Kick Start: Dangerous Ground 5 (13 page)

He couldn’t read Grant’s face in the darkness, but he saw his rigid figure deflate a little. “He shouldn’t have done this,” Grant said sulkily.

Taylor shivered. “For all I know, he agrees with you,” he admitted. “But he did do it.” The cold was sinking into him now, perspiration drying, muscles stiffening up. He really did not want to go another round with Grant. The morning would be hell as it was. “You know what, I don’t have energy for this. I’m too tired to disable you without actually disabling you.”

Grant instantly flared up. “Oh, you think you can take me?”

“I
know
I can take you.” Taylor said wearily, “But it won’t be quick and it won’t be easy. So I’m going to go pick up a couple of six-packs of beer. If you can’t handle being in the car with me, start walking and I’ll pick you up on my way back.”

He didn’t wait to hear Grant’s response, instead turning and striding back to the SUV. He had started the engine and was just rolling forward when the passenger door flew open and Grant slid in. He didn’t say anything and neither did Taylor.

They bumped back onto the road. Taylor turned on the CD player and punched the button for Lifehouse.

* * * * *

It was closing time at the liquor store in Mist Bend, but there were two other customers wandering the aisles, and Taylor had the impression the elderly man behind the counter was not sorry to see him and Grant enter the store.

“Evening,” Taylor nodded.

“Five minutes, boys,” the old man said. He looked uneasily at the two long-haired men in camo and sunglasses, holding a low-voiced conference in front of the shelves of Bushmills and Jamieson.

Taylor gave the men a considering look — and recognized the yahoos who had got his day off to such a lousy start. The Dooleys.

He glanced at Grant, and Grant’s black-browed scowl said it all.

No. He really, really, really did not have the energy for this.

“What’s your dad like to drink?” he asked Grant.

Grant looked at him blankly.

“Beer,” Taylor prodded. “What’s your dad’s favorite?”

“Kölsch.”

“Kölsch?”

“Yeah. The Occidental Brewing Company in Portland has an agreement with Germany.”

Taylor nodded and proceeded to the refrigeration units in the back, relieved when Grant trailed after him.

Taylor studied the racks of bottles. Grant disappeared but then reappeared with a six-pack of Deschutes River Ale. Taylor found the Kölsch, grabbed a couple of six-packs, and they returned to the cashier.

“That be it, folks?” the old man asked, ringing their purchases.

Taylor nodded.

The camo clones had finally noticed them. One of them said, “Hey, it’s the Brandt kid. And that other guy.”

Taylor said, “Evening, gentlemen.” He handed over a twenty, keeping one eye on Grant and one eye on the Dooleys’ reflections in the glass windows. Grant stared unwaveringly at the Dooleys.

Taylor took his change. “Grant?”

The Dooleys were whispering to each other and chortling at some private witticism. Grant’s face turned red.

Taylor sighed inwardly. He must have been this young once, but he couldn’t remember it. He said, “Are you getting that to go or are we drinking it here?”

Grant looked at him in confusion and then paid for the six-pack. By then the Dooleys were inching toward them. They smelled of tobacco, whisky, and something animal. Goat? Weird, whatever it was.

“Hey, other guy,” the taller and skinnier brother said. “What’s your name?”

Taylor knew better, of course, but somehow the words just popped out. “Why?” he asked. “Are you going to invite me to your birthday party?”

Grant laughed.

The tall, skinny Dooley turned red, at least on the patch of skin visible to the eye. “You got a smart mouth, mister.”

“I know,” Taylor said. “I keep signing up for self-help courses, but then I forget to go.”

The second Dooley, shorter and squatter and browner than the first, took a couple of steps forward like a rottweiler trying to decide whether to charge. He swung his attention to Grant.

“Kid, you better tell your daddy Jem is looking for him.”

Grant retorted, “He can’t be looking very hard then.”

Dooley’s head went back as though Grant had punched him. For the first time Taylor understood the instinct that had Will wanting to clap a hand over his mouth and drag him away from trouble. His scalp tingled, and he wondered if his hair was standing on end.

He pulled open the glass door, which jingled merrily, nodded to Grant, who sauntered unhurriedly out, nodded to the man behind the counter, and nodded — levelly — to the Dooleys who were glaring after Grant.

They stowed the beer in the back of the SUV. The Dooleys were at the counter buying cigarettes and booze as Taylor sped out of the parking lot. “How many Dooleys are there?” he asked.

“Four. Not counting their mother.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t count her?” Taylor watched his rearview mirror, but the road behind them was empty. “So neither of those two was Jem, I’m guessing?”

“No. Jem is bigger. A lot bigger. And he has these weird tattoos all over his face. Or he used to. They kind of make him look like a skeleton. Or maybe a wolf.”

“Does he have a beard as well?”

“He didn’t use to.”

Taylor turned this information over as they drove out of town and started up the winding road leading back to the cabin in the woods.

No one resembling Jem had been in the truck that morning. Not unless Jem had seriously altered his appearance. As far as Taylor knew, there was no way of getting rid of tattoos like the ones Grant described.

“How long has Jem Dooley been out of prison?” Taylor asked Grant, breaking the silence of the last few miles.

“A week or so I guess.”

“But he hasn’t made any effort to contact your dad?”

Grant shrugged.

Maybe Bill was right. Maybe there wasn’t a real threat here. Maybe there was just a lot of blustering and posturing.

Or…maybe not.

A pair of headlights that had been meandering miles back on the road behind them suddenly blazed into the back window of the SUV.

“What the hell…” Taylor pressed the gas, and the Land Cruiser sprang forward.

Grant half-turned in his seat. “They’re still right on your ass.”

“Are you buckled?”

Grant fumbled with his seatbelt.

Taylor floored it and the SUV raced ahead, tires squealing as they whipped around a sharp curve in the road. The lights behind them fell back but then loomed large again.

“Shit, man.” Grant sounded disbelieving. “I think they’re going to ram us!”

Taylor swore. The Land Cruiser had the horsepower but he couldn’t risk going any faster than he already was. Even if he had been familiar with this route, this road with its hairpin turns and sudden dips wasn’t made for speeding.

The Land Cruiser’s headlights picked out the black outlines of tree trunks like motionless sentinels as they flew past.

“Is there anywhere I can pull over?”

There was a bang as the truck rammed their bumper and the Land Cruiser bounced forward and skidded. It was a heavy vehicle though, and Taylor was able to maintain course. Barely.

“Shit,” Grant warned. “Here they come again.”

There was another bang, and the Land Cruiser flew forward, fishtailing slightly. Taylor fought for control. If they went into a skid on this road, they were finished. They’d be over the edge and down the mountainside.

“Grant, is there a place coming up where I can pull over?”

“They almost went over the side that time,” Grant reported.

“Is there a place I can turn off?” Taylor repeated. “Grant?”

“There’s the Sawmill Road turnoff. It’s about another mile on the right.”

Another mile. God. Every second felt like an eternity.

Taylor risked it and punched the gas. The Land Cruiser shot ahead once more, screeching around the next two S-curves in the road.

The truck behind lagged and then lunged forward.

“Right there, where that white fence post is,” Grant said suddenly. “That’s the turnoff.”

Fuck.

Four. Taylor tapped the brakes.

Three.

Two. He tapped the brakes again. Harder. Slowed as much as he could in hopes of avoiding a skid that he already knew there was no avoiding —

He wrenched the wheel, and turned into the inevitable spin, hand over hand, going with it, praying as the Land Cruiser hit the dirt, spraying sand and gravel, kicking across the moonlit stretch of grass and shrubs, the rough terrain grabbing at the tires, slowing…slowing…

Not a road, just a large, round turn-off or staging area. Thank God. Thank God for that much.

The Land Cruiser rocked to a hard stop, the shoulder restraint cutting into the still- sensitive scar tissue on his chest. Beside him, Grant was breathing hard. “
Christ
.” He sounded exactly like Will at that moment.

“You okay?” Taylor asked him.

Grant nodded.

Taylor expelled a long breath. The SUV’s engine was still running. More good news. He checked the dashboard. Green lights everywhere.

“Hang on,” he muttered, and got out to check the tires.

His heart was still hammering as he walked slowly around the Land Cruiser. All four tires looked fine. The bumper had taken a beating, but it was still attached. He got back inside and buckled up.

“They tried to kill us,” Grant said. He sounded like he couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it.”

“If it was the Dooleys, I’m guessing drunk, stupid, and dangerous is their natural state. They could have just as easily killed themselves.”

“
If
it was the Dooleys?”

“I didn’t see who was driving.”

“
I
did.”

“Okay. Well.” Taylor didn’t have the energy or inclination to argue. They could easily have been killed, Grant was right about that. Malicious intent had certainly been present.

He shifted into drive and pulled slowly, cautiously back onto the now deserted road.

The rest of the trip back to the cabin went without incident. Taylor parked and they went inside only to find the lights down low and everyone but Bill apparently retired for the evening. Bill was nodding over his pipe in front of the fireplace. The dogs slept near him, Riley’s feet twitching in sleep as he chased dream rabbits or deer.

As Taylor followed Grant into the room, Bill opened his eyes and straightened. The dogs lifted their heads, blinking sleepily in the firelight.

“Where is everybody?” Grant asked.

“Cousin Dennis was tuckered out from his adventures. Your brother is taking a shower.”

Grant relayed the story of running into the Dooleys at the liquor store and their subsequent near mishap on the road.

“And you think it was the Dooleys?” Bill asked Taylor.

“I didn’t get a license plate,” Taylor admitted. “But it seems likely.”

“It was them,” Grant said. “Same dirty white truck. Same dirty white faces. I
know
it was them.”

“All right,” Bill said at last, grimly. “I believe you. I’ll take it from here.”

Grant stood there seemingly undecided. He looked at Taylor, looked away, looked back again. “That was good driving back there,” he said grudgingly.

“Thanks. That’s the advantage of a tactical driving course,” Taylor admitted.

Grant turned his back. “Night, Pop.”

“Night, son.”

Grant departed for bed, yawning widely. Roxie rose from her place by the fireplace and trotted after him.

Bill was smiling faintly as he studied Taylor. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“What I really need is sleep, I think.”

“Other than the fact that you and my son both look like you were rolling around in the dirt earlier this evening, neither of you seem the worse for wear.”

In the excitement of nearly being run off the road, Taylor had forgotten all about the first part of his road trip with Grant. “I don’t know if we reached détente or not. We each had our say.”

Bill grunted. “Grant’s got a good heart, but he’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Taylor nodded acknowledgment. He folded his arms staring down at the fire. The movement of the flames was sinuous, almost hypnotic.

Bill took his pipe out and set it in the handmade clay ashtray beside his chair. “Something on your mind, Taylor?”

Taylor said slowly, “You seem to be taking all this pretty calmly, Bill. I mean about Will and me.”

Bill took his time answering. He said at last, “One thing about being a lawman as long as I was, you learn there’s no such thing as ‘normal.’”

His blue eyes, so like Will’s, held Taylor’s gaze gravely.

Bill said, “I can’t say I ever noticed Will had feelings for other boys, but when he told me he was gay, well, Will was always a level-headed kid. I knew there was no mistake about it, that it was something he’d been working through a long time.”

Taylor nodded and looked back into the red-and-yellow flames dancing in the fireplace.

He heard the faint smile in Bill’s voice as he said, “And it’s not like I didn’t know about you. From the time you and Will were first partnered, it was
MacAllister this
and
MacAllister that
. Knowing you had the same orientation, I wondered how that was going to work out. I’d think sometimes,
I hope this MacAllister feels the same way
.”

Taylor laughed. “Actually I had to talk Will into the idea. I still think he sometimes wishes…” That was further, a lot further, than he’d meant to go. His face burned hearing the echo of his words. He must be more tired than he’d realized.

Neither of them said anything as Bill knocked the tobacco out of his pipe. He said suddenly, briskly, “You’re wrong about that. Will called me the night after you got hit. He said, Pop, Taylor’s been shot and nobody can tell me if he’s going to pull through. And then he couldn’t say anything more.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “Yeah, but that’s just —”

But Bill shook his head. “The last time William came to me for comfort was the night his momma died. He was six years old. He may not be good at talking about how he feels, but you were number one for him practically since the day you met.”