Out of Control Page 7

  “I thought it was weird, too. She looks like the type that would kick the tires and yell at the car. Anyhow, I galloped to the rescue with my Slim Jim, but when I got the car open, she just gave me this blank look, not responding to my devastating charm. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, ‘Oh, nothing,’ you know the way women do when they’re about to go sit in the dark and eat a half gallon of ice cream?”

  “Actually, Sean, I’ve don’t know that I’ve ever inspired a woman to eat a half-gallon of ice cream,” Davy said, with rigid patience.

  Sean rolled his eyes. “Little do you know. You just don’t pay attention. Anyhow, I coaxed it out of her. The burglary, the dead dog, yuck. It sounded creepy, so I told her to talk to you. I know you’re phasing out the P.I. stuff, but she’s scared. Broke, too, but you’re not hurting for money, and it’ll keep you from getting bored and stealing hubcaps on the street until we get our business launched. You could hold off on billing her. Or better yet, do it pro bono. That would be righteous and studly of you. Women dig that.”

  Davy regarded his brother with slitted eyes. “Are you trying to fix me up? Don’t.”

  Sean looked disgusted. “Self-absorbed prick. You think this is all about you. I was just trying to make Margot stop crying. She’s afraid this sick fuck is going to hurt her little dog.”

  “Great,” Davy said sourly. “Heart-wrenching.”

  “Yeah, actually. It is.” Sean scowled at him as he took another swig of beer. “And what if I was trying to fix you up? What’s the crime? You’re not making discernible progress on your own. You haven’t shown signs of life since the Ice Princess gave you the boot. The chick with the blonde bun who never let her hair down, what was her name?”

  Davy winced. “Beth. She wanted a ring.”

  Sean pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow. “Thank God you bailed. I always felt like I had my foot shoved into my mouth when that woman was around. Oh, and speaking of girlfriends, I talked to Connor. He said it’s in your best interests to bring a date to the wedding, because Erin’s got a flock of man-eating bridesmaids, and Erin’s mama likes to matchmake. If you go alone they’ll be unleashed upon you. A tornado of jewel-toned taffeta. Watch out. They see you in a tux, man? You’re dead meat.”

  Davy hissed in dismay. He’d deliberately avoided thinking about his brother Connor’s impending wedding, but it was bearing down on him now like a runaway train. “Fuck me. You bringing someone?”

  Sean’s grin was gleeful and wicked. “Hell, no. Bring ’em on, six, eight, ten at a time. My idea of paradise. Marooned on the lost planet of horny bridesmaids. Yum.”

  “Cindy’s gonna be a bridesmaid, too,” Miles volunteered. “She’s wearing red. She’s awesome in red. That’s why I’m crashing at Sean’s condo tonight, because Cindy has an appointment with the dressmaker for a final fitting tomorrow at eight in the morning. And I’m driving her.”

  Davy and Sean exchanged pained glances. Miles’s hopeless devotion to their future sister-in-law’s younger sister Cindy made them both nervous, but all they could do was to build up the kid’s muscles, reflexes and self-esteem, and hope to God that his brain would eventually trail along behind.

  Davy sipped his whiskey and let it burn down his throat. “Bridesmaids are bad news,” he reflected. “Beth was a bridesmaid at her cousin’s wedding. It was right after that she got all intense about commitment. Women start tossing back the champagne and thinking about the big M, and whammo, you’re in a world of hurt.”

  “You should think about the big M yourself,” Sean said. “You have to do your duty by the family DNA. You’re not getting any younger.”

  Davy closed his eyes. “Connor’s got it covered. They’re probably procreating already, the way those two go at it.”

  The silence that followed suggested that Sean had the same quiet ambivalence about their brother’s wedding that he had. Not that they weren’t happy for Connor. He was so far gone in love with his bride-to-be, he was practically incapable of coherent speech.

  Which was fine. Great. Extreme, out of control happiness was exactly what they wanted for their brother. But the thought of the wedding left him with a dull pang of loss. Connor was moving into a new phase of life. Leaving his brothers behind. It made him feel vaguely restless and empty, when he thought about it, so he tried hard not to.

  Stupid, yes, and selfish. They loved Erin. She was perfect for Connor. Smart, brave, pretty, sweet. She’d shown her quality in that crazy thing that went down with Novak a few months ago. She’d earned her membership to the McCloud clan a thousand times over.

  No, Erin wasn’t the problem. It was just going to be…different.

  Sean blew out a sharp sigh, like he was shoving away unwelcome feelings, too. “I just had a brilliant idea. Bring Margot. She’ll create a force field to protect you. And she’ll add to the scenery, big-time.”

  “Forget it,” he growled. “Not happening. Lost cause.”

  “How come?” Sean demanded.

  Davy gritted his teeth. “Drop it, OK?”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, Christ. Don’t tell me, let me guess. You flubbed it, didn’t you? I dropped a golden opportunity in your lap, and you blew it. You chump. No wonder you never get laid.”

  Davy stared at the lights that gleamed on the dark, rippling surface of the lake, declining to rise to the bait. He had nothing to say for himself. He hadn’t shared the results of Margot’s background check with his brother. Her mysterious secrets were none of Sean’s business.

  Of course, by that token, they were none of Davy’s business, either. He brushed that unhelpful thought aside. “Don’t you have someplace to go tonight?” he asked. “Some girl or other?”

  “Miles and I might grab an action flick at the viddy store,” Sean said. “I’m experiencing a brief, restful lull from my usual erotic activities. Keeping myself pure until the wedding.”

  “It’s only two more days,” was Davy’s dour observation.

  “A fucking eternity,” Sean said. “I want to be charged up for the bridesmaids. Mow me down, ladies. Use me up. Wring me dry.”

  “I don’t know about the viddy,” Miles said doubtfully. “I’ve got to get up really early. I have to—”

  “Be Cindy Riggs’s personal slave, gofer, tutor, chauffeur, yeah. We know,” Davy cut in.

  Miles rocked back in his chair, his eyes wide and startled behind his round glasses. “No way! We’re just good friends. She didn’t have a ride to her fitting, so I told her—”

  “I’ve seen how good a friend she is.” Davy mimicked Cindy’s light, breathy voice. “‘Miles, do you like my new push-up bra? Miles, would you help me with my zipper? Miles, would you do my calculus homework? Miles, who should I go out with, Rob, Rick or Randy?’ ”

  Miles’s mouth set into a hard, angry line. “It’s not like that.”

  Sean cleared his throat in the silence that followed. “Uh…maybe Miles and I should hit the road. You sound like you need a serious time out. We’ll take the Chinese with us, if you don’t want it.”

  “Yeah.” Miles sprang to his feet. “Let’s go. Like, right now.”

  Davy lifted his glass in silent apology as Sean and Miles left. Waves lapped rhythmically at the pebble beach below the porch in the silence they left in their wake. Usually it was a restful, meditative sound. Tonight, it struck him as soggy, depressing. Repetitive.

  He was ashamed of himself. He had no right to criticize poor feckless Miles. He’d done stupider things himself for a woman. Would’ve done them again tonight, in fact. All night long, if Margot had let him.

  The evening ticked by, impossibly slow. He wandered from room to room, discarding books and magazines. He surfed the net, the tube, but nothing was remotely interesting. It all seemed empty. The silence was so thick, it clogged his brain, but any music he put on irked him.

  Evening stretched into an endless night. He finally wandered into the bedroom and dragged his jeans off to give his relentless boner some air. He sprawle
d out on the bed, but instead of sleep, he slid right into a series of erotic waking dreams about Margot. Kinky stuff, charged with anger and power games. Struggling against ropes, staring up into her bright eyes as she taunted him, showed him how helpless he was.

  Very weird. He wondered what the hell that was about. Bondage games had never remotely entered his mind in terms of bed play. That was for bored people who needed to shock dulled senses to life. And God knows he went to great lengths in his life to avoid feeling helpless.

  There was nothing dull about his senses. The dream memory of writhing beneath her beautiful body was vivid to the point of pain. He covered his face with one hand and gripped his stone-hard cock with a growl of frustration. There was no reasoning with his hard-on tonight, with the memory of her slim, strong shoulders beneath his hands so fresh in his mind. The fine texture of the skin on her neck. The look on her face, when she was thinking about letting him take her to bed.

  His heart had beat so hard it almost exploded out of his chest.

  If she’d kissed him, he would have gone for it and fucked her anyway, in spite of all the question marks. Everything about her turned him on, even her clumsy lies. They didn’t come to her easily. It was almost endearing. The woman couldn’t tell a decent lie to save her life.

  The way his mind had couched that passing thought sent an uneasy chill down his back. He shrugged it aside.

  Years of interviewing witnesses had made him expert in the study of body language. Margot was prickly and defensive because she was afraid, not guilty. She was no scam artist. She would crash and burn if she ever tried that line of work, the way her feelings were plastered on her face. She was proud, tough, principled. Impulsive. Scared to death, but more scared of the cops than she was of her bloodthirsty stalker.

  Something even bigger and nastier lurked in her past. It would be a challenge to get past her wall of thorns. Challenge stimulated him, though after the Fleur debacle, he made a big effort to avoid challenges in his love life. He tried to keep things simple. Uncomplicated.

  “Tried” being the operative word, women being what they were.

  Curiosity burned him like acid. It wasn’t his problem or his responsibility, but he wanted to nab this asshole who was terrorizing her. The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. He wanted to pin the sadistic fuckhead’s balls to the wall.

  He rolled up off the bed, restless and jittery, and wandered into the bathroom. He set the shower running, and stared at himself through the mirror fog. He wasn’t vain about his body. It never occurred to him to be. It was a tool, a resource to be maintained. It was useful to have strong muscles and quick reflexes. Women tended to say yes when he made advances, and that was convenient, too. Up to a point.

  He stared at himself, trying to see what Margot saw in him. Wanting her to want him. His pulse spiked, and his dick stood higher.

  He stroked himself experimentally. He didn’t much go for the shallow relief of jerking off. It was wasted energy, and he disliked the flat, let-down feeling it gave him after. But six months, for fuck’s sake?

  No one was perfect. No one was watching.

  He stepped under the pounding water, soaped up his hand and gripped himself. His mind hit the reverse button and ran him right back to that moment where Margot’s slender, cool hand was pressed against the center of his bare chest, her multicolored eyes wide and fascinated. Midnight blue fading to bright aqua, and a ring of golden brown around the pupil, like whoever put her together couldn’t make up his mind and just kept on tinkering. That red, sulky-sweet mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed. Taut nipples poking the thin fabric of her worn T-shirt.

  If things had gone how he wanted, her mouth would have curved into a sultry smile, and she would have pulled the T-shirt off and displayed herself to him. Eyes bright with that what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it look that drove him right out of his head.

  No hesitation there. A sweep of his arm to clear the dinner stuff out of his way, and he set her on the table, shoved her onto her back so he could pull her sweatpants off, hands lingering on every warm detail of her lush hips and ass. She unbuckled his belt with frantic urgency.

  Her words echoed. “…don’t have the time and energy for a boyfriend…can’t handle no strings sex…where does that leave us?”

  Good question. A dangerous idea took form in his mind, parallel and independent to the sexual fantasy that churned on unimpeded.

  Maybe they could work out the perfect deal.

  He didn’t want a girlfriend any more than she wanted a boyfriend. He was tired of the frustration on the woman’s part, the guilty discomfort on his. He hated one night stands, too. Often squalid and empty, always a health hazard, and he disliked waking up with someone with whom he had nothing in common but sex. Sneaking off before the woman woke up was bad, as if he’d stolen something, but the coffee, the groping conversation, her hopeful eyes—that was worse.

  He didn’t want no strings sex. He wanted carefully chosen, clearly agreed upon, precisely negotiated strings. A civilized, sensible arrangement between consenting adults. They were both single. She was attracted to him. She needed help, and protection. He was in a good position to offer it. She had her secrets to guard, he had his space to maintain. He would be very clear with her. Honest and respectful.

  The idea excited him more deeply than the fuck fantasy had. The water had run cold, so he switched it off, rubbing water out of his eyes, and heard his cell phone ringing. He almost broke the sliding glass door in his haste as he bolted for the bedroom, dove for the phone. “Yes?”

  Silence. The hollow kind that indicated that the line was open.

  “Hello?” he said, more urgently. “Who is this?”

  Click. Whoever it was hung up.

  Her phone number had stuck in his mind even after he’d decided that he’d never have reason to use it. He punched it in. It rang, once, twice. The line clicked open. “Margot? You OK?”

  Another brief silence. “No,” she whispered.

  A queasy, crawling feeling squirmed in his belly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry I hung up on you.” Her voice was dull, none of its usual sass. “I lost my nerve.”

  “Never mind that. What happened?” He waited a few agonizing seconds, and prompted her. “Did Snakey send you another present?”

  “I think so. I’m scared to go out and look more closely.”

  “Shit.” He was off the bed like he was on springs, fishing his jeans off the floor. He jerked them over his wet ass, not bothering with underwear. “What did he leave you this time?”

  “I…I shouldn’t have bothered you. I don’t know why I…I guess I just panicked.”

  She was chickening out. His instincts screamed to jump on her, pin her down, quick and fast. “I’ll be right there.” He shoved wet feet into his boots, struggled with laces. “Fifteen minutes, max.”

  He hung up, the better to forestall further argument, and dragged on his shirt. His mind flicked across the Glock 9mm in the gun safe.

  He decided against it. Bare hands were his preference, with the knife in his boot sheath for backup. He charged out the door and over the dew-soaked lawn. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands steady.

  He was an idiot, running into God knew what kind of mess, but he would bet body parts that whatever secrets Margot was hiding were not her fault. And that changed everything.

  He knew the difference between reality and fantasy. He’d choked down enough reality when he was ten years old to know exactly how it tasted, but just look at him now. All that meditation and detachment were for shit when that hot button was pushed. Pow, he jumped three feet into the air and charged off, cape fluttering, to save the fair maiden from the gigantic squid. Forever trying to rewrite the sad story’s ending.

  Not that he was any goddamn superhero. In fact, he was a calculating bastard. Blatantly working the situation to his advantage.

  But then again, she was free to tell him to fuck off if she pleased. So Mar
got Vetter needed help with her mysterious problems? Fine.

  Then maybe she could be persuaded to help him with his.

  Chapter

  6

  Blood all over her porch. Spattered over the peeling paint, the windows, the dusty wicker furniture that had been there when she moved in. Her welcome mat was drenched and sticky.

  It was a scene straight out of one of those silly horror flicks she used to love, back before she figured out that life had enough horror in it as it was. She stared down at the puddle, remembering how she used to giggle and squeal with her friends at the Braxton theater, screaming insults and admonitions. Don’t split up, you airheads, someone always croaks when the group splits up! Don’t go down into the creepy cellar, you brain-dead ditz, can’t you hear the freaking music?

  No scary warning music for her. Just birds twittering, tree boughs tossing in the fragrant breeze. Her wind chimes tinkled and clanked. Their hollow, random melody was supposed to be soothing. The lake of blood rendered it grotesque. More horrifying than any splatter flick soundtrack she’d ever heard. No group to split up and pick off, either. Just herself and Mikey, who had called a shaky emergency truce and was huddled behind her ankles, shivering. Mikey would face down ten pit bulls, but he was out of his depth with Snakey, and he knew it.

  She was, too. Scared out of her wits. The only thing to do was run, but her emergency stash of money had all been invested in her fake references, still more blown on celebratory crap like the couch, a pretty dress and frivolous shoes when she’d landed the job. What was left had gone for the vet bills and the kennel. The twenty-three bucks in the freezer would barely fill the tank in her dying car.

  She had a week to wait for her next piddly paychecks from Joe’s Diner and her various gym jobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them. The blood didn’t disappear. Just as well. If she were going bonkers on top of all this, she would be in real trouble.

  That thought sent painful laughter jolting through her. Like this trouble wasn’t real enough. Framed for murder and on the run from the law. Haunted by a grisly assassin with an unknown agenda. Stalked by a bloodthirsty maniac who might or might not be the same guy. The blood smelled meaty and nauseating. Her stomach bucked and rolled.