Out of Control (24 page)

“Right.” She wiped her watery eyes.

“I'll be right there with you, every minute,” he insisted. “Anybody bugs you, anybody at all, I'll rip off both his arms. You got me?”

She tried to smile. “That's sweet, Davy. Bloodthirsty, but sweet.”

A shrill whistle sounded outside the door; a long tweet swooping upwards and three short sharp ones coming down. Davy sprang to his feet so quickly, he almost knocked Margot off balance. He yanked the door open. “What the
fuck
do you think you're doing with that signal?”

Sean blinked at him. “Lighting a fire under your lazy ass, bozo.”

“Never joke with that shit! Dad would've kicked your ass up the mountain and back down if he heard you playing with his signals!”

Sean's eyebrow took on an ironic tilt. “That's nothing compared to what the bride's mama's gonna do to you if you hold up her baby girl's wedding. You've seen that woman on the rampage. Look sharp.”

Davy grabbed Margot's hand and pulled her out the door.

She stumbled after him. “What does the signal mean?” she asked.

Davy and Sean exchanged narrow glances, and Sean shrugged. “Our dad was a combat veteran,” he explained. “He taught us some of his tricks when we were kids. That one means ‘get your ass out of there because I'm throwing in a hand grenade in X number of seconds.' Depending on how the signal's modified. There are variations.”

Margot tripped and caught herself against Davy's broad back. “You mean, you guys played with hand grenades when you were kids?”

“Aw, hand grenades are kid stuff,” Sean scoffed. “Big bombs are a lot more fun.”

“Shut up, Sean,” Davy growled.

There was no more time to follow this fascinating avenue of research. In the rose garden, Margot soon found herself in the midst of a quiet flurry of whispered instructions. She was led to a folding seat on the lawn by a hulking young man in a tux with unfortunate glasses and lank dark hair. He had been introduced to her as Miles. Mikey was cradled contentedly in Miles's elbow. Someone had decked out Mikey's curly fur with a cheerful tangle of colored silk ribbons.

The grassy space was flanked with banks of blooming roses. A fountain blew mist into the breeze. Miles deposited Mikey at her feet, flushed crimson and loped away like a startled gazelle when Margot smiled and thanked him. A string quartet struck up shortly afterwards.

Davy was first up the aisle, Tamara smiling mysteriously on his arm. They looked disgustingly gorgeous together, but Margot tried not to loathe her for it. It wasn't fair, for one thing. For another, a fellow outlaw deserved a smidge of solidarity, no matter how hot she looked.

Sean was next, grinning down at the chubby redheaded girl on his arm. Miles reverently escorted a slender brunette dressed in red. Raine followed, accompanied by a grimly handsome black-haired man who clutched her arm in a possessive grip. His suspicious eyes swept the assembled crowd as if searching for masked gunmen. They were followed by pairs of girls, their multihued gowns as bright as a bouquet of flowers. Then came the bride and groom, hand in hand. They looked so radiantly happy, Margot groped instantly for a tissue.

It was a beautiful ceremony; tender and simple and full of heart. The love and trust in the faces of the bride and groom made her dab at runnels of dissolving mascara throughout the whole thing, and Davy shot her a funny look as he strode down the aisle at the end.

Moments later, he was looming over her chair. “What's wrong now? What happened? You OK?”

She snuffled into her tissue and dabbed beneath her eyes. “Don't give me that terrified look,” she said in a soggy voice. “You're the one who brought me here. I didn't beg to come. So cope, already.”

He looked bemused. “I'm coping. Just as long as you're not—”

“I'm emotional, OK?” she yelled. “Get used to it! I get weepy at weddings, funerals, puppy chow commercials! Try not to make me more self-conscious than I already am, OK? I promise, it's not catching.”

He leaned down behind her and pressed a soft kiss against the back of her neck. “Whatever. It's time for the photos.”

“So off you go.” She shooed him away. “Get far away from me. Scat. Begone. I don't want cameras anywhere near me. Go!”

She sneaked a look in her compact. The remnants of wet mascara gave her a vaguely slutty look, but any more rubbing would make her eyes red and irritated. Drat. She would never achieve the Ice Queen look. She looked around at the chattering crowd of guests, wondering what it would feel like to be part of the normal world again.

If she were even capable of such a thing anymore. What had happened to her had changed her so completely, she felt marked. Almost as if she'd been infected with an incurable disease.

Her gloom deepened as she thought about it. Even if she did manage to pass for a normal citizen of the universe, it would always feel like a disguise. Her world was a nightmare of uncertainty.

In light of that, fountains and roses and all the happy festivity felt like a cruel mockery. And whoopsy daisy, check her out. Sending out embossed invitations for another pity party. Bad idea, since she was almost out of tissues. Mikey leaped up with his paws on her knees and licked her hand, and his big, worried dark eyes under his floppy bangs made her smile through her tears. Sweet old Mikey. What a life saver. She stroked his silky ears and told him so until his whole body wagged.

The grass behind Mikey was suddenly covered with a swathe of opalescent black taffeta. Margot's eyes traveled up the skirt until they reached Tamara's curved lips and impenetrable dark eyes.

Tamara stared at the mascara-stained tissue in Margot's hand. “Touching ceremony, hmm? Almost shed a sentimental tear myself.”

The soft mockery in her voice stung. Margot mopped at her nose one last time, and shoved the tissue into her purse. Tamara's beaded black evening bag made her abruptly conscious of the fact that her brown leather purse clashed tragically with her dress.

Oh, how she missed her stash of accessories.

“Yes, it was. Very beautiful.” Margot stared at the other woman's face, curiosity battling with good manners. She wondered how Tamara would react if Margot asked her how to hotwire a car.

Tamara's eyes flicked towards the fountain. “They're doing photos over there, but I don't do photos.”

“Me, neither,” Margot admitted, after a nervous pause.

Tamara's eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no? Why not?”

Margot blew out a shaky breath. “Same reason as you, I expect.”

“Ah! So Davy told you about me, then?” Tamara's smile widened. “I knew it. No wonder you're jittery. On the run from the law? And you let Davy drag you into a hornets' nest of feds? Not too smart, but he's a forceful guy. I have a weakness for forceful guys myself, being as how I totally destroy any other kind I get involved with. Ain't love grand?”

“You're a fine one to talk about it being smart to be here.”

“It turns me on to play with fire.” Tamara flicked at a lock of Margot's hair with her finger. “That hair color doesn't work for you, by the way. You're a redhead, right? You'd be better off going ash blond. Some honey-toned highlights, maybe. And for God's sake, get it done by someone who knows what he's doing. Don't do it yourself.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Margot said, between set teeth. Lovely. So her dye job sucked. Yet another thing to feel self-conscious about.

“I thought I'd seize the opportunity to talk to you while Davy was hung up with the photos. He violently disapproves of me, so he probably won't let me near you for the rest of the evening,” Tamara said.

Margot's spine straightened. “I decide who I talk to. Not him.”

“Good, good,” Tamara clapped her hands. “Keep that feisty attitude. You'll need it. Those Master of the Universe types are tricky to handle.” Her face grew thoughtful. “Davy's got that hero streak, just like his brother. I expect he wants to rescue you. How adorable. It'll probably get him killed, but it's still endearing.”

“Oh, no. It's not like that at all. I'm just using him for sex.”

Tamara's laughter rang out, clear as a bell. “Tough chick, huh?”

Margot crossed her arms. “I try.”

Mikey flung himself onto his back on Tamara's taffeta train and writhed, inviting her to pat his belly.
Good boy
, Margot told him telepathically.
Go on. Shed. Drool. Be doggish
.

Tamara tugged her skirt loose and obliged Mikey with the bottom of her elegant shoe. Mikey wiggled in ecstasy. “It's not a matter of trying, no matter how hard. Either you are…or you aren't.”

Margot's discomfort intensified. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Tamara's eyes were bleak once the humor faded. “You're not like me,” she said. “You want to be, but you're still hoping that it's not true.”

Margot shifted nervously on her chair. “What's not true?”

“That the world really is just a corrupt wasteland of cruelty and greed.” Tamara's voice had hardened. “You suspect it, but you're still hoping that someone'll come charging along in shining armor—probably a handsome blond someone—to prove you wrong.”

Margot shook her head. “I don't think that at all. I know better.” Her voice sounded colorless and small to her own ears.

Tamara jerked her chin towards the flock of bridesmaids posing in front of the fountain with the bride in their midst. Their feminine laughter drifted over on the breeze. “You're more like those girls than you are like me. So hopeful, and so fearful. Hope and fear are two sides of the same coin, you know? You'd be better off without either one.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Tam.” Davy's deep voice cut through Tamara's soft monologue. “Cut out the bleak existential alienation.”

Tamara's mysterious smile switched back on at full force as she spun around to face him. “Hello, Davy. I've been chatting up your lovely fugitive friend. She intrigues me.”

“I was afraid of that,” he said sourly. “This is my brother's wedding, Tam. If you would at least make an effort not to deliberately ruin anybody's day, I would count it as a personal favor.”

“I'm only trying to help.” Tamara brushed Margot's cheek with a cool fingertip. “I like her. Naïve, but game. Be nice to her. Or else.”

Davy made an impatient sound. “Go put the fear of God into somebody else. Look around. There's plenty of fresh meat for you.”

Tamara gave him a cool, narrow look, and smiled at Margot. “Ta, you two. Stay sharp.”

“Tamara?” Margot called.

The other woman turned back, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Do you know how to hotwire a car?” Margot asked.

Tamara's smile widened. “Honey, I know how to hotwire the global economy. Would you like some lessons? You look sharp enough to catch on. And you probably need a new career, am I right?”

“No,” Davy said. “We're not going there.”

Tamara's silky laughter bubbled up. “Let her decide for herself,” she teased. “You McCloud boys just refuse to think big. All that brain power and seething testosterone, crippled by misplaced morality. Such a tragic waste of potential. It's just criminal.”

“No. On the contrary,” Davy said. “Thank God.”

“Tamara?” Margot called. “One more thing.”

Tamara's brow tilted higher, her red mouth a twist of irony. “Yes?”

“You don't fool me,” Margot said. “You're still hoping to be proven wrong, too. And you're just as afraid as I am that no one ever will.”

Tamara's face froze into a smiling mask. She made a dismissive gesture with her hand as she spun around. Her long, shining tail of hair swished back and forth over her bare shoulders as she marched away.

Davy stared after her. “I've never seen anybody get under that woman's skin before,” he said slowly. “I thought she was armor plated.”

“Everybody's got her soft spot,” Margot said. “I'm onto her. Roses in bloom, your brother and his bride all blissed out and madly in love. It's hard to take. I just figured she felt…kind of like I do.”

Davy looked like he was bracing himself. “And how is that?”

Margot shrugged. “Left out,” she said quietly. “Jealous. Sad.”

He looked baffled and helpless. “I can't fathom the concept of Tamara having those kinds of emotions.”

Margot just looked at him until his eyes dropped.

He scooped Mikey into his arms. “This stuff is too heavy for me,” he muttered sourly. “Let's find Miles to look after Mikey, and get you some champagne. Quick.”

H
otwire a car, for Christ's sake. Over his dead body.

He could teach her to do that, if she really wanted to know. He could teach her to build and detonate a bomb, or defuse one. How to organize an ambush, how to rig a deadfall, how to slit someone's throat in the dark and then hide the body. How to use any kind of weapon.

All the tricks his father, Crazy Eamon, had taught him and his brothers to survive against all odds in a hostile environment after the fall of civilization and the total anarchy that was sure to follow. The fall hadn't happened, but every one of Eamon's tricks had proved useful to him and his brothers at one time or another in their eventful lives.

It wasn't what he wanted for Margot. She should be busy with her career. Shopping, working, having lunch with her girlfriends, doing whatever carefree young women did with their time. Not that he had any clue what that was, but it wasn't hotwiring cars, or running for her life from psycho stalkers. It wasn't hotwiring the global economy, either. He didn't want her to end up like Tamara. Hard as nails, cold as ice.

Fuck that. Not his Margot. It made him so angry, he wanted to knock over tables and smash all the glittering crystal glassware.

He hated it that she felt left out and jealous and sad. Somebody was going to pay for what had been taken from her. He would see to it.

Margot stumbled along, her spike heels tangling in the grass as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. He wasn't behaving well. He could tell from her quick, nervous glances. One would think that a night of incredible sex would chill him out. On the contrary, it had blown the lid off his self-control and revealed it for the cheap smoke and mirrors illusion that it had always been.

Raine and Seth were seated at the table. Seth was fiddling with the neckline of Raine's dress, and Raine was swatting his hand down, saying something stern, trying not to smile. Business as usual.

Seth didn't bother with self-control. He was a wild animal most of the time. Only Raine could cow him. Still, Davy couldn't help liking the guy. Seth was rude and crude and out of his gourd, yeah, but he was smart, cunning and loyal, and a good man to have on one's side in a fight. Those were far more important qualities, in Davy's opinion.

“Raine, you've met Margot,” he said. “Margot, this is her husband, Seth Mackey, one of my future business partners.”

Seth took his hand away from his wife's cleavage and held it out to Margot, a wolfish grin animating his lean, dark face. “My pleasure.”

Davy pulled out the chair next to Raine's and seated Margot in it without ceremony. “Have you guys seen Nick?”

Seth jerked his chin towards the opposite corner of the room. “He's over at the bridesmaids' table, picking out his flavor.”

Davy tilted Margot's face up and gave her a hard, possessive kiss. “You still have that snake thing in your purse?”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you—”

“Give it over,” he said. “I have to talk to Nick about running prints on it. Wait here. Don't move.”

His brother Connor's FBI colleague Nick was pouring champagne for a table full of simpering, jewel-toned girls. His sensual dark good looks, full lips and long dark hair were having their usual effect.

“Yo, Nick,” Davy said. “A word.”

Nick cut off whatever flirtatious bullshit he was spouting and looked up into Davy's eyes. He rose to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies.” He dimpled at them all indiscriminately. “This won't take long.”

They moved to a space in the middle of the dance floor near the bandstand. The band was tuning up, providing a sound screen.

“I need a favor,” Davy said, without preamble.

Nick's expression was grimly resigned. “Name it.”

“I want you to run prints on a necklace for me, and run a search in the IAFIS database. I need it done as quickly as possible. Like, right now. And I don't want anybody to know about it.”

Nick's face tightened. “Jesus, Davy. What's the big secret?”

Davy just looked at him. “If you can't do it, just say so.”

Nick looked away, cursing under his breath. He was stuck, and he knew it. A few months ago, Connor had been struggling for his life against the psychotic zillionaire, Kurt Novak. Nick hadn't believed him, in the face of the contradictory evidence. He'd cut Connor loose.

That error in judgment had almost cost Connor his life.

Nick felt like ten different kinds of shit about it, as he damn well should. Connor had forgiven him, since that was just the kind of guy he was. His brother couldn't hold a grudge to save his life, particularly not when he was in love. He wanted to forgive the whole freaking world.

Even Sean found it in his heart to be relatively cordial to Nick. Sean's attention span wasn't long enough to hold a good grudge.

But Davy had no problem at all with long-term anger. He saw no reason to forgive Nick, and no reason not to milk the situation to its fullest extent, either, since Connor wasn't going to.

What he was asking of Nick was risky and illegal. Too fucking bad. The further Nick's ass dangled out in the wind, the better Davy liked it. “Just say so,” he said mercilessly. “Yes or no. Real simple.”

Nick sighed. “Give it to me. I'll try to take care of it tomorrow.”

Davy opened up Margot's purse and fished out the plastic bag. “Don't mention this to Connor. I don't want him bothered about anything right before he leaves for his honeymoon.”

Nick held up the bag and peered at the thing through the plastic. “There's only one smooth surface on this,” he said. “If it's been bounced around in a girl's purse for a while, there's not going to be much left on it that's identifiable, even if your mystery entity did leave prints. And keep in mind that the latent print examiner at Quantico is going to know about it. Nothing I can do about that.”

Davy stared straight into Nick's eyes. “So beg,” he said coolly. “Grovel. Offer sexual favors. Be creative. Do what you have to do.”

Unspoken anger hummed between the two men.

Nick nodded curtly and stalked out of the ballroom.

The band was striking up a slow, sexy number as he wandered back across the room. Erin and Connor were moving into the middle of the dance floor, gazing into each other's eyes. In la-la land.

Davy's jaw tightened, his gut along with it. He didn't understand his reaction. He should be happy for his little brother. All he'd ever wanted was to see that look on Connor's face. He loved the guy.

He was being a cynical son of a bitch, and it was getting worse every minute that passed. If this went on, he was going to end up challenging Tamara for the Black Hole of Negativity title.

There was Cindy, Erin's little sister, dancing with some guy he recognized as another of Connor's colleagues from his undercover FBI unit. Miles watched from the sidelines, clutching a panting Mikey in his arms. His shoulders were slumped, misery written clearly on his face.

Davy gritted his teeth and walked on past. Miles had to work through the love thing on his own, but Cindy's manipulative, selfish obliviousness still pissed Davy off. Everything was pissing him off.

His old habit of self-observation was a big pain in the ass in cases like these, when he didn't particularly want to analyze himself, but by now it was a machine that functioned on autopilot. No stopping it.

It occurred to him that being angry was easier than being scared. And much easier than feeling sad. About how it had felt to lose Kevin twelve years ago, for instance. Or scared at how incredibly close he'd come to losing another brother to the grinding jaws of death just a few months ago. Scared at how close death and tragedy always were.

This was a piss-poor train of thought to have climbed onto, but it was too late to bail, it had already picked up too much momentum.

It infuriated him that Kevin wasn't there to dance at Connor's wedding, or his parents, either. It made him sick that love and family and all that assorted warm fuzzy stuff was forever teetering on the fucking brink of disaster. Always with a goddamn knife to its throat.

Like the one that was at Margot's.

 

Margot watched Davy stride away, feeling abandoned.

“What bug crawled up his ass tonight?” Seth asked.

He and Raine turned to look at her, and Margot was startled to realize that it was up to her to answer the question. She was the current resident expert on Davy McCloud. Wow. What a responsibility.

“I think what set him off was Tamara offering to give me lessons on how to hotwire the global economy,” she offered. “I thought it was an intriguing offer, but it seemed to make him really tense.”

Seth's face lit up with comprehension. “Ah! Yeah, Davy doesn't have much of a sense of humor about that stuff. Myself, I'd jump three feet in the air to have that woman teach me some of her—”

“No, you most certainly would not,” Raine broke in. “Not if you know what's good for you.”

Seth lifted his wife's hand to his lips and began to smooch his way up the length of her bare arm. “I know exactly what's good for me, angel baby,” he crooned.

Raine wrestled her arm away, giggling. “Stop it! You're being a pain in the butt today! What do I have to do, sedate you?”

“It's the dress, babe,” he protested. “How do you expect me to control myself when you show all that creamy skin?”

Raine slanted Margot an embarrassed look. “Excuses, excuses.”

Seth tilted his chair back and gave Margot a thoughtful once-over. “Sean told us about this sick fuck who's been stalking you—”

“Seth!” Raine broke in. “Please!”

“It's OK,” Margot said hastily. “That's an excellent description.”

“That reminds me. I have a present for you. Sean told us about you worrying about your dog, and I just happened to have a prototype on hand of this thing I've been fiddling with in my spare time. A new product. You still got that thing in your purse, babe?”

Raine rummaged in her ice-blue satin evening bag, pulling out a plastic-wrapped object. She handed it to Margot with a smile.

Margot turned it over in her hand. A circle of heavy black leather, with a silver medallion hanging off it. “What's this?”

“It's a dog collar,” Seth explained. “A Colbit GPS petfinder. If you lose your dog, you call me, I look him up on my system and tell you where he is. Or you can buy the software and the equipment if you want to look for him yourself. The battery's good for a month. I have to make you a recharger. The prototype I had wouldn't fit in Raine's purse.”

“Uh…wow,” Margot said helplessly. “I'm just…thanks.”

“Nobody told me your dog was so shrimpy,” Seth grumbled. “That collar's big enough for a rottweiler. I'll find you something smaller.”

She stared at the silvery medallion, and the thick leather collar, adorned with wicked-looking silver studs. “That's…that's so sweet.”

“Soon as we get back to town, I'll rig you some of my vidcams at your place,” Seth said. “We get your stalker on film, then we catch him and we squish him like a grape. Splat.”

Margot was touched by the grim purpose in Seth's voice. “That sounds really great,” she said hesitantly. “But the truth is, I don't have the budget for a complicated, high-tech—”

“Davy's family,” Seth cut her off.

“But I'm not,” Margot pointed out. “You guys don't even know me.”

“We can't wait to know you,” Raine said. “I asked Erin's mom to seat you with us on purpose. So fill us in, tell us everything. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you and Davy meet?”

Thank God, at least the last question was innocuous enough. “I teach exercise classes in the gym next door to his dojo,” Margot said. “A couple of days ago, I dropped by to ask him what he thought of my stalker problem. We've barely met, really. I was hoping to pump you guys for details about him. He's so mysterious, you know.”

That was a pretty slick job in deflecting questions, or so she hoped, but Seth and Raine exchanged dubious glances, and Margot shoved on with the first thing that popped into her mind. “For instance, I saw four brothers in the pictures on Davy's mantelpiece, but here there are only three. What happened to the fourth McCloud brother?”

Raine's smile faded. Seth's jaw tightened. Margot had a sudden sinking feeling that she'd stuck her foot in it. Way deep.

“Dead,” Seth said heavily. “Twelve years ago. His truck went off a cliff. His name was Kevin. He was Sean's twin. He was only twenty-one.”

Margot swallowed over a hard, dry bump in her throat. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “Oh, ouch.”

“Davy was overseas at the time,” Seth added. “Intelligence work, in the Army. He never told you how he and his brothers grew up?”

Margot shook her head. “Just that his parents are both gone, and that his father had some, ah, unorthodox political ideas.”