birthright_rpg | Adventures at the Full Service Island

It turned out that Searchlight was only about an hour's drive from Las Vegas, but Julianna slept through her wake-up call because she'd tossed and turned for most of the night after her conversation with Edmund. So when she got up it was nearly eleven o clock, which meant she didn't arrive at the car rental agency until almost noon. Nothing on this trip had gone according to plan so far except for her meeting with Dean Travers.

Fortunately, the agency wasn't busy when she arrived, and the Watcher was able to secure an automobile with a full tank of gas and a freshly vacuumed interior. She was going to have to get one of these on a permanent basis if and when she found something other than temporary lodgings.

The highway boasted mid-day traffic, and Julianna kept herself occupied by listening to the all-news station. The heat of the day meant she was going to need water. Damn this early afternoon sun. Clearly Nevada was not famous for its rainy season.

Searchlight really did turn out to be a blink-and-you'll-miss-it place, because she almost missed her exit. Brakes squealed a bit, and gravel crunched as she got off the highway. If Rhiannon was here, it should take her no time at all to find the girl. But first she was going to have to get some bottled water, because the heat was abysmal.

There was a gas station with the unimaginative name of the Gas N Go, and Julianna parked her rental in one of the few parking spaces and killed the engine. Even a place liked this had to have plastic bottles of water for sale. And then she could go about her business.

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He smiled, uncapping his Pepsi. Fizz, volcano of bubbles. He had to close it back up fast to keep it from flowing over. "What, like Searchlight doesn't have glitz? Listen, they have a diner with slot machines in it. That's cool. Where else would see you that?

Devin watched, quietly amused, as the gruff man huffed impatiently behind them. Quietly, because he didn't really feel like getting his ass kicked in a gas station.

Being a natural smart-ass had its disadvantages.

"What do you think is the 'type' of person to spend their time in casinos?"

"Layabouts," Julianna said immediately, having to look up to make eye contact because at five four she was forever looking up at men. "People who don't work because they don't want to. The sort who's looking for an easy fix to life's problems."

The smile made the blond's angular face attractive, and if she'd remotely been in the mood to flirt with someone thirty years her junior she would have made something of it. But the unshaven lout from before was behind her, grumbling under his breath at the can of beer in his hand. Besides, she was on the job, and being on the job meant you had to be professional.

She collected her change and the paper bag the cashier handed her, checked the watch on her other wrist. Two o'clock. Fortunately it wouldn't take much time to make her rounds in a burg like this, and she believed she'd passed a post office on her way in. If they offered mailboxes for rent, she could make a discreet check of the names attached to them.

The day had become so hot that she had to pull one of the bottles out of the bag and open it immediately. A bloody good thing she'd dressed simply today. She was going to need a cold shower where she got back to her hotel as it was.

"You must be a student of some sort," she remarked lightly when the blond man also exited the store. "You look about the age of some of my students."

The bell over the door signaled their exit from the store as Devin's smile widened at her description. "Huh." He took a drink from his settled pop, tilting his head to the side. "Don't you think that's a little, uh, presumptuous?"

Devin drifted toward his car. "I would think the people who run the casinos were the layabouts. Easy money, flowing in every day, taking advantage of people's human nature to...want more? You know, the house always wins."

He laughed good-naturedly, tucking the scratch off into his pants pocket. "I haven't been a student since I was 17. I'm what the condescending would call street smart."

Devin gave her another, longer glance. "But it's a good thing you're not condescending, right?"

Presumptuous. Condescending. And Rhiannon had called her ageist. It struck a nerve, and some of the warmth drained out of Julianna's expression. Was Edmund right? Was she too quick to get offended?

"I'm English, dear, and the English are naturally a bit condescending," she said airily, but it was partially a front. "I also work in academia, and laziness can abound there just as much as any profession. It's not exclusive to the more commercial enterprises."

The longer he looked at her like that, a dim sense of recognition stole over her. Obviously they'd never met, but the expression was familiar. Where had she seen him before?

"I don't mean to be intrusive," she began, taking another sip of her water. "But I feel as if I'm supposed to know you, and it's left me at a loss. Are you a celebrity?"

Devin walked around the back of his car, selecting his fuel grade and readying the pump. "Hey, I respect teachers. They have one of the hardest jobs. Hell, they had to deal with me for over a decade."

The numbers ticked upward, and he set the pump to stay on its own. "A celebrity? Not really."

No, not a celebrity. His picture was in the back of a book, though. What was the least narcissistic way to put it?

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm a writer. You might have seen me that...way." Okay, so he liked when people recognized him on the street. It happened maybe once in a blue moon. It didn't mean Devin knew how to gracefully accept it.

The Watcher would have had to admit if asked that she found popular fiction tedious, and much of it an over-dramatization of true lore. Still, she'd seen this particular young man somewhere...

"Have you been reviewed by the Times?" she asked, because he'd knocked her a little off-kilter by his earlier remark about her presumptuousness, and that prevented her from just asking him for his name. "I enjoy their articles, and they have a reasonably good reviewer."

She'd actually been published herself, but it had been in some fairly obscure publications dealing with languages, so she wasn't egotistical enough to think he'd be aware of her non-covert line of work. The warmth was inching back into her expression, albeit a bit reluctantly. She should be working, not chatting up some stranger.

"Planning to be published again, or are you taking a sabbatical?"

When the meter hit ten dollars, Devin grabbed the nozzle, shaking the excess gas off before putting it back in its holster. "I was," he admitted. "But I never read the review. If it was negative, I'd get defensive, and if it was positive, I'd sweat it out with my next book."

He smiled, almost sadly, wiping his hands on a disposable towel. "Some people are never satisfied."

Scratching at the stubble on his neck, he seemed to deliberate on something. Finally, he said, "I don't mean to harp on you about it, and it's probably none of my business. But you shouldn't be so quick to judge people.

"They can and will surprise you, sometimes in the best way, but only if you let them."

Oh. Well, then.

Julianna could feel the corners of her well-formed mouth lifting almost of their own accord, and for once she took the words at face value. Rhiannon had been trying to make her angry, and it had worked, but there was no antagonism in the blond man's voice and so not even she could take offense at his words. The sun was very hot, and she took another drink of water. Had to stay hydrated, after all.

"You're not the first person to suggest it, love," she told him with that same smile. What would he look like clean-shaven? The Watcher steered her brain away from that bit of curiosity. She needed to go.

"I hope your ticket brings you luck," she offered randomly. "Even if you don't win the lottery, you know what the odds of success are."

Devin nodded, picking out the key to his car. He wanted to get back to his room, put the finishing touches on an outline he was planning to send to his publisher.

"Thanks, but I wouldn't know what to do with it if I did."

He started toward the driver's side, then paused, looking back at her. "The book is called Next of Kin, if you want to pick it up. It might not be your thing, but hey. It could kill a couple of hours."

Giving her a wave, Devin got into his car and started the engine. He'd scratch off the ticket after he got his work done.

She waved back, looked up at the cloudless blue sky, then started to walk in the general direction of the post office. Next of Kin. Even if it wasn't any good, she could at least try it. Not everything had to be an intellectual pursuit. Even she was capable of relaxing with a book once in a while.

Maybe not all Americans were boorish and dreadful after all.

Adventures at the Full Service Island

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