Call Out (7 page)

Some girls might be offended by a statement
like that, but I recognized it for what it was: a combination
distraction tactic and off-hand compliment. I smiled at him. “But
he is,” I said. “The broken-hearted boyfriend, I mean. So...any
other suggestions?”

Ashe surprised me yet again. He smiled back
at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can think of a fair
few,” he said.

“Any that aren’t prurient?”

Ashe laughed. “Prurient. Are you trying to
sound like a college textbook or a trashy romance novel?” He shook
his head. “What I suggest is you two make yourselves at home.
Living room couches are comfortable, TV setup is self-explanatory,
and the bathroom is the first door on your right down the hall. I
have a shop set up out back that’ll suit me and Stretch.”

London left the room, coming back just a
moment later with Dylan’s dress. He followed Ashe out the kitchen
door to the back yard, and Brian and I wandered into the living
room. Brian settled in on the sofa, his guy instincts leading him
straight to the remote control. I kicked off my Converse and curled
up in a battered recliner, hoping to be able to rest for a while if
not sleep. I closed my eyes and listened to small snippets of sound
from the TV as Brian flicked through the channels. Though it wasn’t
the most soothing sound in the world, I could mostly ignore it. But
when Brian settled on a channel, the sounds weren’t ones I could
ignore.

There is nothing – and I mean nothing – quite
as annoying as sneakers squeaking on a basketball court. It’s worse
than nails on a chalkboard.

I know how most guys are about sports. Sports
and porn, actually. They can watch them no matter what. They don’t
have to be interested in who wins – or in getting off. It’s the
male equivalent of a soap opera.

I can’t stand those either.

I listened to the godawful squeaking for as
long as I could stand it, trying to think of a polite way to ask
him to change the channel or mute the sound. Nothing came to
me.

“Brian, please, please, pretty please...make
it stop.”

He looked up me like I’d spoken Greek.

“Mute the damned TV,” I explained.

He muted the damned TV and set the remote on
the coffee table. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. I
noticed he did that a lot, and without making a mess out of his
hair. If I picked up that habit, I’d end up looking like
Einstein.

“This is killing me,” Brian said. “The
sitting. Waiting. Not being able to do a damn thing.” He ran his
hands up and down his thighs, rubbing them hard against his faded
jeans. “I need to be doing something. Anything. I need to not feel
so fucking useless.”

My cell rang, saving me from saying something
trite and not at all helpful. I dug the phone out of my pocket and
looked at the caller ID.

“My brother,” I said to Brian. I hit the talk
button on my phone and said, “I told you’d I’d call you back. Hang
on a minute.”

I struggled up out of the recliner and headed
outside to talk to Alex. This conversation could get ugly, and I’d
rather there were no witnesses.

“Okay,” I said as I shut the door. “Now, do
you want to rant at me, or do you want me to tell you what’s going
on?”

Alex was quiet for so long that I thought the
call had dropped. Maybe he was trying to decide which option he
preferred. I don’t really know.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said at
last.

I appreciated Alex’s effort to contain his
temper. I knew he had to be worried as well as pissed off. I don’t
know that I could have been as calm in his place.

“Okay, you know I got a call while I was at
the park. Your first hysterical voicemail said that Scott called
you when he couldn’t get in touch with me, told you’d I’d just
wandered off in the middle of the battle game.”

“Right.”

One syllable answers. That couldn’t be good.
“It was Brian that called me.”

“Dylan’s hot-as-hell boyfriend Brian?”

“Yeah. That one.” I took a deep breath and
let it out in a sigh. “He called to ask me if I’d heard from
Dylan.”

“You’re killing me, Lizard. Just get to the
point.”

I wanted to hit something. If I jumped
straight into the middle of the story, Alex would freak. And,
apparently, if I didn’t he’d bitch. Great. Just great.

“Fine. But remember I tried to break this to
you gently.”

“Break what....” Alex started to ask. I cut
him off.

“Dylan’s missing. Brian and I haven’t heard
from her since she left for the airport....god was that only
yesterday morning? Shit.”

“Whoa, what do you mean Dylan’s missing? And
why am I just now hearing about it?”

“I didn’t tell you sooner because I knew
you’d want to come out here with me, and there’s no point. You’ve
got work, and Blas wouldn’t like it much if you just up and left.
Besides, it isn’t like there’s anything you can do that I
can’t.”

“Blas would understand,” Alex argued.

“No, Blas would put up with it because he
loves you, but he wouldn’t understand. He’s practical, like me.
He’d see right off that you can’t really do anything, and he
wouldn’t understand you running off to Orlando just to sit around
and wait, not when you can sit around and wait right where you
are.”

“Point,” Alex conceded.

“I can’t file a missing persons report from
here, but I’m working with an investigator,” I said, bending the
truth until it screamed for mercy. I was so not going to try to
explain the magic thing. “And believe me when I tell you that being
out here does not make me feel any more useful.”

Alex stayed silent for a moment, and I
switched the phone to my other ear, waiting.

“Do you think Brian has anything to do with
it?”

I laughed, more out of surprise than
amusement. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie-of-the-week, Alex. The
boyfriend isn’t the bad guy this time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Brian loves her, Alex.
Really loves her. This is killing him.”

“I had to ask, but I trust your judgment. On
this, anyway.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I
said.

“Anytime,” Alex said. And then, “Is there
anything I can do?”

“Yeah, there is. I know it’s asking a lot,
but if you can get up to Dallas and file that missing persons
report, that’d be good.”

Alex was quiet for a moment, considering.
“You’re right about me not really being able to just up and run
off. My boss, not the most caring guy in the world. I might not be
able to get away for a few days.”

“Like I said, we’re working on it from this
end. I just don’t want to leave any bases uncovered. If you can’t
make the trip, I understand that. And if it has to wait a few days,
then it just has to wait a few days.” I sighed. “I never thought
I’d say this, but I really wish I knew how to get in touch with
Carly. Or their parents.”

“There’s this amazing thing called the
internet. Let’s you look up phone numbers.”

I smiled and shook my head, even though Alex
couldn’t see it. “That’d be swell if the Connellys had a published
number. Or Dylan’s sister had a landline.”

“Shit. Didn’t think about that.”

“Just do what you can, Alex. We’ll find her.”
I wasn’t even sure I believed that, but I knew he needed to hear
it. “I know one thing - when this is all over, when we find Dylan
and we’re all home safe and sound, I’m going to look into getting
that whole GPS cell-phone tracking thing on my phone.”

“Good idea. Of course, it won’t do much good
if you get separated from the phone.”

“Maybe we all need...subdural GPS chips or
something.” No, I’m not a geek at all.

Alex laughed. “Technology isn’t that advanced
yet.”

“And only you would know that.”

I could hear something, and someone, in the
background on Alex’s end. I heard Alex’s muffled response, and then
he said to me, “Blas is home. I’m gonna go. Keep me in the loop,
dammit.”

“I will, Alex. I promise.” I would, as much
as I could.

“Later, Lizard.”

“Bye, Alley Cat.” I hung up before he could
yell at me. He hated that nickname even more than I hated
‘Lizard.’

I dialed Dylan’s cell again, not expecting or
getting any answer, before shoving my phone in my back pocket and
letting myself back into the house. Brian paced around the living
room, cell phone pressed to his ear. I hesitated, wondering if I
should give him some privacy, but he motioned me in. I curled up on
one end of the sofa and watched him.

“Yeah,” he said, pacing toward the front
door. And then, “No, you don’t need to do that. I’m okay.” He
listened again as he turned to walk back toward the kitchen , and
then said, “I hope not. I hope....yeah, exactly.”

He half-sat, half-leaned on the arm of the
couch. “Thanks, Adrian....I will. You don’t have to....okay, I’ll
see you then....you, too. Bye.” He hit a button on the phone, then
hit a few more and held it to his ear again. From the look that
crossed his face, I guessed that he’d tried Dylan’s cell again,
too. He slid from his perch on the sofa’s arm to slouch in its
corner.

“Adrian called,” he said.

“I gathered.”

He nodded. “He wanted to see how things were
going with Dylan. I never thought to call and tell him what’s going
on.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”

He laid his arm across the back of the sofa,
his hand palm up. I accepted the offer, shifting a bit so I could
lay my hand in his.

“He offered to fly out tonight. I talked him
out of that, but he’s insisting on coming up this weekend, whatever
happens.”

“I had to talk my brother out of coming out
here, too. And out of killing me for keeping this from him.”

Brian smiled at me, but it didn’t touch his
eyes.

Chapter Eight

I remember wishing I could relax enough to
get a little nap. The next thing I remember is Brian waking me up
so we could head back to the airport. London insisted on my riding
up front this time, and I didn’t argue.

Ashe climbed in behind the wheel, watching
his rearview mirror to make sure the boys were settled in. Once we
were on our way, he turned down the radio that had blared to life
when he started the engine.

“I made a snap judgment about you back at the
airport. And I’m pretty sure I was wrong. I just wanted to
apologize for that,” he said.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it.
“It happens. No apology necessary.”

“I thought you were trouble,” he continued,
as if I hadn’t spoken. “And you could be, if you wanted. “

“Trouble, huh?”

Ashe waited for a Jeep to pass by, and then
turned onto a cross street. “Trouble. Not just a distraction,
though that can be bad enough when you’re dealing with magic. But
a...what’s the word I’m looking for. Not impediment...obstacle! An
obstacle.”

I pondered that for a moment. “You thought
I’d stand in between London and his magic, somehow.”

He snorted. “Somehow. Yeah, somehow.”

“You thought I was his girlfriend. And that
I’d...I don’t know. Disapprove?” I thought about his ex. What’s her
name. Kelly. She’d been an impediment for sure.

“Disapprove, yeah. Think magic makes him
evil. Think he was fucking nuts.”

“From what Brian told me, London’s dealt with
all of that. But I’m not his girlfriend. I just met him.”

Ashe glanced at me. “You think that means you
can’t be trouble?”

I looked out the window, remembering all the
little touches and things that had passed between London and me. Oh
yeah, trouble can come out of nowhere, for sure.

“It’s not like that,” I said.

“Sure it isn’t. And I’m Mother Teresa.”

I turned to look over my shoulder. All I
could see of London, slouched down in the corner of the truck bed,
was a cloud of caramel-colored hair, whipped around by the
breeze.

“It’s not like that,” I said again as I
straightened in my seat.

“You’re as gun shy as he is. What’d they do
to you, baby girl?”

“Asked too many fucking questions,” I
answered.

Ashe laughed, but he took the hint.

When we reached the airport, Ashe dragged
himself out of the truck long enough to shake hands with me and
Brian and clap London on the shoulder with a reminder to call him
if he needed anything. He climbed back into the truck and was
pulling away before we even made it inside.

There wasn’t much of a wait to pick up our
boarding passes or go through the security screening
song-and-dance. We made it to our gate – if you could call it that
– with a little time to spare. I hit the ladies room while the boys
found a vending machine with bottled water. I downed half of mine
before we boarded. The terminal building couldn’t have been much
cooler than the outdoors; mid-April or not, the temperature had to
be in the high 80s.

When we’d left Orlando, none of us had known
when we’d be heading back from Key West. That being the case,
London had booked us one-way flights. He’d booked one-ways again
for the flight home, but the last minute arrangements had left us
with slim pickin’s as far as seats. Business class had filled up,
pushing us back into the crowded, cramped economy section. London
somehow managed to find two seats together, with a third a few rows
ahead of them. London took the single aisle seat. I knew it was so
I wouldn’t be alone and wouldn’t have to sit by the window. Still,
as much as I like Brian, I’d have preferred having London beside
me. Silly, but true.

We taxied out and were cleared for takeoff.
Brian offered me his hand, and I had a sneaking suspicion that
London had told him all about my fear of flying.

I took Brian’s hand with a nearly-whispered,
“Thanks.”

Maybe it should have bothered me, knowing
London had been telling my secrets, but instead I was kind of
grateful.