~*~
Trina tipped her head back, all the way back, and looked up at the hammered-pewter sky through the interlacing branches of the tree she was supposed to climb. A stout oak with wonderful thick branches, perfect for hooking her legs around and maintaining her balance while she took her shots.
She let out a wobbly breath. “I’m not a sniper.”
Beside her, Lanny snorted. “Yeah, I knew that.”
“Smartass,” she said without any heat, and turned to look at him. He wore jeans, and a black shirt under a Kevlar vest. Very dressed-down detective on a bust. He carried a shotgun propped on one shoulder, and a .45 at his waist. “You look hot.”
“That’s what I was going for.”
Trina crashed against him; threw her arms around his waist and he caught her hard with his free arm, squeezing her so tight she felt her ribs shift. She pressed her face into the collar of his shirt, tucked her nose over it so she felt warm skin, and took a deep breath of him.
“Don’t get killed,” she said.
“Don’t decide you like sniping so much that you run off and join the Army.”
“I am so serious right now, Roland.”
“I know.” He dropped his face into her hair, breath warm down the back of her neck.
She held him a long moment – as long as she dared; not long enough – and finally pulled back, dashed at her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. “You better go.” It hurt to look at his face, its familiar, comforting array of planes and lines.
“You wanna boost?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
He did it wrong, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her, sure to get a double handhold on her ass when he pushed her up to the lowest branch. But it made her chuckle, and she figured that was the point, especially when she looked down and saw his wistful, tight-edged smile.
“Be safe,” he said.
“You too.”
I love you.
With one last glance, he melted off into the underbrush, much quieter and smoother than he’d ever been as a mortal man.
Trina took a deep breath and started climbing, the Mosin-Nagant heavy against her back.
