295 -- Talk about the weather
Boston may be cold as a witch’s…during the winter, but the summer sold an entirely different set of weather fronts.
It was 80 degrees outside, which meant the temperature in the car was heading toward 100. Stakes outs were never fun. Stake outs in summer were pure hell. And it didn’t help that as the temperatures got higher, tempers got shorter, and the crime rate in Boston rose several degrees itself.
Summer didn’t sizzle. Summer scorched.
Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm, Woody squinted against the sting in his eyes. The Kevlar he had on didn’t help matters a whole lot, adding another layer of bulk to deal with in the oppressing heat. Personally, he saw no point in wearing it on a stake out, but Jordan had voiced a different opinion. And it wasn’t so much what she said it was the way she said it.
No one else may have caught the tremor in her voice, but Woody heard it loud and clear.
So without question, he had donned the bullet-proof vest and flashed a grin at the relief in her eyes. If it would make her worry less, he’d wear a parka in the heat.
He stretched his six-foot-plus frame out as much as he could in the small police-issued sedan, peeling his sweat-soaked shirt off the upholstery. If he could just make it a couple of more hours in the blazing sun, Roz would be there to take his place and he could go home to a cold shower, cool sheets, and a frosty beer. Maybe given a good night’s sleep, he could recover from near heat exhaustion.
But tomorrow, if he was back on the stake-out, the Kevlar would go back on and he’d deal with the weather. That was a lot easier than knowing she was worrying about him.
Woody Hoyt
Crossing Jordan
308 Words
It was 80 degrees outside, which meant the temperature in the car was heading toward 100. Stakes outs were never fun. Stake outs in summer were pure hell. And it didn’t help that as the temperatures got higher, tempers got shorter, and the crime rate in Boston rose several degrees itself.
Summer didn’t sizzle. Summer scorched.
Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm, Woody squinted against the sting in his eyes. The Kevlar he had on didn’t help matters a whole lot, adding another layer of bulk to deal with in the oppressing heat. Personally, he saw no point in wearing it on a stake out, but Jordan had voiced a different opinion. And it wasn’t so much what she said it was the way she said it.
No one else may have caught the tremor in her voice, but Woody heard it loud and clear.
So without question, he had donned the bullet-proof vest and flashed a grin at the relief in her eyes. If it would make her worry less, he’d wear a parka in the heat.
He stretched his six-foot-plus frame out as much as he could in the small police-issued sedan, peeling his sweat-soaked shirt off the upholstery. If he could just make it a couple of more hours in the blazing sun, Roz would be there to take his place and he could go home to a cold shower, cool sheets, and a frosty beer. Maybe given a good night’s sleep, he could recover from near heat exhaustion.
But tomorrow, if he was back on the stake-out, the Kevlar would go back on and he’d deal with the weather. That was a lot easier than knowing she was worrying about him.
Woody Hoyt
Crossing Jordan
308 Words