voice. Disregarding his crude remark, she summoned her waning courage and asked, “Are you Sloan?”

He lifted his gaze to hers then, and Rachel’s breath caught. Icy, translucent blue eyes cut a hole straight to her soul. His square, beard-shadowed jaw reaffirmed her first impression. Dangerous.

“Unfortunately—” He tossed back the last of the tequila in his glass without taking that piercing gaze from hers. Rachel jumped when the glass clunked down onto the table. “—I haven’t had enough to drink to be anyone else.” He licked the taste of liquor from his lips. “But it’s still early.”

Mustering her scattered courage, Rachel forced herself to speak. “I’ve come a long way and—”

“You do know,” he interrupted as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “that this is no place for children.” His gaze darted past her to where she had left her son.