Out of Control (30 page)

Davy flipped through the wallet. “Thanks,” he said. “I think you just saved my ass. Come in and have some coffee. You want breakfast?”

“Nah,” Seth said, as they trooped into the kitchen. “I stuffed myself at the resort buffet, and Miles is on the love diet.”

Miles flung the rental car keys onto the table. “Am not,” he mumbled. “I just don't feel like eating, that's all.”

“You should've kept Miles out of this,” Davy said to Seth. “It's getting dangerous.”

“I am a goddamn adult, and can goddamn well decide for myself what I get involved in.”

Davy was startled at the savage edge in Miles's voice. “Uh…OK.”

“I have a favor to ask of you, Miles,” Margot said. “About Mikey. I have to do some traveling, and I can't take—”

“You're not going with me to San Cataldo,” Davy cut in.

Margot's chin went up. She continued without looking at him.

“…and I wonder if you could dogsit for me. Mikey likes you.”

Miles folded his arms over his chest. He shot a cool glance at Davy. “Free kung fu and karate lessons for one year,” he said. “Use of the dojo for practice and weight training whenever I feel like it.”

“Jesus, Miles,” Davy muttered.

“Private coaching in kung fu forms. Once a week. For one year.”

Seth whistled. “Whoa. Did you take a cynical pill? Or are you just hanging out too much with the likes of us?”

“I'm through being the chump asshole who gets walked on by everybody.” Miles's voice was very hard. “I'm getting a clue. Finally.”

“Is this about Cindy?” Davy asked warily.

Miles shook his head. “No way. This is about me having better things to do than obsess over a brainless piece of fluff.”

Davy and Seth exchanged telling glances. “About time he woke up,” Seth murmured. “About your road trip. Want reinforcements?”

Davy hesitated. “I don't want you guys implicated. And besides, I was going to ask you if Margot could stay up at—”

“Thanks, but Margot has other plans,” Margot broke in.

“We're working out the details,” Davy said, through clenched teeth. “And a man and a woman attract less attention than a group.”

Seth eyed Margot's clingy slip with approval. “Depends on the woman. If you want to fly under the radar, I recommend a baggy T-shirt and some uglifying glasses for your girlfriend.”

Davy's jaw began to ache. “You can stop ogling her anytime now.”

Seth's teeth flashed white against his dark skin. “Whoa! Mr. Cool is getting jealous and territorial. It must be love.”

Davy's savage irritation edged higher. He turned to Margot. “How about you take that bag upstairs and make yourself decent?”

Margot's cheeks flared crimson. She snatched up the bag and stalked towards the stairs, head very high.

Davy would have felt like an asshole even without the uncomfortable glances Miles and Seth gave each other.

“Uh…wow,” Seth said. “I've never seen you like this.”

Davy had nothing to say for himself. He was suffocating in here. He tossed back the rest of his coffee and stomped out the back door.

 

The phone started ringing while Margot was in the bedroom, lacing up her high-tops. It rang and rang. She hesitated, and ran to the window. Davy was out in the meadow, talking to Miles and Seth, far enough away that even if she called him to the phone, he would never make it in time. She was being silly. Now was not a time to miss an important call. The worst that might happen was an uncomfortable conversation with one of Davy's ex-girlfriends. She could survive that.

She ran down the stairs and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, is this Margot? It's Sean. Where's Davy?”

She sighed in relief. “He's outside with Seth and Miles. He didn't hear the phone. Want me to call him in for you?”

“No, I can tell you. Nick called, Connor's FBI buddy. He's been trying Davy's cell all morning but the mountain house never gets cell phone reception, so he called me. He found someone to do prints on your snake thingie.”

“And?” she said eagerly. “Did he find a match?”

“Sure, but not a helpful one. There was only one good latent print, and the print examiner said that the only potential hit she found was Davy.”

Her hand tightened on the phone. “Davy's?” she said, bewildered.

“Yep. All us poor schmucks crazy enough to join our glorious armed forces have been printed. Keeps us honest, I guess. Sorry I don't have more useful news for you. I'm gonna give Davy a hard time for putting his oily paws all over the evidence like some geek amateur.”

Margot didn't know what she said to end the conversation. She might have hung up in Sean's face for all she knew. She stood there, paralyzed, unwilling to follow this thread of reasoning all the way down to the dark place where it led. It didn't matter. It was dragging her.

Davy had never touched that necklace. She ran through every moment she'd spent with him. She'd never taken the thing from the place where it lay buried among her hairpins, clips and scrunchies.

He had been in her house three times. Always with her. The first time he'd ever even seen the snake necklace was when he'd seen it hanging from her wind chimes, and he'd made a big point of not touching it then. Which meant that—no. He couldn't be. Not Davy.

But why go to the trouble of getting someone to run prints on the necklace if he knew that his own were on it?

Because he had fully expected to field this call himself,
a cool voice in her head said. Nick had tried Davy's cell phone. This call had slipped by him by chance. No one was perfect. Not even Davy McCloud.

A cold, dense feeling solidified in her gut, weighing her down until she doubled over, almost crouched on the ground. Panting around the cramp of pain. And fear. How incredibly stupid. A little tenderness and attention from a man, and she fell. Plop. Like an overripe fruit.

It wasn't possible. She wasn't going there. Anywhere else. Not there. The recent events of her life cataloged themselves mercilessly in chronological order. She'd started teaching at Women's Wellness three weeks ago. The rose petals started two weeks ago. The burglary was a week ago. The dead dog six days ago.

She thought of that first visit to his gym. How he'd blocked her exit, grabbed her, scared her out of her wits. And then come to her house that night, after she'd specifically uninvited him.

In fairness, she reminded herself, she'd let him in. He'd stood on the porch and waited for her permission. If she'd been bowled over by his charisma and sex appeal, that was not necessarily his fault.

She couldn't face it. She'd let down her guard with Davy more than with any other man in her entire life. She'd felt his inner self. Felt the world change course. Her judgment couldn't be that wacked.

She was in love with him. Had been almost since she met him. He was everything she longed for in her deepest, most secret fantasies. But since a person's deepest fantasies were formed by their more or less screwed-up childhoods, it made sense that anything based on them would end up a betrayal. After all, look at what had formed Davy's.

Watching his mother bleed to death. Watching his father go nuts.

Not fair
, something screamed inside her. Nobody was responsible for the bullshit that happened to them when they were kids. Nobody.

Her hands were clamped over her mouth. A high, keening sound was coming out of her mouth that didn't drown out the cold voice in her head. She'd suspected from the moment she laid eyes on the man that he was too good to be true. Too sexy and gorgeous, too smart, too good in bed. Too passionate and protective. Too damn perfect.

There was always a catch. Always.

Uglier doubts began to squirm. Joe Pantani, beaten to death with bare hands. Bart Wilkes, who would never tell who had redeemed the snake necklace. The Goth girl, who would never identify who had used her to try and collect Mikey. The blood, the dead dog, it all started after she started working at Women's Wellness…and met Davy McCloud.

She'd been so desperate and vulnerable. The perfect state in which to be swept away by someone forceful and strong.

God knows, her luck with men was grim and spotty, from the luckless Craig all the way back to her own father, Greg Callahan. Handsome, charming, violent. The clearest memory she had of the guy was the smell of liquor on his breath. No wonder she was a basket case. Her wires were crossed from the get-go.

But she had no business cowering. She had to think for herself, to be strong and cold. She couldn't wait for Davy to explain everything, to take matters back into his big, capable hands and make it all OK.

Maybe there was a logical explanation for his fingerprints being on her necklace. She wanted to believe that so badly, she was more than willing to be stupid and credulous. She had to guard against her own blind spots and weaknesses, no matter how painful and difficult.

On your feet, girl, she told herself. Davy was still outside. The keys to the rental car were on the table. At least she didn't have to hotwire the thing. She would have laughed, but it was so unfunny.

She darted up the stairs to the bedroom, stuffed her slip, dress and sandals into her plastic bag. She couldn't think about this, or she would lose her nerve. Down the stairs, stumbling in her haste. She grabbed the keys, tiptoed out the door and down the drive, doubled over behind the file of vehicles. Barely out of the men's line of sight.

She slid into the unlocked car, grateful that it was parked at an uphill slant. All she had to do was release the emergency brake and roll slowly down the driveway until she disappeared into the trees. The crunch of gravel under the wheels sounded deafening to her ears.

No alarm was sounded. The hairpin turns were tricky to negotiate rolling backwards, but she managed. She was concentrating so hard, the tears rolling down her face surprised her when she got to the road.

She fired up the engine, wiped her eyes with her arm and took off. The rental sedan jolted around the curves of the mountain road.

She could not afford to get pulled over for speeding once she got onto the highway. She was a car thief now, too. The situation was degenerating fast. But even the prospect of facing a state trooper in a stolen car with a fake ID paled in comparison to facing Davy's angry green eyes.

 

Faris could not believe his eyes. He pulled the car out of the concealing foliage where he'd huddled all night, festering with rage as he imagined McCloud soiling his angel with his filthy body. He had even gone so far as to wish he'd brought a gun. He'd always thought himself to be far too talented to deal death with such a crude weapon.

But he would do anything to eliminate McCloud.

And Margaret had run away. His blood sang with triumph. She was pure at heart. McCloud had forced himself on her, but she had wanted desperately to escape all along. To stay pure…for Faris.

She was so brave. So valiant and strong. His joy almost balanced out his humiliation at what had happened the night before. He had never been defeated in combat, since very early on in his training with the secret Order of the Snake. He'd been the strongest of all of the trainees. The very best. Marcus had arranged it all for him, had organized and paid for everything. Marcus had been so proud of how accomplished his brother had become. How useful his skills were.

Faris had wanted so badly to be useful to Marcus.

There is no such thing as defeat, Faris. Defeat is unacceptable. You know what happens to losers, Faris. Do I have to show you again?

He could not go back to Marcus, battered and bruised, and tell him that McCloud had beaten him and kept the girl. Unthinkable.

There is no such thing as defeat, Faris.

He could see her white car below him, the next switchback down. It was pure luck that he'd jolted out of his doze at the sound of her car, or he would've continued to follow the GPS signal in McCloud's truck.

If he could extract the information Marcus needed from her, Marcus would have no reason to damage her. Prying information was easy, with his needles, but Faris had never done it to someone that he did not want to damage. Oh, well. He had to be strong, and practical. He would love her and pet her and caress her until pleasure made her forget what she had suffered. The way Marcus had always done to him.

And Faris did love Marcus, in spite of the pain and the fear. Love and pain and fear were all mixed together. That was how the world was.

Afterwards, she would bond with him in isolation from the world. They all had, in the end, but the others had degenerated, broken and babbling. He'd been forced to dispose of them all, eventually.

He wouldn't have to dispose of Margaret, though. She was strong.

D
avy left Seth and Miles in the kitchen and went looking for Margot. He had the vague notion of telling her he was sorry for being such a dick, and besides, he wanted her under his eye. Not that she was in danger up here, but still, his neck was crawling weirdly.

The phone lay off the hook, beeping. He picked it up, stared at it, and hung it up. He punched in the code that redialed the last caller.

Sean picked up. “Oh, hey, it's you. Did Margot tell you what I—”

“What did you say to her?” Davy demanded.

“Didn't she tell you?” Sean sounded puzzled. “Nick called me. He's been trying to reach your cell. The only print on the necklace that was decipherable was yours. Did you touch the thing before you bagged it?”

“Oh,
shit.
” Davy's stomach sank. “You told her that?”

“Why shouldn't I tell her? And since when did you get so careless, anyway? Since you started getting laid?”

“Christ, Sean, you should have talked to me before you shot off your big mouth! She didn't know I'd ever handled the thing!”

“What do you think I am, psychic? How am I supposed to know about your communication problems with your girlfriend?”

“Later. I have to fix this now.” Davy slammed the phone down. “Margot?” He ran up, checked the bedroom. Her clothes were gone.

Seth was slouched in one of the kitchen chairs, swilling coffee. He saw the look on Davy's face and stiffened. “Problems?”

“I can't find Margot,” Davy said. “I handled her necklace, the one I told Nick to run prints on. Sean just called and told her that my prints are on it. That jaw-flapping
idiot
.”

Seth blinked over his coffee cup. “And this a problem…why?”

“Because she never saw me touch the goddamn thing!” Davy yelled. “She probably thinks I'm the stalker now!”

Miles's eyes widened in alarm. Seth hissed through his teeth.

“Yikes,” he said. “How about Miles and I hit the road? This is one conversation I would really rather not overhear.”

Davy was already out the door, scanning the driveway. There were only two vehicles, not three. “You won't overhear anything,” he said. “The rental car's gone. She's split already.”

Seth and Miles followed him out the door. The three of them stared at the driveway. There was a long, dismayed silence.

“That, uh, sucks,” Miles faltered. “Got any idea where she went?”

Davy's hands clenched. “She thinks it was me,” he muttered. “Un-fucking believable. There's a killer out there gunning for her, and she thinks I'm wasting my time playing dirty tricks on her.”

“Uh…shit.” Seth floundered. “Women get weird ideas,” he offered tentatively. “You've only known her for what, two days? And she's been living on the edge. It screws with your judgment. Believe me, I know. Don't take it personally, man. I can tell she really likes you.”

Davy spun around. “Likes me? Are you out of your fucking mind? This guy's a trained assassin, and she's running straight into his arms!”

He lunged away from them, picked up a wheelbarrow that leaned against the woodshed, and hurled it right through the weathered siding. A rending crunch, and they all stared into a splintered dark hole in the wall. Seth's mouth gaped. Miles backed slowly away.

Davy stumbled back in the long grass, the sick certainty coming on. The blood-tinged darkness. Not now, please not this, not now…

Cold, small hands clenched on the steering wheel, snow falling thick and fast and silent, tires spinning uselessly. Spinning and spinning.

“Davy? Hey! What's going on? What are you…Davy?”

His foot, stretching desperately to reach the clutch. Dad yelling hoarsely, Mom as pale and transparent as a wax doll.

Blood, spreading. Everywhere. So much of it.

“Yo! Davy! Snap out of it, man. You're giving me the creeps!”

The images faded from his vision. He was doubled over, his forehead slick with sweat. Breakfast seriously threatening to come up.

He straightened up carefully, trying to make his breath go deeper than the panicked, hitching gasps that shook his chest.

He looked into Seth's angry face. Miles had skittered back to a safe distance, face pasty white, eyes huge behind his round glasses.

“Jesus, man. You scared us to death! What the hell was that?”

Davy willed his stuttering heart to slow down. He ignored Seth's question, replacing the images with blank, neutral ones; his proven favorites; ice fields, sand dunes, the pockmarked face of the moon.

They didn't work. Not with Margot's face superimposed over every one of them. “Everybody's got their crap to deal with,” he muttered.

“Ain't that the truth,” Seth said. He patted Davy gently on the back, as if afraid that he would break. “You, uh, gonna be—”

“I'm fine,” Davy said sharply. He turned to Miles, glared at him too. “Perfectly fine.”

Miles nodded rapidly, still speechless. His Adam's apple bobbed.

Seth looked unconvinced. “You going after her, then?”

Davy stared bleakly down the road. “I know that Snakey's not me. She doesn't. I can't sit around on my ass while she gets slaughtered.” He turned back to the house. “Got to haul ass. Now.”

“You can't travel in your own vehicle,” Seth said. “If they're not watching for it now, they will be soon.”

“I don't have time to find something else.”

“Take mine,” Seth offered. “I'll dump yours in town somewhere.”

“You mean the Batmobile?” Davy spun around, startled. Seth was fiercely territorial about his super-customized vehicle.

“It'll save you time,” Seth announced, with stoic martyrdom.

“Thanks,” Davy said. “Yes. I accept. Give me the keys. Now.”

“Maybe Miles and I should go with you,” Seth said cautiously. “You shouldn't be driving in your, uh, condition.”

“I do not have a fucking
condition
,” Davy spat out.

“So you've never gotten one of those spells while driving? This is my beloved car, man.”

“I don't have time for this.” Davy strode to the kitchen. “I'm out of here. Not that I've got the faintest clue which way she went.”

“Sure you do,” Seth called after him. “Just follow the beacon.”

Davy whirled again. “Come again? What do you mean, beacon?”

Seth had a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes as he sauntered into the kitchen. “I gave her a petfinder. She didn't tell you? Her dog wasn't wearing it when Miles and I took off this morning, so it's probably still in her purse, right? Bingo, man. You got her cold.”

Davy stuck his gun into his jeans and grabbed a jacket off the wall. He plucked the keys to his own truck off the wall hook and tossed them to Seth. “I owe you a drink.”

“You owe me a six course meal, you cheap bastard.” Seth dug his keys out, and passed them to Davy. “I've got X-Ray Specs loaded onto the computer on the dash. Just enter the code, which I have…in my wallet.” He passed it over. “You've run that program before, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Davy stuck the printed card into his pocket.

“And there's a briefcase in back. My emergency kit. It's got a laptop, and some of my spyware techno-toys, if you feel the need. Not that you deserve to profit from my genius, since you took my beacon out of your cell phone. That hurt my feelings, you humorless dickwad.”

Davy entered the alarm code into the door. “Being tagged by a beacon is an unacceptable infringement of my privacy and my personal freedom,” he repeated, for what had to be the thousandth time.

“Spare me the dogma. You love it when I conveniently infringe upon your lady's privacy and personal freedom, right? Hypocrite.”

“She's got a murderer on her tail,” he pointed out.

Seth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Don't they always.”

“Seth, get real! I am up to my neck in shit!” Davy yelled. “How can you joke about this right now?”

Seth and Miles exchanged worried looks. “Because it helps,” Seth said bluntly. “I laugh so that I do not weep. Try it sometimes.”

“Today is not the day for me to develop a fucking sense of humor.” Davy got into the Chevy, fired up the engine. He slewed the truck around, wallowing in gravel, and floored the bastard.

 

Theoretically, her body needed food. She'd been driving like a demon for twelve hours straight, stopping only to refuel the car and pee.

She should be ravenous. Maybe some strange chemical was released by the brain when a person ceased to care what was going to happen. She felt cut loose, floating. The tears she'd shed this morning had run their course and left her empty as a shell. Better that way.

At least she had a destination. San Cataldo was the only place with a magnetic pull strong enough to make her move through space.

She didn't care enough to keep running from whoever had killed Craig and Mandi. She didn't have the energy to start over. Even Mikey was gone, and he'd been the only thing that kept her feet on the ground.

Enough. She was done with running, hiding, lying to survive. She would do for herself what Davy had proposed to do for her. Turning over rocks, shaking trees until someone got upset. The thought of being put in jail or killed no longer elicited any emotional reaction.

She wondered if this was what Tamara meant when she talked about giving up fear and hope. Was this what freedom felt like? Numb, no need for food or drink, company or comfort. Careening through space with no past, no future. Taking each second as it came.

She'd stuck to the smaller roads. The line on the accelerator trembled over eighty-nine mph. It was a miracle that she hadn't gotten stopped. When she was too broke to buy more gas, she would ditch the car and start hitchhiking. Minute would keep following minute, until the minutes stopped. For whatever reason.

Hours slid by. Bizarre waking dreams ran through her mind, more vivid than the dashed strip dividing the blacktop. Twice she wavered onto the shoulder and jerked back onto the road with a faraway jolt of alarm. Next time she might flip over the guardrail, or plow into an oncoming car. Not that death held much terror, but she could still whip up enough juice to feel reluctant to hurt somebody else.

She got off the highway and started looking for a cheap motel. The dilapidated Six Oaks Hotel fit the bill. The vacancy sign missed the first three letters, so the sign flashed “…
ancy
…
ancy
,” over and over.

She pulled up outside reception. The glass door was locked, but she kept pounding until a heavily jowled man in his undershirt stumbled out of a nook behind the lobby. He wore two large hearing aids. He unlocked the door and glowered. “It's after midnight, lady.”

“I'm so sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. “I just couldn't drive any further. I promise, I'll never do it again. Could you give me a room that faces away from the road? Please?”

He grumbled as he fished for a form and shoved it across the counter. “$29.79 with tax. Gimme your card.”

She scribbled a fake license number and pushed it back at him along with two of her precious twenties. “Can I pay in cash? My purse got stolen, and the credit card people haven't mailed me my new—”

“Don't tell me your problems after midnight. I ain't a bartender. Gimme a hundred bucks for a room deposit.”

She counted what was left in her wallet, and reluctantly pulled out the last three twenties. Nothing left in there but a five and a few ones. “Uh…will sixty be enough?” she asked. “I don't have—”

“Give it over.” The guy scooped up the twenties, shoved a key back at her. He turned away and shuffled back toward his dark den, where the eerie blue light of a TV flickered fitfully.

She drove the length of the long, L-shaped building. Her room overlooked a Dumpster and what appeared to be a gravel pit. Dismal, blighted, perfect for her mood. The interior wasn't much better, dusty and reeking of cigarettes, but she wasn't disposed to criticize.

She almost collapsed onto the bed, but she wanted to shower the burning grit out of her eyes. Then she would lie down and close her eyes. And that was as far into the future as she was willing to project.

She stayed under the pounding water until she was squeaky clean, her fingers wrinkled and pruney. She never wanted it to end. Neither the past nor the future could intrude upon a good hot shower.

She turned it off regretfully, dried off, and wrapped the clammy, skimpy towel around her body, hoping that the bed didn't sag or lump. She exited in a billowing cloud of steam, all ready to fall right into the—

“Hello, Margaret.”