Read Online Driftwood by Harper Fox - Free Book Online

Tremaine was shouting. Flynn’s voice was in there—trying, Thomas thought, to make a point—but he was still sober, and his low-voiced fervour wasn’t carrying against the tide. Thomas heard, who does he think , and what did you bring him here for , and did his very best to stop listening. None of his business, even if Rob was doing his best to make it that way, and he didn’t want to add to the performance. Flynn and Tremaine were drawing enough attention on their own. Glancing round the crowd, Thomas saw a few benign smiles, as if this might be a regular sideshow on airbase nights out, but only a few. The older men—higher-ranking officers, presumably—looked grim in a way that did not promise any good to Rob’s career or Flynn’s. Locking his gaze to the ground, Thomas took his jacket off the trestle bench and checked for his car keys. Definitely time for him to go.
    A gasp from the archway’s shadows. It wouldn’t have slowed Thomas down, except that he wouldn’t have thought Flynn could sound like that. Outraged, yes, and that was the bulk of the message. But under it—tiny, fleeting, a flash Thomas wondered if he’d imagined. Yes, fear.
    Flynn, though elegant, looked tough as nails. Nobody’s pushover. For Thomas, that abruptly made it worse. What the hell hold did Rob have on him? Dropping his coat, he strode over to the passageway entrance, ignoring the hoots and warning shouts from the crowd.
    Okay, that kind of hold. Not unexpected, though he could hardly believe Tremaine had been mad enough to try it here. He was grasping Flynn by the hair at the back of his neck, and if he’d got away with one forced kiss, Flynn was definitely not having any of the next. His hands were planted flat to Tremaine’s chest.
    Without conscious thought on the subject, Thomas decided enough was enough. He grabbed Rob’s shoulder. “Hoi,” he said, his own old Cornish burr rising through his manners and his surgery veneer. “Flynn, is this bastard bothering you?”
    Tremaine spun on him with a snarl. Thomas was surprised at the purity of hatred on his face. Flynn, released, almost fell over. “Shit,” he gasped. “Thomas, for God’s sake. Get out of here. I can handle him.”
    Of course he can. That was what he got for interfering—Flynn looked, if possible, even more mortified now than before. Thomas raised both hands. “Great. Do that. Handle him, please.”
    He turned to go. A vast weight landed on his back. Without an instant’s thought, he ducked, uncurled and sent Rob Tremaine flying over his shoulder to crash in a flail of arms and legs in the courtyard.
    A roar of laughter went up. Thomas didn’t think it was funny. He had no idea he’d remembered his unarmed-combat training, let alone that he’d be willing to use it on a helpless drunk. First, do no harm … He glanced at Flynn, whose face was still a white blank of shock. Self-disgust tore at him. He had got into a public brawl within half an hour of starting his first social endeavour in years.
    He went to crouch by Tremaine, automatically beginning diagnostic checks—that his head wasn’t damaged, that his pupils were the same size. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You startled me. Are you hurt?”
    Tremaine’s big fist shot up and fastened in the front of his shirt.
    Once more, Thomas unreflectingly blocked the move, as he had with dozens of soldiers who’d grasped at him in extremity before he could get drugs into them. Rob’s eyes blazed into his. What was the problem here? Yes, he’d caught him mid-tussle with Flynn, but it was hardly as if half his division hadn’t been watching that too. Christ, was it because he’d recognised him? It couldn’t be the first time for that, either, but Flynn was new to the district. Maybe Robert had told him a different story. “Stop it. Are you