Free Pussycat Death Squad by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb Page A

accustomed to oppressive temperatures, this heat was totally different. Laritrea was a mountainous country, and the cool Mediterranean breezes ameliorated the heat. This part of North Carolina was low and swampy, and with the humidity, it was like trying to breathe through a damp towel. She watched as women walked past on the sidewalk, their limbs exposed by shorts or skimpy skirts. Though she was sure they were probably much cooler, she didn't think she could ever be comfortable wearing such clothes. She looked down a bit self-consciously at the jeans and short-sleeved shirt she was wearing. It felt a bit strange to be out of uniform. She almost regretted not wearing her hijab.
     
    Though Patrick had said it was perfectly acceptable, she was not accustomed to wearing it when she was outside her own country. Of course, she had never been out of uniform when she wasn't at home either, but that was beside the point. She glanced over at Patrick, who was similarly attired in a dark green polo shirt that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. She watched admiringly as he navigated through the appalling traffic. Patrick had told her that even with much of the military deployed to one conflict or another, traffic in Jacksonville never seemed to lessen. She rarely drove, though she had her driver's license. Usually she served on point when they traveled, watching for danger or any attacks on the Colonel. Patrick glanced down at her with a grin when she asked again where they were going.
     
    “We're here,” he said, pulling into a large parking lot. He waved an arm in the direction of what appeared to be some type of amusement park.
     
    Lelia raised her brows. “You cannot be serious.”
     
    “What, you got something against bumper boats?”
     
    “Bumper boats ?”
     
    “Sure, they're like bumper cars, only they're, well, boats.”
     
    Lelia shook her head, “I'm hardly dressed for water sports.”
     
    “Neither am I. Come on, unless you're chicken?”
     
    “Hardly. Apparently I was woefully misinformed about American dating customs.”
     
    “Really?” Patrick tilted his head to one side, his arms crossed across his chest. “So, do tell me what you've heard.”
     
    “It was my understanding that a gentleman would take a young lady to a movie and perhaps dinner. This place looks like it's for children.” Raucous laughter punctuated her comment, confirming her initial impression.
     
    “Oh come on, Lelia.” He took her arm, tugging her toward the entrance. “Any guy can take you to a show. It takes a real man to risk getting his ass kicked on the bumper boats. And if you're really good, I'll even take you for a whirl on the go-carts.”
     
    Lelia hung back briefly, but her curiosity got the best of her. They had similar attractions in resort towns in her country, but she seldom had an opportunity to explore them. “Okay, they do look like fun. I'm really looking forward to kicking your ass…again.”
     
    Patrick raised his brows, and she knew he was as shocked as she was by her crude language. After hanging out with marines for several weeks, it was impossible not to pick up a crudity here and there. “I didn't mean…”
     
    “Oh, I know exactly what you meant. We'll see who gets their ass handed to them. Especially since you've yet to kick mine the first time.”
    * * *
     
    Lelia giggled as she sneaked up behind Patrick and fired her water cannon, soaking him through before he could turn his boat around. Steering the bumper boats was dicey at best, and before she could turn and get out of firing range, she found herself surrounded by several bright-eyed youngsters in their boats. She'd seen Patrick talking to them before they'd gotten into their boats, and should have known he was plotting strategy. The children were chuckling gleefully as they fired at her again and again, soaking through her clothes and even her sneakers. One little brown-skinned boy was particularly relentless, cutting off her