No Show by Simon Wood Page A

would protect anybody.”
    “Well, you did, buddy boy, so you’re stuck with me. You’re my protector. What have you got to say about that?”
    “How do we get this thing annulled?”
    Sarah backhanded him across the stomach. The blow, although gentle, took him by surprise and winded him. He coughed once, shaking off the effects.
    She carried on with the debate as they entered the Sahara. They sidestepped the gambling floor and went to the restaurant for their wedding breakfast. The hostess greeted them at the entrance and told them they could sit anywhere. The restaurant was as sparsely populated as the desert it was supposed to represent.
    “So are you saying you wouldn’t protect me?”
    An Asian woman wandered among the tables brandishing Keno slips. Las Vegas couldn’t afford to let a gambling chance slip by, even if you were eating. Terry couldn’t imagine how much revenue was being lost while the patrons ate, used a restroom, or paused to breathe, but he supposed the casino owners did. They’d probably worked it out to the last penny.
    “Why do you need me to protect you? Isn’t that what the police are for?” Terry asked with a smile. “My protection extends as far as dialing 911.”
    Sarah frowned. Her face said it all. She wanted him to be serious, but he couldn’t help teasing. A waitress came over and the newlyweds hastily ordered. The waitress was five years past the age for the length of the skirt she was wearing. When she turned to leave, Terry stopped her.
    “Excuse me, miss. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you married?”
    She examined Terry quizzically for a moment, then held up her left hand, waggling her fingers to show off a simple gold band. “I don’t wear this for looks.”
    “That’s fantastic.”
    “What’s it to you?” she asked.
    Terry pointed to Sarah then himself. “We just got married
.”
    “Congratulations,” she said without much enthusiasm.
    A Las Vegas marriage. It wasn’t exactly original. She’d probably seen it a million times before.
    “Thank you. We were discussing my role as my wife’s protector, and I was wondering if you expect your husband to act as yours.”
    She gave Terry the once-over before turning to Sarah. “You landed yourself a real winner.”
    Sarah waited for the waitress to move out of earshot. “You’d better tip her big for that,” she said with a smile that fought back a grin.
    “Was I rude?”
    She shook her head, the grin escaping its bonds. “No, you were a butt…and you still are.”
    “We’ve been married”—Terry checked his watch—“exactly twenty-two minutes and you’re already calling me names. Are we on the rocks?”
    Sarah’s grin disappeared, replaced with a serious expression. She took his hand, squeezing it tight. “Be serious for a moment?”
    “I am,” he said grinning
.
    “I mean it,” she said and gave his hand another tight squeeze.
    “Okay, serious Terry now. What’s up?”
    “Would you be my protector, if it came down to it?”
    Terry was concerned. His grin receded into the depths. “What’s wrong?”
    “My job can be invasive at times. To get a story, it sometimes means going the extra mile. It’s not really dangerous—just risky—so I really need to know.”
    “You need to know if I’m the kind of guy that will look out for you?”
    “Are you?”
    Terry took Sarah’s other hand in his and squeezed both of them just as tight as she’d squeezed his hands. “If you’re wondering whether I would take a bullet for you, just be reassured you married your own personal Kevlar vest.” Terry squeezed her hands again. “I don’t need some tin pot, Las Vegas minister to tell me that I’ve got to protect you. I’m your protector already.”
    A tear ran down Sarah’s cheek.

    Terry stared out the window, lost in his memory. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said aloud, softly.
    He and Oscar were in the back of Holman’s cruiser barreling along a winding road.
    Oscar turned. “What