Jump Start (Texas Hotzone 1)

Jennifer’s eyes locked with Bobby’s as they both had an “oh, crap” moment. “Are you telling me,” Jennifer asked, “that Mark and Scott walked to the grocery store so Scott could streak?”

“Yeah,” Sally said. “Them and some other guys. They’re streaking all right.”

Bobby sighed and scrubbed his jaw. “I’ll go take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Jennifer said, so glad Bobby was there, the ever-steady hand in these situations, as he had been in the past. No. As they had been together. Together they’d been a good team. Her chest tightened.

Bobby nodded and turned away, Sally following, but not before Jennifer saw the shadows flicker across his face, the expression that had said “And you wonder why I’m so afraid of becoming a drunk?” The kind of look she’d seen from him many times and dismissed.

Guilt twisted inside Jennifer. She’d never pressed him beyond a gentle nudge to explain those looks, and she should have. She should have seen how badly he was hurting. Maybe he hadn’t shut her out. Maybe he simply didn’t know how to let her in.

***

BOBBY FOUND MARK, Scott and about five other guys gathered in the corner of the twenty-four-hour grocery store parking lot roughly three miles from the house and not a minute too soon. Scott was stripping off his clothes and was already down to bare feet and a bare chest.

With a quick turn of the wheel, Bobby pulled to the center of the circle the men had formed and shoved open his door. “Party’s over, guys.”

“Bobby!” Mark called out, holding up his open beer. “Thanks for the seat.” He hopped onto the hood of the car. “We were looking for you. Can you believe Scott is such a pansy, he would rather run buck naked through the parking lot than skydive. The little crybaby.”

“Get dressed, Scott,” Bobby said, snatching his shirt and tossing it at him. “We’re going home.” Bobby eyed Mark. “Where your wife-to-be is waiting on you.”

“I will be home to my woman just as soon as I get a picture of this,” he said, snatching his cell phone and getting it camera ready.

“Oh, nasty,” another guy Bobby didn’t know said. “No naked pictures of Scott.”

Another guy added an exaggerated, alcohol-induced laugh, and said, “Scott’s gonna make all the people in the store cry when they see his shiny white ass.”

Several others chanted. “Streak. Streak. Streak.”

“Get dressed,” Bobby ordered Scott, who was gulping a beer someone handed him.

“Get naked!” Scott yelled and down went his pants and underwear. He kicked them away from his already bare feet, and then he was running, or rather streaking.

Oh, hell. Bobby grimaced. Sirens sounded. Oh, double bloody hell. Bobby had seen plenty of drunk soldiers, but they knew when and where to drink, and how to stay out of trouble. At least, at the level of operation Bobby functioned in.

The entire group was freaking out. Except Mark who was more dazed and confused, with a big “grin before I pass out” look on his face.

Bobby quickly grabbed Mark’s beer, set it down and half hoisted him into the car. “You stay here and say nothing.”

Mark smiled. “Okay.” His head fell backward, against the seat. Well. At least, Mark was out of the picture. Or so he hoped. He could imagine the wrath of Marcie and Jennifer if he let the groom get arrested tonight.

Bobby eyed the cop handcuffing Scott, and wasn’t so sure he could save the best man but he had to try. He drew a breath and headed toward the scene of the crime.

One of the two cops, fifty-something and fit, with a buzz cut read like ex-military. Bobby showed him his military ID.

“You home to drink yourself into trouble, son, or what?” the cop asked Bobby.

“No, sir,” Bobby assured him. “In fact, I haven’t had even a sip of anything tonight. One of my close friends is getting married and I promised to keep her fiancé out of trouble. It appears I’m failing miserably.”

The cop arched a brow. “Bachelor party?” Bobby nodded. Then the cop asked, “The streaker’s the groom?”

“The best man,” Bobby said. “The groom’s in my car and smart enough to stay there and let me handle it. And I have to tell you, I feel to blame. I dared them all to skydive, and the best man said he’d rather streak than jump out of a plane. I turned my back a few minutes, and they were gone.”

The cop chuckled. “Amazing how the idea of jumping from ten thousand feet will make a man get naked and stupid,” he said, “when half the military is begging to get airborne and these civilians are scared to jump.”

“I’d say a few beers added to the naked and stupid problem. Which was why everyone’s keys were kept at the door. But they walked.”