Dane pushed his sunglasses up on his head and slung his bag
over his shoulder. He hadn't slept in more than twenty-four
hours. When one was flying out of Afghanistan and catching
four different puddle jumpers to get home, a man had a
tendency to keep his eyes open and his brain alert.

His shoes kicked up dust as he started the trek into town.
Everything was getting ready to close for the night. It was
still another five miles before he would reach the
farmhouse, but if he was lucky his brother would be on duty
for the night, and he could get a ride home in the squad
car. He smiled at the irony. There were plenty of people who
thought he'd spend plenty of time in the back of one before
he'd left town. If he was really lucky, there would be
dinner still warm on the stove. He hadn't had a decent meal
in a couple of days.

The closer he got to town, the more he realized things had
changed. Some more than others. He heard the music before he
saw where it was coming from. Classic rock pulsed from a
white tin building with a blue awning and several open
garage doors. It was the same building that had been there
before he'd left, but it was no longer a full-service gas
station. A new sign with fluid black letters said Charlie's
Automotive. It wouldn't hurt to stop in a see if they could
tow the piece of shit car he'd left down the road. It would
save his brothers from having to help him take care of it
later.

Dane stuck his head in the barely air conditioned office. It
was stark in appearance—white walls, grey utilitarian carpet
and a solid black desk piled with papers and invoices.
Another glass door led into the garage, and a restroom sign
was tacked to another.

There wasn't anyone in sight, so he followed the sound of
the music into the garage. Three of the four bays had cars
in varying states waiting for attention, but he still didn't
see anyone. The jangle of metal hitting the pavement had him
moving between an old Chrysler and a brand new Ford pickup.
A pair of legs covered in blue coveralls stuck out from
beneath the Chrysler, knees bent and boots tapping to the beat.

""Excuse me,"" he said, pitching his voice over the music.
Or at least trying to. It was hard to compete with Robert
Plant.

A grubby hand felt along the ground, searching for a tool of
some kind. Dane bent down, picked up a heavy crescent wrench
and put it in the roaming hand. He winced as he heard the
thunk of a head hit the underside of the car in surprise,
and he moved out of the way as the coveralls came out from
under the car with a vengeance.

The first thought that came to Dane's mind was that he'd
never seen a man so tiny, but then he realized the baggy
coveralls were hiding a decidedly delicate body. A smooth
curve of neck and porcelain skin, smudged with grease.
Definitely not a man. A grubby hand rubbed at the forming
knot under thick black hair. Vivid green eyes framed with
dark lashes stared at him in resentment. Mermaid eyes. Or at
least that's what he'd once compared them to. But by the way
they were shooting fire in his direction they resembled that
of a sorceress, ready and willing to turn him to dust with a
flick of her wrist.

He felt the blood drain from his face and took a step back.

She grabbed the remote from the hood of the car and shut the
music off, leaving an echo in his ears. Or maybe it was his
heartbeat thudding wildly out of control.

""Charlotte?"" he whispered, afraid he was hallucinating.

""Well, if it isn't the Prodigal Son himself. You worthless
son of a bitch.""

Dane barely had time to duck as the heavy wrench sailed
toward his head.