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Chapter Fourteen

Charley took her job very seriously.

As we moved from the studio through the building toward the door that would lead to the buses, Charley kept herself ahead of me, one hand back, kind of like a tiny human shield. She had her own gun drawn, though not held aloft in an obvious, menacing way, but kept the arm hoisting her firepower down to her side. She glanced in every open doorway, around every corner, and when we reached the door to the parking lot, she motioned for me to stand against the wall, pushed open the door, stepped outside, and did a really thorough examination of the space between the door and the bus. Which, considering they'd pulled the bus up to the studio, wasn't more than a couple feet.

Charley stepped back into the studio. "Okay cleared for boarding," she said into her walkie-talkie. "Open the doors." She lowered the radio and grabbed my arm, "C'mon." The bus doors were open when we stepped out of the studio. I climbed on board, and Charley backed-up the steps behind me.

It was all fucking terrifying.

"He's here, isn't he?" I demanded, panic rising in my throat. I dropped numbly onto the couch that was Charley's hide-a-bed by night. "He's here somewhere, that's why you were in the audience. That's why you're acting like you're fucking Tom Hanks in Saving Private Ryan."

Charley took the ammo out of her gun and dropped the two pieces on the counter. She looked at me. "We aren't sure if he's here or not," she replied. "We set up a trace on that call but I dunno if that fucking studio host kept him connected long enough to establish and location point." She lifted her radio, "Anything?" she barked into it.

"Traced to a phonebooth two blocks away," came the reply.

Charley frowned. "Can we move this damn bus, please," she yelled into the radio.

"Two blocks?" I demanded, "Two blocks?!"

"Relax, you're safe," Charley replied. She did, however, put the pieces to her gun back together, which was an action whose significance was not lost on me.

Don, the bus driver, started the engine and the bus rumbled away from the studio. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the other guys when they tried to leave the studio. What if Billy thought I was one of them? Dude wasn't exactly the smartest crayon in the box, and I wasn't sure how good a look at me he really had gotten.

I started hiccuping.

Charley grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with water. "Here," she said, handing it to me, "Drink this."

I drank it, but I hiccuped anyways.

Charley sighed and sat down on the top step facing the bus door, the only sound that of the engine and my hiccups. After a long moment she let out a second sigh - this one was much heavier than the first.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," Charley answered. She stood up and stretched her arms. "You need to talk to Eddie about the show tonight."

I stared up at her.

"I don't think you should do it," she added.

"You took the words -" I hiccuped, "-right out of my mouth," I answered.

"Good. All I could picture was you being one of those valiant bastards that refuses to cancel," she said, "And getting your brains shot out for it." Charley sat down next to me and rubbed my lower back.

"What'cha-" hiccup, "-doing?"

"Trying to get your god-damned hiccups to go away," Charley answered.

"Oh."

Her touch was electric. I stared at my hands and tried not to let her see how much I liked her hand on my back. Especially when she reached under my shirt and rubbed directly against my skin. I took a deep breath.

"There," she murmured after a few moments of silence. "Hiccups are gone."

And so was her hand.

If I'd known she was gonna stop when the hiccups did, I would've faked'em for a few extra minutes.