CASUALTIES OF WAR by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Vistaria Has Fallen. Book 5.0

Military Romantic Suspense Novel

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM CASUALTIES OF WAR
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2018
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Adán went up to her.  “Officer…Graves?” he added, remembering the name tag he’d spotted at the party.

She turned, the furrow between her brows.  The furrow cleared.  “Mr. Caballero.”

“Adán.”

She didn’t nod or acknowledge it.  “What can I do for you?”

Adán glanced at the sergeant, who was openly listening.   “Perhaps we could step over here for a minute?”

Impatience flickered on her face, but she moved over to the other wall, next to the water cooler and waited.

“I wanted to thank you,” Adán told her.

“For not arresting you?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that.  “For wishing me good luck.  It worked, you see.”

“Oh.  You got the job?”

“Better than that.”  He thought of the amazing week it had been.  “I got two jobs.  Not just jobs,” he added in a hurry.  “They’re fantastic roles.”  The second job had dropped into place months after auditioning and it was as different from the tired-cop role as it was possible to get—lead in a Victorian era romantic drama, in a role that was going to stretch him in all sorts of ways.

Her smile was small but it was there.  “That’s nice.”

“Okay,” he said heavily.  “What is it about actors and you?  Did one dump you?”

Her face clouded over.

Bingo.

“I don’t think that’s any business of yours, Mr. Caballero,” she said stiffly.

“You’re right, it’s not.  Only, I should thank you again, in that case.”

“Why?” she asked, startled.

“At the party, you said you knew what it was like to be told you can’t do something you love.  You presumed I was in this business because I love what I’m doing, not because I’m grasping for my fifteen minutes of fame. It’s nice to be thought well of, especially when you hate my species.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said, her smile a little further in place.  “I’ve just been around actors my entire life.  You’re flighty and ephemeral and unreliable.  You get divorced as soon as you get bored, which is every thirty days.  Actors serve no higher cause than themselves.”

“Who was he?” Adán asked softly.

She drew in a breath.  “Said too much, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“My father left us when I was five.”

He grimaced.  “That sucks,” he admitted.  “Although, he didn’t leave you because he was an actor.  He left because he’s a shitty human being.  There’s a difference.”

“He left because he was offered a role on Broadway,” she replied.  “He never came back.”

“My assertion still stands.  And anyway,” he said, warming to his argument, “actors are not useless.  Without movies and TV, without books, without stories, humans would go insane inside a week.  Stories explain life.  That’s how humans learn.”

“It’s not exactly serving your country, is it?” she returned, a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

“You want I should beat up bad guys for you, instead?  That’s what it takes to earn your respect?”

“I’m the one with the Glock, remember?”

“Right.  I did forget.”

“I don’t need rescuing, Mr. Caballero.”

“Adán.”

“And if I did, my husband would do it.  He’s good at beating up bad guys.”

Adán smiled.  “I believe it.”

She considered him.  “You didn’t flinch.”

“I should have?”

“I mentioned a husband.  Most guys do.”

“I’m not most guys,” he said flatly.  “Besides, I’m not trying to hit you up for a date.  You’re not my type.”

“I’m not?”  Her tone was curious, not indignant.

“I’m Vistarian.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “That should mean something to me?”

“You haven’t even heard of Vistaria?”

“It’s in Mexico, right?”

“Next to Mexico.  Vistarian men, they like taking care of their women.  They like beating up the bad guys for them, so the lady doesn’t have to.  It’s in our DNA.  I would just trip you up.”

She laughed.  It was an honest bellow, not a polite twitter.  “Have you ever hit anyone in your life?”

“No,” he admitted.  “But for you, I would.”

Her smile faded.

“For any lady, I would,” Adán amended.  “I’m just trying to thank you.”

“I consider myself thanked,” she replied and straightened.  “Anyway…”

“See you around, Officer Graves.”

“Oh la, Mr. Caballero.”

It took him a second to realize what she had actually tried to say was hola.  He clutched his chest.  “God, that was awful!  Who taught you Spanish?  A drunk Frenchman?”

She grinned.  “I suck at languages,” she admitted, with a candid air.

“You absolutely do,” he agreed.  “Goodbye, then,” he added.

“Ciao,” she replied, mangling that, too.

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