The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (11 page)

She sneers slightly at Reagan as she
emphasizes her word of choice to describe her former career. Her
left eyebrow has two rings piercing it, and John can just make out
part of a tattoo that must wind around behind her neck. She sports
another on her slim ankle of a dragon.

"No, I was a Master Sergeant in the Army,"
John answers, although he's not sure why he's even wasting his time
talking to this trollop.

Upon further inspection of Jasmine's face,
John can tell that she's wearing makeup—a little reddish-colored
lip gloss, silvery eye shadow, and mascara that has smudged
slightly under her right eye. He's not used to looking at women
with make-up on anymore. John is pretty sure that none of the women
at the farm wear makeup. At least he doesn't think they do. Back in
the day when he'd visited with Sue and Derek a few times, he'd not
noticed her wearing it then, either. But Sue's pretty. It's not
like her or any of the McClane women need make-up anyways. It's
actually refreshing not looking at the heavy, plaster-of-Paris goop
on women's faces. Once he witnessed Reagan applying some sort of
lip balm. He's fairly certain it was just ChapStick, though.

"Yeah? You look like you work out a lot. I
like that in a guy. I like working out, too. Maybe we should work
out together some time," she suggests and licks her lower lip
suggestively.

Then again, perhaps she is here for him as
he'd originally suspected. She's eyeing his crotch with not too
subtle implication. Her eyebrows rise with further suggestion.

John looks at Reagan and replies, "I'm
pretty busy around here so probably not gonna happen."

"Oh, I get it. You two are a couple or
something. It's cool," Jasmine says.

John's not quite sure what she thinks is
'cool.'

"We're not a couple," Reagan corrects
her.

John could strangle her for saying it. He
quickly amends her mistake, "Yes, we are."

"Sound like you two don't know what you are.
I'll tell ya' what, if my man looked like you, I'd know he was my
man. That's for sure," Jasmine offers.

Coming from her, it doesn't make John feel
all that great.

"We have a kid together, too," John
clarifies, and Reagan looks at him as if she'd like to punch
him.

"Yeah? I had a kid once, too" she laments
and her eyes take on a flash of regret, but it quickly flutters
away.

"Did you forget it somewhere?" Reagan asks
snidely.

That was harsh even for her, and John lets
her know it by giving her a chiding glance. She just looks at her
feet.

"No, his prick of a dad took my boy with him
when he left me four years ago. He was only two at the time. He
probably don't remember me now if he's even still alive. They moved
to Portland," Jasmine explains.

"Maine or Oregon?" Reagan asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Reagan says on an exasperated
sigh and another roll of the green eyes.

Why is it that she is so darned cute when
she does that and also so sassy? John stamps out his cigarette butt
on his boot sole.

"Need some help? I can be
real
helpful."

This kitten is purring, leading John to
think maybe she could also possibly be in heat.

"I'm sure you can," Reagan says.

Her own kitty claws start extending. Jasmine
steps closer and touches John on his bicep with her fingertip.

"Thanks, but I think we've got it under
control," John says and would like to step away, but there's
nowhere to go without running over Reagan beside him.

"Sometimes it can be fun to lose control,"
Jasmine suggests without the slightest trace of restrained
subtlety.

"Maybe another time," John says trying to
get rid of her.

"Why don't you go back to your tent," Reagan
spits.

John notices her emphasis on the word 'tent'
to be purposely insulting. This woman used to dance around without
her clothes on for a dollar. Pride isn't going to get in her way of
much.

"You know where to find me," Kitten purrs
again.

She touches John square in the middle of his
chest with her index finger. Jasmine spins like she's working a
pole and saunters off with a vulgar wiggle, blowing a kiss over her
shoulder at him. A full minute goes by before John peeks around the
corner to make sure she's gone. She's making her way across the
yard toward their camp, but she is not carrying anything to
transport water. John decides not to share this information with
Reagan. When he goes back to the table, the boss is seething.

"I can be
real helpful
. Argh. What a
bimbo!" Reagan says in an awful, imitating voice of Kitten. "I'll
just bet she can be helpful."

"She is special," John concedes, deciding to
go with this to see where it leads, though he knows they should get
right to work, having wasted too much time with the professional
dancer.

Reagan runs her finger down his bicep and
then his chest and prances around in front of him emulating Jasmine
the stripper further. Then she does a fake giggle.

"Are you a model? Oh!"

"Ok, boss. So she isn't a brain surgeon like
you, but she was nice and obviously not a threat," John says. If
she touches him like that again, he is going to kiss her and she's
not going to like it one bit. When the stripper had done it, John
had felt nothing. When Reagan had done it without even doing it
seriously, he'd gotten a surge of lust that shot straight to his
groin, though he's positive she has no idea of it.

"Target six," Reagan says on an angry pucker
and a defiant crossing of the arms across the chest.

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" he asks
with skepticism and blinks hard.

"What? No!" she retorts angrily and way too
hurriedly.

She is jealous, a little. John's quite sure
of it.

"Hold the phone, I think you are," John
counters and leans against the table again, crossing his arms over
his chest, too. Reagan for some reason is staring at his arms, and
her lips part slightly.

"Get real. Why would I be jealous? If you
want to have sex with her, then go for it but don't come whining
for antibiotics when you catch something," Reagan says
sarcastically.

She starts picking up their supplies to give
them a mock examination. John's got her number. She acts like this
when she's nervous and usually avoiding him. Or trying to.

"That's a bit assuming don't you think? You
don't know anything about her. That's kind of judgmental of you,
boss," John says in jest mostly. Of course Jasmine is a skank. It
was written all over her… everything.

"No, I think I can figure that one out. I
may not be as worldly as you or a man whore like you…"

"Hey!"

"What? And you aren't… or weren't before
this shit happened?"

"Have you seen me screwing around since
coming here?" John asks.

"There's not exactly a plethora of tail to
chase around here. And yeah, I've got you figured out. You were a
playboy womanizer before. I can tell," Reagan judges.

She's right, but he sure as heck isn't going
to admit to it. He doesn't like her thinking badly of him. She's
the only woman he's ever wanted to impress, and the only one he's
ever encountered who isn't.

"There's only one girl I've been chasing,
and she's kind of dense when it comes to how I feel about her. Or
else she's in denial. I'm not sure which," John throws an insult
her way and takes a step toward her. She backs down and glances
away. "And look, it's not a bad idea, boss, to let these people
think you're with me."

"Why would I want to do that? Jasmine has
obviously got her eye on you. Maybe you can take her up on her
offer. Hey, maybe you can go with her when she leaves, too!" Reagan
chides loudly.

Man, she is jealous because she won't drop
it. He tries to redirect her anger.

"We don't know what those men out there are
like, but they seem like sewer sludge. I'm just saying it might be
a good thing if you stuck close to me most of the time while
they're here. Let them think we're a couple."

"I can take care of myself. Besides most of
the time I'll likely be in the med shed," she says stubbornly and
juts out her chin.

It's John's turn to grind his teeth. Why
does she always have to be so bull-headed?

"Fine, do what you want. You always do,"
John says through his teeth. "And another thing, you need to dress
more conservatively than you do while they're here. Let's not give
them a reason to step out of line and make me kill them. I'd rather
Grams and the kids and your own little sister
not
see that
side of me, babe. It was bad enough that you had to."

Reagan frowns hard and won't make eye
contact. "No shit. That wasn't exactly pleasant, Doctor Death," she
taunts, using his military nickname.

John doesn't encourage her sassy mouth, but
continues on while ignoring her comment. "Just try to cover up a
little more while they're here, 'kay?"

"What? I'm not exactly dressed like your
stripper friend," Reagan says impatiently.

"She's not my friend. She is a stripper,
though, or was," John jokes.

"Yes, she has many lovely talents, I'm sure.
But I'm not parading around here ninety percent naked like her,"
she argues petulantly.

"No, but could you at least wear some jeans
or a baggier shirt or something, Reagan? Would it kill you to
listen to me just this once?"

"It's hot. In case you haven't noticed it's
the end of summer and still hot?"

"Yeah, I know," John runs a hand through his
hair in frustration. She is like talking to a brick wall. "But
those scumbags were checking you and Hannah out, Reagan. And even
Sue. It's bad enough that you wear that stuff around me and I have
to look at your body in your tiny shorts and tank tops. I've got a
strict moral code that I live by. I don't think those guys have any
morals or a code."

"They were looking at us like that?" Reagan
asks quietly.

Her troubled eyes drift off to the side,
staring at nothing. Her hand goes to the hem of her shirt where it
meets her shorts and nervously fidgets. John places his hand over
hers, and Reagan's eyes dart to his. He can read the fear there.
It's almost always there. It's just sometimes more suppressed than
other times.

"Hey, I don't want to scare you. That's not
why I'm telling you this. I just want you to be careful. Don't
worry. This is just like the city. Nobody's gonna hurt you, ok?"
John reassures her, and she nods without blinking as she stares
directly into his eyes. Instead of jerking her hand back, she
slides it slowly from his. More progress.

"Let's just work on the demos, ok?" John
asks her, softening his tone.

"Yeah," she answers shakily.

They work together for an hour. John
explains in more detail how the demos will work and how to assemble
them. As usual, she catches on quickly, freakishly so. He takes his
time to thoroughly expound on the different items, the way they go
together and how they will perform to keep the farm more
secure.

"For the record, I don't want to have sex
with Jasmine the Kitten, ok?" John confirms with a smirk, and she
grimaces at him like he's being disgusting.

"Do what you want. I don't know why the hell
you think I care what you do. I don't! I'm not your mom," Reagan
returns.

"No kidding. Thanks for the update. I don't
want you to be my mom, idiot," he uses one of her favorite insults
against her. Her eyes bulge as she purses her lips in anger. Kelly
was right. Sometimes being a dick does work more effectively.

Before she can even let out a retort, Kelly
comes into their work area, and Reagan splits for the house and to
check on her grandpa who is on medical duty. According to his watch
it's nearly 22:30. John doesn't even like her walking from the barn
to the house or the med shed unescorted, but Cory should be on
guard duty and making his rounds while Derek catches his first dose
of sleep before he starts. Kelly will be relieved by John, and he
and Derek will start watch at 04:00.

"Hey, bro," Kelly says as he comes over to
the table. "Everything ok with the little Doc?"

"Yeah, same old same old with that
situation. How's the haj pack?" John inquires of the visitors.

"Looks like they're staying where they
should. You notice anything?" Kelly asks.

His friend picks up a switch and begins
wiring it. Most of the men in their unit know basic demos, but John
just had a wider range interest in them. He'd studied with the best
in the Army and had become an expert.

"Not much. Sounds like a couple of them need
their skulls cracked from what Reagan told us at dinner, but
they've been quiet so far. Not sure if that'll last or not," he
tells his friend.

"Yeah, me either. Uncle Peter, or piece of
shit as Doc calls him, came and got the two kids that were hangin'
around the med shed and made them go back to the camp. Doc said he
thinks they keep them around to make them do all the work, but
we're not sure on that just yet. But it seems to me that mostly the
men out there sit on their asses. Saw that woman come this way
earlier. Did she come back here?"

"Uh huh," John responds noncommittally.

"What did she want?"

John doesn't answer but gives Kelly a very
telling look.

"Ohhh, that would be why the little Doc
looked so pissed. Well, more than normal."

"Yeah, I guess. It's not like I'm gonna act
on it, though. She's not exactly my type, not anymore," John
reveals unnecessarily to his oldest friend who knows him so well
already.

"Yeah, heard you were more into the
intellectual types now," Kelly says with a laugh.

"Yeah, that's really gonna get me somewhere,
huh?"

"Maybe, you never know. How did it go in the
city with her? I mean I know you told me and Derek about killing
those dudes and all that but how was the trip with her?"