Page 6 of Let It Snow

“You know it would be a cold day in hell before I ever went after Shana. She’s yours. Forever, as far as I’m concerned.”

Dane shrugged. Felt a small smile that didn’t reach his face.

“Too bad. It’s a waste.”

“Quit the stupid talk. Where’s your pride, man?”

“I can’t afford to have pride. Costs way too much.”

Dane turned to look down the hall toward his bedroom door. It was dark and silent. Cap stood like he wasn’t going anywhere, folding his arms across the red and green argyle sweater. It would be Christmas tomorrow.

Dane mumbled as he turned back to his living room office and strode with more energy than he remembered having to his desk.

“Damn hell of a time to be running out—on Christmas Eve in the middle of a snowstorm.” He didn’t care if Cap was listening to him. He was mostly talking to himself.

Dane flipped some switches on his weather station and took a long hard look. The barometer was sinking and the pressure looked ominously low. “Shit.” He said that loud enough to catch Cap’s notice.

“What the hell are you doing in here? Have another drink with me—no hot chocolate this time,” Cap said as he walked into the room.

Dane took the shot glass and Cap filled it from a surprise bottle of Patron.

They lifted their glasses and Cap said, “Merry Christmas, old friend.”

Dane downed his drink. He knew Cap hadn’t meant to be ironic, but there was nothing merry about it. Especially not now.

Cap finished his drink and walked back to the kitchen with the bottle. “What’s the weather report?”

“I’m checking with NOAA online right now, but I don’t like the way the barometer is reading.”

“Since when did you become a weatherman?” Cap pulled out a chair and sat beside Dane as he clicked through a few screens to drill down to the local details on the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration site. He ignored Cap’s attempt at good-natured banter.

“Shana would kill you if she knew you brought me Patron,” he said.

“I know. But I know you can handle it. You’re not the type to keep on feeling sorry for yourself. Won’t kill yourself with drink. You’re more likely to kill yourself in a suicide mission.”

Dane stopped tapping the keyboard and looked at Cap. He was right.

“Aren’t we all,” Dane said.

“All” was a reference to their special ops team back in the day. None of them had stayed in the service, but most of them stayed in the game of protecting the weak and standing up to the bad and sacrificing themselves for justice.

“Used to be true,” Cap said. He put his glass down. Twirled it on the table. “Not so much anymore.”

“You wistful or relieved?” Dane didn’t know why he cared. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the question was for him. He’d lost his centering ever since he’d partnered with Shana, ever since they became private investigators. He didn’t even say the words out loud.

“I’m good with where I am.” Cap gave him that look that said Dane was the one with the problem, not him.

Dane scoffed. Eyed the bottle of tequila. Then tossed his glass in the sink. The glass rattled against the metal of the sink. Then the wind rattled at the windows and they both looked up.

“Shit.”

“Saved by the storm,” Cap said.

“I’m calling Vendi.” Dane picked up the secure house phone from its old-fashioned cradle and put it to his ear. “Damn.” He couldn’t pretend to be surprised that there was no dial tone. He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his coast guard captain friend. The call wouldn’t go through. Either their line was overloaded or there was a problem with the cell tower.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we’ll need find out in person if they’re letting the ferry go out in this.”