Jolie Blonde (Vigilare Book 3) (8 page)

Brianna remains still, her eyes scanning Johnny. She notices blood accumulating at the corner of his mouth. He turns away from her, embarrassed.

“Johnny,” she whispers, approaching closer to his cell.

He does not respond. His back turned from her, he lashes out at the dingy mattress resting atop a rusty bed frame. The frame creaks against the floor with each heavy boot he kicks into it. Brianna watches, fearfully apologetic, her hands winding around the cell bars.

Wearing himself out, Johnny slumps onto the mattress, facing her direction. His elbows rest on his knees, his face hiding in his hands. He is breathing so hard, causing his strained shoulders to visibly rise and fall.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. The lump in her throat surfacing, with the presence of waterworks in her eyes, mutes her intention to continue telling him she wished she’d never gotten him involved.

Johnny steadies his breathing, forcefully inhaling through his nose and blowing out through pursed lips, his eyes closed awaiting calm to come. Brianna watches him, subconsciously pondering his likeness to Lon. Both of them blue eyed with dark hair, although completely different in style. Their complexions naturally bronzed. Johnny is smaller of frame, his features not quite as potent as Lon’s, still demanding of attention from most any female sect. It would be like comparing a young Paul Newman to a young James Dean. One, the all-American boy; the other, the all-American rebel.

“So, did you save
Loverboy?”
Johnny’s voice interrupts her thoughts, as his clarity delivers, returning him to his smart aleck self. He looks at her, an appealing crooked smile surfacing.

Brianna nods, ignoring his sarcastic probing. “I did exactly what you told me to do,” she affirms. “I didn’t stop until I got to the marsh.”

He rises from the mattress, approaching her closer to the bars, reveling in intrigue. “Did they take the bait?”

“Yeah,” she says, still disbelieving the concocted plan worked. “Lon was released of all charges. I called Dr. Shaw. He actually answered. Just like you said he would. I told him where he could find the skull.”

“Where’d you dump it?”

“I heaved it back into the water, where Lon and I found it,” she testifies, her eyes wide with amazement, her hands flail about with her words, miming a throwing motion.

Johnny chuckles at her actions, further scheming, “We gotta get that thing back.”

“Oh, no, we don’t.” She clears her throat. “Speaking of,” she begins cautiously, “when that thing cut you last night, did it tingle? Glow? Emerald green?”

He squints his eyes. “What? Why would it glow? Are you okay?” He wonders if sleep deprivation has set in, in the form of delirium.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“I hope so,” he speaks absently, diverting their conversation back to reality. “We gotta figure out why they want that skull. We figure that out, we’ll know why they murdered your parents,” his voice lowers as he nears the end of the sentence, in an effort not to appear completely insensitive.

“I don’t know that they’re anyone we want to mess with. Maybe we should just let the authorities handle it.” She ducks her head for fear Johnny will view her concern as cowardice.

“They don’t scare me,” he pipes. “That’s the problem with the whole corporate system. Too much greed. Too much power. They think they can take whatever they want. Do whatever they want, and get away with it.” He latches his hands around the iron bars separating them. “That man, you saw earlier. My
father,”
he chokes on the term, “he thinks I’m a derelict, a troublemaker. I’m not.” He pushes off the bar. “I fight for what I want. Sometimes I take what I want. But at least I go after it.” Pacing his cell, he continues, “My father plays the victim. Buries his troubles in the bottom of a bottle. Lets the world run over him. Accepts his
position
in life. Not me.” He turns back to Brianna. “You shouldn’t either.”

Admiring his courage, she can’t help but focus on his split lip calling out to some nurturing instinct within her. “Come here,” she says, sucking on the end of her shirt sleeve until it’s moist. Surprised that he actually heeds her direction, she gently dabs the blood from his lip.

Johnny watches her, warmed at the concern in her reflection, unaccustomed to such compassion.

“How often does this happen?” Her emerald greens trail from his lip to his eyes, wondering how often his father
disciplines
him in such a physical manner.

“Enough,” he says, “doesn’t even phase me anymore.” His eyes now devoid of feeling, he has safely retreated, robotically detached to his father’s routine actions.

Brianna lets the daunting subject rest, refocusing their objective. “So how do we get you out of here? Bail,” she quickly answers herself, her voice on the rise with a sense of urgency. “Where do I post your bail?”

He shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“But, I want to,” she argues. “Please, Johnny. You wouldn’t take my money last night for helping me. You’re in here because of me. It’s the least I can do.”

“No. I mean, I haven’t met with the judge yet.” He lets his arms fall from the steel bars, defeated, they come to rest at his sides. “And I don’t even know that he’ll set bail this time.”

“This time?” she asks. “How many
times
have you been in here?”

“Enough,” he dismisses with a roll of his eyes.

“What’s the charge? The charge for trespassing can’t be that bad…can it?” She remains hopeful.

“Well…” he draws out the consonant. “It’s not that bad for a first offense. But, considering this is my second, I don’t think he’s going to take it easy on me.”

“Ooh,” Brianna exhausts, her eyebrows flinching. “I’m so sorry. Maybe I can talk to the judge. Tell him the circumstances. Make him see that you wouldn’t have been trespassing if it wasn’t for me.”

“You need to quit apologizing,” Johnny jumps in authoritatively. “I didn’t do anything for you. I did it for me. The rush. Man, I live for that shit!”

She chuckles at the animated excitement whirling from his blue eyes, contemplating whether he is some kind of masochist. “Why don’t you take all of that thrill-seeking energy and focus it toward something legal? Like criminal justice or private detective…”

“Ha!” he interrupts, finding the sentiment most amusing, given his reprobate juvenile history.

“I’m serious.” Brianna eyes him, less than enthused by his berating outburst. “You would be really good at something like that. You’re resourceful. You’re quick on your feet. Look how you handled everything last night. Imagine the fun you’d have if you could do stuff like that all the time…legally.”

“That’s just it,” he begins, leaning against the iron bars, his forearms resting outside their confinement, “you can’t do stuff like that
legally.
Too many laws and restrictions. I don’t like rules.” He bows his head, looking down at his feet, purposely avoiding eye contact with her for his next point. “Your parents are dead. Dr. Shaw…ETNA Laboratories…somebody there is responsible. You know it and I know it. But they have enough power, enough connections,
Loverboy
nearly took the fall. If you would’ve went through legal channels, he’d still be locked up awaiting trial for murder. What’s lawful about that?”

Brianna is impressed at his fairness for Lon even though he cannot help himself from lacing his name with sarcasm.

“Besides, I’m good with me. Just as I am. Some people hide behind badges, suits, positions…they appear good and decent,” he chokes on the irony. “Those are the ones you need to be leery of. Me…” Johnny shrugs his shoulders, “least you know what you’re getting.”

She tilts her head, slightly enamored with his frank discourse. “Since you’ve got it all figured out, where do we go from here?”

He pauses momentarily, his eyes pressed and trailing up and off to the right with his thought. “I got it!” He snaps his finger,
Pop!
The startling sound causes Brianna to jump to attention. “You have a dentist?”

Her deliberation swiftly morphs into confusion. “Well, yeah, I have a dentist. But…what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Schedule an appointment.” Johnny begins pacing. “An emergency. You have a killer toothache. Anything…whatever it takes to get in…today. You gotta find some dental stone casting. You know, the stuff they use to make impressions. You take that to the marsh and get an impression of anything you see there. Footprints, tire tracks. Anything linking Dr. Shaw or ETNA to the location where you dumped the skull.”

“They covered their tracks last time. What makes you think they won’t this time?”

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “It’s worth a try.” Returning to the steel bars, he meets her gaze challengingly. “You got a better idea?”

“No,” she huffs. “But I don’t know how to make impressions. Unfortunately, we didn’t cover forensics in high school biology.” She looks at him sarcastically, as if he is out of his mind.

“It’s easy, really. Once you get the stone casting powder, you mix a little water with the powder. Pour it in the tracks and wait about 30 minutes. And voila!” He smiles at her proudly.

She smiles back, shaking her head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been reading way too many Hardy Boys books.”

“Oh,” he jousts, offended. “You’re insinuating I don’t read?”

She scans him up and down, contemplating how she would guess
if
he reads, it’s one of two categories—Poe or
Playboy,
ultimately siding with the latter.

He grins. “See. You should learn to trust yourself. You’ve got great instincts. I
don’t
read…if I can help it,” he admits.

“Well then, where did you learn all of this stuff? Dental stone casting…track impressions,” she asks, her tone embellished.

Johnny shrugs. “I watch a lot of detective shows.”

Brianna rolls her eyes, disbelieving.

“Really, you can learn a lot,” he defends.

“Huh,” she considers. “And they say television rots the brain.”

He chuckles, momentarily caught off-guard as he takes her in. Even in her day-old clothing, mussed hair and tired emerald eyes, his attraction to her grows, precipitated by their uncharacteristic time spent together. Uncomfortably aware of the awkward silence, he returns to the matter at hand. “What are you standing around for? Those tracks ain’t gonna impress themselves.”

“Johnny,” she rebukes, “this is ludicrous. Say I actually get in at my dentist’s office. Then, I somehow manage to get access to the dental stone casting.” Her voice completely acrimonious. “I steal it away to the marsh, where I
craftily
mix it, schlepping it into footprints or tire tracks…assuming they’ve left any behind. The moon is full, the stars align. And my cast actually holds up. What do we do with the thing?”

“We have it read. The impressions. So we can link it to Dr. Shaw…ETNA,” he explains so matter-of-factly, as if it’s a no-brainer.

“If we’re going to turn it over to the police, why not go to them now?”

“Whoa. I didn’t say anything about the police. I have a cousin…”

“You don’t say,” she interrupts, slapping the side of her leg agitatedly.

“I have a cousin,” he reiterates, annoyed with her lack of confidence in him. “He does this kind of thing. He’s got a lab…the whole setup.”

“Is it legal? What he does?”

“Not exactly, but…”

Brianna huffs, shaking her head as if she already knew the answer before she asked the question.

Johnny grows angry at her incessant lawful concerns and interruptions. “Look,” he says, grabbing hold of the steel bars that separate them, causing her to meet him eye to eye, “if you don’t like my ideas, you’re free to leave,
rich girl.”

The challenge in her body language retreats as her posture grows insecure with Johnny’s intensity. Realizing she has wounded his ego, she begins, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m…”

“If you apologize one more time, I swear I’m gonna beat my head off these metal bars,” he suspends her admission.

She looks at him, confused, a slight hint of annoyance surfacing. Opening her mouth as if she has something to say, she dutifully quenches the thought.

“Say it. Say it!” he demands encouragingly, the look in her eye now far from apologetic. “What were you about to say?” He grows antsy to know her true mind.

Brianna breathes in deeply, her chin jutting out as she attempts to embrace his provocation, knowing her true mind is not always as suitable as the edited version. “I was going to say, I was taught it is only proper and appropriate to apologize if I’ve hurt someone’s feelings. Although I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about manners,” she snips.

Johnny releases a devilish laugh. “Atta girl!” He swoops in closer to her, his playful eyes begging of hers. “Now doesn’t that feel a hell of a lot better than resorting to
I’m sorry?”

She can’t help but smile, affected by his full audacious grin. “Maybe,” she admits.

“Now, get out of here.” His sentiment is twofold. One, the thrill of the chase, he really wants to get to the bottom of her parents’ murder; two, his growing discomfort in being so close to her, the porcelain skin on her face calls for the touch of his hand.

“Thank you, Johnny.” She holds his eyes with hers, making a point to doubly acknowledge him.

His posture, as arrogant as his ego, makes a show of throwing his arms out to his sides, his palms facing up, dismissing the unwarranted praise. “For what?”

“Being persistent.” Her lips curving up at the corners, she continues, “unrelenting…like a gnat.”

“Buzz. Buzz. Buzz,” he jousts.

Brianna laughs. “Really, thank you for pushing me out of my comfort zone.” She backs away from his cell, her once insecure frame of mind now growing confident. “Your believing that I’m more capable than I think I am, might be just the thing I need to prove myself wrong.” She turns away from him, headed for the exit.

“Hey,
rich girl,”
he calls, causing her to turn around, facing him. Johnny now finds himself going against his mantra by quenching his own true mind, wanting to tell her to be careful. The sentiment proving too soft, too difficult for him to muster, he quickly diverts. “Take a camera. Get pictures of everything…the tracks, before and after you impress them…the scene. Link everything back to that marsh.”