The Hollow (15 page)

At the counter, Shelley ignored the coffee, but she listened.

“It'd be better if you didn't badmouth Block in public. Say whatever you want about him to me, okay? But it's not good for you to go off on him, especially the size of his dick, in public.”

“He doesn't really have a little pickle dick,” Shelley muttered. “But he should. He shouldn't have any dick at all.”

“I know. Are you here by yourself?”

“No.” She sighed now. “I came with my girlfriends. We're in the arcade. We're having a Fuck Men night. In the bad way.”

“That's fine. You're not driving, are you, Shelley?”

“No, we walked from Arlene's. We're going back there after. She's pissed at her boyfriend.”

“If you're ready to go while I'm still here, and you want someone to drive you, or walk you, come and get me.”

“You're the sweetest damn thing in the whole world.”

“Do you want to go back to the arcade?”

“Yeah. We're going home soon anyway to make apple martinis and watch
Thelma and Louise
.”

“Sounds great.” He took her arm, steered her clear of Gage and the table, and walked her to the arcade.

Deciding he'd earned another beer, he swung back by the counter, ordered one on Gage's tab.

“So, you're sticking it to Shelley in more ways than one.”

Fox didn't turn at Napper's voice. “Slow night for crime, Deputy Take-a-Nap?”

“People with real jobs take nights off. What's your excuse?”

“I like watching people without balls throw them.”

“I wonder what'll happen to yours when Block finds out you're doing his wife.”

“Here you go, Fox.” Behind the counter, Holly set down Fox's drink, gave him a quick, understanding look. She'd worked the counter for enough years to know when trouble was brewing. “Get you something, Deputy?”

“Pitcher of Bud. I bet Block's going to kick your pansy ass into next week.”

“You're going to want to stay out of that.” Fox turned now, faced Napper. “Block and Shelley have enough problems without you screwing with them.”

“You telling me what to do?” He jabbed a finger into Fox's chest, bared his teeth in a fierce “dare you” grin.

“I'm telling you Block and Shelley are going through a tough time and don't need you making it worse because you want to fuck with me.” Fox picked up his beer. “You need to move.”

“I don't need to do a goddamn thing. It's my night off.”

“Yeah? Mine, too.” Fox, who'd never been able to walk away from a dare, tipped the beer down Napper's shirt. “Oops. Butterfingers.”

“You stupid fuck.” He shoved, and the force of it would've knocked Fox on his ass, if he hadn't anticipated it.

He danced lightly to the side, so that Napper's forward motion sent the deputy careening into one of the counter stools. When he righted himself, spun to retaliate, he wasn't just facing Fox, but Gage and Cal as well.

“That's a damn shame,” Gage drawled. “All that beer wasted. Looks good on you though, Napper.”

“We run your kind out of town these days, Turner.”

Gage spread his arms in invitation. “Run me.”

“None of us are looking for trouble here, Derrick.” Cal took a step forward, his eyes hard on Napper's. “This is a family place. Lots of kids in here. Lots of witnesses. I'll take you over to our gift shop, get you a new shirt. No charge.”

“I don't want a damn thing from you.” He sneered at Fox. “Your friends won't always be around to protect you, O'Dell.”

“You keep forgetting the rules.” Now Gage stepped forward, effectively blocking Fox before his friend rose to the bait. “You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. But Cal and I? We'll be happy to hold Fox's coat while he kicks the shit out of you. Wouldn't be the first time.”

“Times change.” Napper shoved his way past them.

“Not so much,” Gage murmured. “He's as big a dick as ever.”

“Told you.” With apparent ease, Fox stepped back up to the counter. “I'm going to need another beer, Holly.”

When he walked back to the table, Quinn gave him a sunny smile. “Dinner and a show. This place has it all.”

“That show's been running about twenty-five years.”

“He hates you,” Layla said quietly. “He doesn't even know why.”

“There doesn't have to be a why for some people.” Fox laid a hand over hers. “Forget him. How about a round of pinball—any machine. And you get a thousand-point handicap.”

“I think that may be an insult, but . . . Don't! Don't drink that. God. Look.”

The beer glass in Fox's hand foamed with blood. He set it down slowly. “Two wasted beers in one night. I guess the party's over.”

WHEN QUINN OPTED TO STAY AT THE BOWLING center with Cal until closing, Fox walked Layla and Cybil home. It was only a couple of blocks, and he knew they were far from defenseless. But he didn't like the idea of them being out at night on their own.

“What's the back story on the jerk currently wearing your beer?” Cybil asked him.

“Just a bully who's needled me since we were kids. Deputy Bully now.”

“No particular reason?”

“I was skinny, smaller than him—smarter, too—and came from tree-hugger stock.”

“More than enough. Well . . .” Her fingers gave his biceps a testing pinch. “You're not skinny now. And you're still smarter than him.” She sent Fox an approving smirk. “Quicker, too.”

“He wants to hurt you. It's on his top ten list of things to accomplish.” Layla studied Fox's profile as they crossed the street. “He won't stop. His kind doesn't.”

“Napper's top ten list isn't my biggest concern. He has to get in line.”

“Ah, home again.” Cybil climbed the first step, turned, looked around the quiet street. “We managed bowling, dinner, a minor brawl, and a memo from evil, and it's still shy of eleven. The fun never ends in Hawkins Hollow.” She laid her hands on Fox's shoulders. “Thanks for walking us home, cutie.” She gave him a light kiss. “See you in the morning. Layla, why don't you work out the logistics— timing, transportation—with Fox and let me know. I'll be upstairs.”

“My parents should be out of the house by eight,” he told Layla when Cybil strolled away. “I can come by and pick you all up if you need.”

“That's all right. We'll take Quinn's car, I imagine. Who's going to walk you home, Fox?”

“I remember the way.”

“You know what I mean. You should come in, stay here.”

He smiled, eased in a little closer. “Where here?”

“On the couch, for now anyway.” She put a fingertip to his chest, eased him right back.

“Your couch is lumpy, and you only have basic cable.

You need to work on your strategy. If you'd asked me to stay because you were worried about it just being you and Cybil in the house, I'd be trying to sleep on your couch with a rerun of
Law and Order
while I was thinking about you upstairs in bed. Kiss me good night, Layla.”

“Maybe I am worried about being in the house, just me and Cybil.”

“No, you're not. Kiss me good night.”

She sighed. She really was going to have to work on her strategy. Deliberately, she tipped her face up, and gave him the light, friendly kiss Cybil had. “Good night. Be careful.”

“Careful doesn't always get the job done. Case in point.”

He caught her face in his hands, lowered his lips to hers. Though the kiss was soft, though it was slow, she felt the impact from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. The glide of his tongue, the brush of his thumbs at her temples, the solid line of his body dissolved her bones.

He held her face even as he lifted his head, looked into her eyes. “That was a kiss good night.”

“It was. No question about it.”

He kissed her again with the same silky confidence until she had to grip his forearms for balance.

“Now neither one of us will get any sleep.” He stepped back. “So my work here is done. Unfortunately. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She made it to the door before she turned, looked back at him from what she considered a safe distance. “I have a careful nature, especially when it's important. I think sex is important, or should be.”

“It's on my top ten list of personal priorities.”

She laughed, opened the door. “Good night, Fox.”

Inside, Layla went straight upstairs where Cybil came out of the office, eyebrow lifted. “Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask why you're not about to get a good taste of adorable lawyer?”

“I think he might matter too much.”

“Ah.” With a knowing nod, Cybil leaned on the doorjamb. “That always tangles things up. Want to work off some sexual frustration with research and logs?”

“I'm not sure charts and graphs have that kind of power, but I'll give it a shot.” She shrugged out of her jacket as she stepped into the office. “What do you do when they might matter too much?”

“Generally, I run—either straight into it or away. It's had mixed results.” Cybil walked over to study the map of the town Layla had generated and pinned to the wall.

“I tend to circle around and around, weigh and think entirely too much. I'm wondering now if it was because I tuned in.” She tapped her head. “Without really knowing I was tuning in.”

“That may be.” Cybil picked up a red pushpin— representing blood—stuck it into the bowling center on the map to signal another incident. “But Fox would be a lot to think about under normal circumstances. Add in the abnormal, and it's a lot to consider. Take your time if time's what you need.”

“Under normal circumstances that would be reasonable.” At the desk, Layla chose a red index card, wrote:
Bloody Beer, Fox, Bowl-a-Rama
, and the time and date. “But time is one of the issues, isn't it? And how much we may actually have.”

“You sound like Gage. It's a good thing you two didn't hook up or you'd never look beyond the dark side.”

“That may be, but . . .” Frowning, Layla studied the map. “There's another pin, a black pin on the road between Fox's house and Cal's.”

“Standing for the big, ugly dog. Didn't I tell you? No, that's right, you went straight from work to the center. Sorry.”

“Tell me now.”

Once she had, Layla selected a dark blue card, the color she'd chosen for any demon-in-animal-form sighting, filled it in.

“I hate to say this, but while my mind is now occupied and my hands busy, I'm still sexually frustrated.”

“There, there.” Cybil patted Layla's shoulder. “I'm going to go make some tea. We'll add some chocolate. That always helps.”

Layla doubted if candy was going to satisfy her appetite for adorable lawyer, but she'd take what she could get.

Eight

A CHILLY TRICKLE OF RAIN DAMPENED THE morning. It was the sort, Fox knew, that tended to hang around all day like a sick headache. Nothing to do but tolerate it.

He dug out a hooded sweatshirt from a basket of laundry he'd managed to wash, but hadn't yet put away. At least he was ninety percent sure he'd washed it. Maybe seventy-five. So he sniffed it, then bumped that up to a hundred percent.

He found jeans, underwear, socks—though the socks took longer as he actually wanted them to match. As he dressed, glanced around his bedroom, he vowed he'd find the time and the willpower to put the stupid laundry away, even though it would eventually be in need of washing and putting away again. He'd make the bed sometime in this decade, and shovel out the rest of the junk.

If he could get it to that point, maybe he could find a cleaning lady who'd stick it out. Maybe a cleaning guy, he considered over his first Coke of the day. A guy would get it better, probably.

He'd look into it.

He laced on his old workboots, and because housekeeping was on his mind, tossed discarded shoes in the closet and, inspired, shoved the laundry basket in after them.

He grabbed his keys, another Coke and a Devil Dog that would serve as his while-driving breakfast. Halfway down the outside steps, he spotted Layla standing at the base.

“Hey.”

“I was just coming up. We saw your truck was still here, so I had Quinn drop me off. I thought I'd ride with you.”

“Great.” He held up the snack cake. “Devil Dog?”

“Actually, I've had enough of devil dogs on four legs.”

“Oh yeah.” He ripped the wrapper as he joined her. “Strangely, that's never put me off the joy of the Devil Dog.”

“That is not your breakfast,” she said as he bit in. He only smiled, kept walking.

“My stomach stopped maturing at twelve.” He pulled open the passenger door of his truck. “How'd you sleep?”

She shot a look at him over her shoulder as she climbed in. “Well enough.” She waited until he'd rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel. “Even after Cybil told me about her and Gage's run-in—literally—with a devil dog. It happened when they were driving to Cal's from your place.”

“Yeah, Gage filled me in while I was skinning him at pinball.” He set his Coke in the drink holder, took another bite of the cake. After a quick check, he pulled away from the curb.

“I wanted to ride with you because I had some ideas on how to approach this thing today.”

“And I thought it was because you can't keep away from me.”