Out of Control (27 page)

He let out a long breath and headed into the shelter.

A cat-light shadow falling behind him brushed across his consciousness. He spun around just in time to face the attack. The sneaky bastard must have hidden himself in the pine boughs brushing the shelter roof, but the moment for self-reproach was gone; a whip-swift kick slammed Davy's gun hand into the side of the truck.

His gun clattered to the asphalt while he jerked back, blocking the finger stab that would have gone right through his eyeball and into his brain. He grab-twisted the fingers, yanked the guy off his feet with his own weight, and flung himself backwards, hurling Snakey over his own supine body and into the back wall of the shelter.

A thud, a grunt, a rustle in the dark, and Davy rolled up onto his feet just in time to block the next attack. Jesus, the guy was fast.

A flurry of parried kicks and jabs followed. It had been a while since he'd fought for survival. Too long. He'd lost his edge. He almost fell for a feint to the gut, but last-minute instinct whipped his guard up to ward off a fatal jab to his neck. The guy wore a suit, but he had on a hood like an executioner's mask. It gleamed, like silk or synthetic.

Davy stumbled back to duck a kick to his face, whipping to the right and left to evade jabbing blows. Couldn't spare a split second to look for the gun. Formal menswear was not made for fighting, neither were these stiff, slippery shoes, but the anxious chatter in his mind was easing down into the coiled, silent stillness of combat zone.

He darted back, out into the open, parrying a snake-quick jab to his throat. He hooked the attacking arm down, swept his leg behind, swung his arm down to slam his elbow into the asshole's collarbone. A sharp gasp was his reward, a split second respite as Snakey danced back. With any luck, he'd driven a broken bone into the guy's lung.

No such luck. Snakey came back at him with a hiss of rage.

Davy danced back, assessing his opponent. Professional. Favored the snake style. Pressure points. Sting of death in his fingertips. Very high pain threshold. All bad news.

Snakey lunged. Davy blocked an uppercut strike to his armpit and snatched the guy's wrist. Yank and pull with a dragon's claw, and wham, he got in a rotating blow to the solar plexus. Snakey stumbled back again. This time his grunt had a note of angry surprise.

Anger was good, in one's opponent. He couldn't indulge in it himself. Snakey was panting now, his eyes glinting in the orange glow of the streetlight as if he really were a reptile. Davy blocked high, and whipped in a backhand knuckle blow to the guy's temple.

Snakey stumbled away, and let fly with a spinning kick. Davy lurched back to evade the blow to his ribs, and his shoes slipped on the asphalt. He went down backwards and rolled up to his feet in time to see Snakey disappear into the thicket of pines below the parking lot.

He gave chase, heart thudding, but he didn't get far before he realized that the dark was impenetrable, and so were the trees. He blundered through the dense darkness, branches scratching his face. He forced himself to stop and listen. Far ahead, to the right, he heard a rustling snapping noise. The sound faded to nothing as he listened.

No way to find the guy now, not without searchlights and helicopters, and by the time he got help, Snakey would be long gone. He wanted to kill that bastard so badly, it burned in him like acid.

He slogged up over slippery pine needles toward the parking lot, assessing the damage. Scratched face, his cheek wet with blood. Sore shoulder from that clumsy fall, hand starting to throb from being kicked into the truck. Could've been worse. He could've been killed. Easily.

So this was the asshole that was stalking Margot. Her problem was deeper even than he'd thought.

Margot lunged through the double glass doors towards him when he got out of the truck, her eyes horrified. “Good God. Are you—”

“Fine,” he said, flinching back as she reached for his face. “I made Snakey's acquaintance in the parking lot, that's all. Get in, Margot.”

“That's all?” Her voice rose. “What do you mean, that's all?”

“Meaning I lost the bastard.” His voice was a rasp of frustration. “Tam, tell the others. The guy was tall, well built, a little shorter than me. Wearing a hood, so I didn't see his face. He wore a suit. If you meet him, watch for eye and neck jabs. He likes those. I pounded him some, but he could still do plenty of damage if he felt like it. He's dangerous. I can't stress that enough.”

“I'll tell them.” A gun had appeared in Tamara's hand. All mockery was gone from her beautiful face. “Take care.”

He pulled out of the resort parking lot and onto the winding mountain highway, conscious of Margot's anxious eyes on his face.

“We should stop at the emergency room. Your face is bleeding.”

“I just got scratched by the trees. It's no big deal.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My brothers and I have a place up here in the mountains. The house where we grew up.”

His cell phone rang. He pulled the thing out of his tux jacket. The display showed an unknown number. Strange. Nobody unknown had this number. The list of people who had it was short enough to be numbered on one hand. He punched “talk.” “Who's this?”

“It's Gomez.” His friend's voice was low and tense.

His own tension rose to meet it. “Hey, Gomez. What's up?”

“I have to meet with you. Right now. It's important.”

“It'll have to wait till tomorrow,” Davy said. “I told you this morning, I'm up in Endicott Falls for Connor's—”

“I'm up here now, in Endicott Falls. I just drove up from the city. I'm calling you from a pay phone.”

That silenced him for a moment. “Uh…OK. Where are you?”

“Convenience store at the junction of Moffat and Taylor Highway.”

“I'll be there in ten,” Davy said. He hung up the phone and dropped it back into his jacket.

“So? Who was that?” Margot asked.

“My cop buddy, Gomez. He drove up from Seattle because he has to talk to me. In person. Right now.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “That doesn't sound too good.”

“Sure doesn't,” he agreed grimly.

Minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot. A handsome dark-haired man got out of a battered gray SUV and leaned on his car, waiting. Davy slid out of the truck and slammed the door.

Margot hesitated for a moment, and followed him.

Gomez's sharp dark eyes took in every detail; the dirt on his tux, the blood on his face, his swollen hand. They flicked to Margot.

“You didn't say you weren't alone,” he said.

“You didn't ask,” Davy said.

Gomez folded his arms. “Wild party, huh?”

Davy shrugged. “Eventful.”

Gomez waited for more. The seconds ticked by, and his face hardened. “Get into the car with me. I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Davy glanced back to Margot's bright, haunted eyes. Her arms were wrapped around her chest, the night air making goose bumps on her bare arms. “You can say anything you want in front of her.”

Gomez shook his head. “Shit,” he muttered. “OK, here goes my career. You know a guy named Joe Pantani?”

Davy shook his head, as they both heard Margot's sharp intake of breath. They turned to her. “You know the name?” Nick asked sharply.

“I waitressed at his diner off and on for the past few weeks,” she faltered. “Until…until yesterday, around lunchtime, that is.”

Gomez's face darkened. “Shit. Tell me you're not Margot Vetter.”

“Uh…why shouldn't I tell you that?”

“You're the waitress who got fired yesterday?” He waited for her nod. “You're wanted for questioning in the murder of Joe Pantani.”

Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Joe? Somebody killed Joe?”

Gomez's eyes turned back to Davy. “Yeah. Very thoroughly. Beat him to death. Every bone in his body pounded to splinters.”

“I don't know why you're giving me that look, Raul,” Davy said. “I don't know the guy.”

“And you were never in his house? For any reason?”

Davy shook his head. Raul cursed viciously in Spanish. “You've got problems, then,” he said. “A whiskey bottle and two shot glasses in Pantani's house. Good quality latent prints all over them. They ran them through the local and state AFIS and found nothing, so the latent print examiner forwarded them to a friend of hers in the Feds. He ran it through IAFIS—and hit on a potential match. Guess whose military ID number popped up on their screen, buddy?”

Davy felt a chilly, strange sensation, as if jaws of iron were creaking closed around him. “A bottle of my Scotch disappeared from my house yesterday,” he said. “I was looking for it last night.”

“Did it, now. Do you have a nasty new enemy these days?”

Davy touched the dried blood on his face with his swollen hand. “Actually, I do,” he said grimly. “Now that you mention it.”

“Three dead bodies in the space of twenty-four hours,” Gomez said. “And your name comes up in connection with every single one of them. It looks bad, man. I didn't tell anyone else about your interest in Lila Simons. Not yet, anyway. Give me a good reason not to, Davy.”

“You know me, Raul,” Davy said. “I'm not a killer.”

Gomez looked haunted. “Yeah. At least I thought I did. Well, that's it. That's all I have to say to you. The report hasn't been signed off yet. The FBI latent examiner still has to pull the hard copy of your prints from your military records and do the visual exam to make the ident, but he thought it was a match just from eyeballing it. You haven't got much time before that happens. They'll rush this one. Count on it.”

“Jesus,” Davy muttered.

“They're going to want to test your DNA. The way my life is going, I bet they'll find a match,” Gomez said. “If your mysterious new enemy stole your prints, he should be bright enough to steal your comb.”

“When was he killed?” Davy asked. “Last night?”

“Yeah, based on when he was last seen alive.” Gomez's voice was hoarse with weariness. “He was found at four
A.M
., when his girlfriend came home from her bartending shift. Exact time of death is hard to determine. The killer folded him up and stuffed him into the freezer.”

Davy winced. “Ouch.”

Raul turned his gaze on Margot. “This is all about her, right?” he demanded. “You're doing it again. Just like you did back in the Army. What was that dancer chick's name? Fran? Fern?”

“Fleur. And this is nothing like what happened with her.”

“No. This is way worse. This time you might wind up in prison, instead of just getting the living shit kicked out of you.”

“Goddamnit, Gomez—”

“Hey. You're the one who wanted to have this conversation in front of your girlfriend. And I'm sticking my neck out for you so far, it's about to snap. So don't give me any of your fucking attitude.”

Davy swallowed back his angry words. “Yeah. I know. Thanks.”

“Keep your goddamn thanks. If you're innocent, why aren't we working together on this?”

Davy hesitated. “This thing just exploded in my face, Raul. Stopping to fill out all the forms would slow us down just long enough to get her killed.” He jerked his chin in Margot's direction.

“Oh. Thanks for your faith in me,” Gomez said bitterly.

“It's not you,” Davy said. “Don't take it personally. I know what it means for you to have told me this.”

“Yeah, it means I should turn in my badge right now and save everyone the trouble. My life will be worth shit until you get your problems under control, so get on it. And if I find out that you're lying to me…God help you, Davy. I swear. I will destroy you.”

“I'm not,” Davy said. “And I wouldn't. You have my word. You know me well enough so I shouldn't have to even say it.”

Gomez just shook his head. “Where were you last night?”

Davy gestured towards Margot. “With her. At home.”

“Oh.” Gomez laughed scornfully. “That's just great. Real helpful. Two worthless, piece of shit alibis for the price of one.” He wrenched open the door of his SUV and got in. The engine started up with a roar.

The car jerked to a stop, and the window rolled down. “Don't get killed.” He spat the words out with vicious force. “Dumb-ass.”

The window went back up. Gravel spat behind the wheels as the SUV accelerated out into the night.

T
hey stared after the red eyes of Gomez's retreating taillights. Margot's eyes swam and burned. The wind gusted her skirt, making it flutter around her thighs. She shivered as if it were January. She'd been so angry at poor Joe. Her anger seemed so silly and shallow now.

Guilt twisted painfully inside her at the bleak, cold look on Davy's face. She'd infected him with the Margot curse somehow, like she did to everyone who came in contact with her. The Goth girl, the pawnbroker, Cindy, Davy. Joe. Poor pigheaded, cheapskate Joe. He hadn't deserved to die like that. And now Davy had been set up for murder.

“He must have been in the diner yesterday,” she whispered.

“Who?” Davy jerked, as if waking from an unpleasant dream.

“Snakey,” she said. “He must've been in the diner when Joe fired me. God. That's so creepy. I probably served the guy lunch.”

“Don't think about it. Get in the truck.” Davy's voice had the whipcrack of command, but she was glad of an outside impulse to break the paralysis of her body. She tried to stop shaking as she climbed into the truck, but the shudders were deep, unrelated to cold.

The truck roared to life, and Davy pulled out onto the highway.

She knew this feeling. She was slipping into the vortex. She didn't want to go where it was taking her. She had to distract herself.

“Davy,” she began timidly. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't even start.”

She didn't blame him for being short with her. She felt so helpless and stupid. What could she say?
Gee, I'm sorry that hanging out with me has put your life and liberty at risk and endangered your whole family. What a bummer. Don't you just hate it when that happens?

Yeah. Right. She took a deep breath and tried again. “That guy, Gomez. He's an old friend of yours?”

“We served in the Army together. First Gulf war.”

No further details were forthcoming. She tried to think of another angle to start from. “Davy, what are you going to do about the—”

“I don't know, Margot. I have to think.”

That terse answer, too, dissolved into empty silence. The light of the headlights swerved around the dark curves of the unknown road.

This was unbearable. She preferred to piss him off, even goad him into a fight rather than endure this deathly false calm.

She gathered up her nerve and went for it. “So who's Fleur?”

The truck speeded up. He glanced over at her and shook his head.

A manic recklessness was coming over her. Her shivers had begun to feel like tremors of hysterical laughter. “Oh, come on. If you don't tell me, the stories I'll make up for myself will be a million times more lurid and compromising than the dull truth.”

“Don't jerk me around, Margot. It's not a good time.”

True, but what did she have to lose? “You asked for it,” she told him. “Let's see…Fleur was a beautiful foreign spy, right? A pistol strapped to her perfect gartered thigh. She seduced you and betrayed you, abandoning you to certain death after painting your naked body with honey and staking you out over an anthill—”

“I'm not falling for this,” Davy said.

“Am I close? Am I warm?”

“North Pole,” he said. “Outer space.”

She was undaunted. “OK, let's try this again. Fleur was the rebellious daughter of an evil international arms dealer. She met you over the blackjack table in a sleazy nightclub in Tunisia, and—”

“Fleur was my ex-wife.”

Her mouth flapped helplessly. “You were married?” she squeaked. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why should I? It's irrelevant. Not a happy subject, either. It lasted about three months. It happened over fourteen years ago.”

“What happened?”

He made a frustrated sound. “You never let up, do you?”

“It's a terrible character defect,” she admitted. “Gomez said she was a dancer?”

“Yeah. In a strip joint near the Army base where I was stationed.”

She was startled. “Wow,” she said. “Was she, um, very beautiful?”

He shrugged. “Sure, she was pretty. She had a problem with pills that I found out about later. An even bigger problem with a violent ex-boyfriend. She left him because he beat on her. Glommed onto me for protection, and like a twenty-four-year-old brain-dead asshole, I fell for it. I doubt I would have married her otherwise. I wanted to save her, see.”

“Oh.” The ironic edge in his voice made her stomach tighten painfully. Tamara's words floated into her mind.
I expect he wants to rescue you. How adorable. It'll probably get him killed…

“I figured once she felt safe and protected, the pill thing would resolve itself.” His short laugh was harsh and telling. “Uh-uh.”

“Is that why you guys broke up?” Margot asked.

“One day her ex paid me a visit, with six of his friends. I wound up in the hospital with tubes stuck up various orifices in my body.”

She dragged in a sharp breath. The thought of him being hurt so badly made her body recoil. “That's awful. What did Fleur do?”

It took a long time for him to answer, as if he were searching for the right words. “She went back to him,” he said finally. “She filed for a divorce. She came to see me while I was in the hospital. She had bruises on her face and neck already. Begged me not to press charges against him for assault. Told me that he would hurt her if I did.”

She winced. “Oh, ouch,” she murmured. “And you let it go?”

“I was in traction, zonked on drugs. Yeah, I let it go. She'd already moved back to Florida with him by the time I got out of the hospital. I heard she died of an overdose a couple years later. I wasn't surprised.”

She blew out a long, shaky breath. “Oh, Davy, I'm so sorry.”

Davy's profile looked graven in stone as he stared out the windshield into the night. “So there it is, Margot. My terrible secret. I tried to save her, but I failed. You satisfied now?”

She sputtered in angry confusion. “You did not fail!” she burst out. “That weak, stupid cow! She should've conked the bastard over the head with a skillet for hurting you! The minute his back was turned!”

He looked perplexed. “That wasn't her style. Fleur was—”

“I don't give a damn what her style was!” she yelled. “It was her duty to protect you!”

He contemplated that. “Nah,” he said finally. “She was broken already. She didn't have the strength. I don't blame her.”

“Well, isn't that admirable of you,” she said hotly. “I'm not as evolved as you, I guess. I say she was a big loser. She let you down.”

A painful thought struck her. Her face heated up. “Not that I've got much right to judge,” she added. “Gomez was right. I've already gotten you into way more trouble than Fleur ever—”

“Stop it.” His voice made her flinch. “You didn't do this to me. Snakey did. Get it through your head. If you take it onto your conscience, you won't think straight enough to solve the problem.”

“I shouldn't have involved you.” Her voice was stubborn.

He grunted. “You tried to run.” He turned off the road, which had been a narrow, rutted, unpaved track for miles now, and plunged into a tight dark canyon of trees. “I stopped you, remember? Got my feelings hurt, laid a big guilt trip on you, carried on like a jerk.”

“True, but I—”

“I got myself into this by my own stupidity. And horniness.”

“Great. Gee, thanks, Davy. That's real comforting,” she muttered.

The road twisted, switching back higher and higher as they climbed the hill until it opened into a clearing. The headlights revealed a forbidding, ramshackle house. Davy parked the truck, killed the lights.

The moon was very bright. Davy flung open his door. “Let's go in,” he said. “I'll feel better once we're barricaded inside.”

She wobbled uncertainly in the gravel in her spike heels until Davy seized her arm and led her towards the house. He flicked on a penlight and went through a complicated series of locks, bolts and codes on the door before pushing it open. He preceded her inside.

She waited in pitch darkness until a match sputtered and flared.

Davy was lighting a kerosene lamp, the wavering flame casting a warm light over his face. They were in a big, roughly finished kitchen, paneled with raw planks. A trestle table and a large wood stove dominated the room. Davy left the lamp on the table and locked the door, keying a code into a blinking device on the wall.

“An electric alarm, but kerosene lamps?” she asked. “Strange.”

“None of us wanted electric light in the kitchen,” he said. “We've got electric lights and heat up in the bedrooms because we're soft, lazy bastards, but it just didn't feel right down here. Dad would spin in his grave if he saw us sucking on the electric tit of the evil establishment, so we left the kitchen pure in his memory. Except for the motion detector alarm. Even Dad would've gotten off on that little toy.”

“You McClouds are a very strange bunch,” she murmured.

A grim smile flashed across his face. “Yeah, we know. You want something from the kitchen, Margot? Water, coffee, a beer?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“Let's go upstairs, then,” he said. “I want out of this monkey suit.”

A loaded silence followed his words. Davy's jaw tightened. “There's plenty of beds, if you want to be alone,” he said. “You don't have to—”

“I don't want to be alone. That's the last thing I want. I want you.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Good.”

He took her hand, and pulled her towards the staircase. She followed him without hesitation. She didn't care how much this was going to hurt later. All that mattered was this hot ache of longing.

She wanted as much as she could get of him. She could face harsh reality another time. No need to chase after it right now.

 

Combat adrenaline always left him dangerously horny, and he'd been bad off to begin with, even before the fight. The combination was explosive. Davy ripped open the buttons on his shirt and wrenched the bow tie loose on his way up the stairs. Raul's revelation blew his mind. Christ, the irony of it. A fugitive, after an entire adult lifetime of playing the tightass, keeping his nose clean, being respectful of law and order.

One thing was for sure. If he was ending up an outlaw, he was going to be pure burning hell as an outlaw. He would make the whole fucking world sorry for having shoved his back against the wall.

And he had to mellow out. Margot was already shy and quiet as she tiptoed up the stairs behind him. She was tough, but he didn't want to scare her. Fuck her brains out all night long, yeah, but not scare her.

Margot lingered in the hall while he stopped in the bathroom to rinse the blood and dirt from his face and hands.

He grabbed her hand and led her to his bedroom, which was pretty much as he'd left it when he joined the Army at age twenty-one. He'd replaced the severe, military cot his father had mandated with a decent double bed, but the coverlet was still an olive drab woolen army blanket, tattered around the hem. The concept of bedspreads had never occurred to him or his brothers, at least not until Connor had started bringing Erin up here. Now Connor's bed boasted sheets with flowers embroidered around the borders, a pansy-assed colored quilt and a pile of superfluous pillows on top. Women.

He tossed the ruined jacket on the floor, kicked off his shoes and unfastened the shoulder holster, laying the gun on the bedside table. Shirt, cummerbund, bow tie, pants, all soon followed. In seconds he was naked, and standing at attention, as hard as steel, and Margot was still poised by the door as if contemplating escape.

His eyes dragged over every sexy curve. No escape for her tonight.

“That was bullshit, about letting you sleep alone,” he said. “You'd have to chain me to a tree to keep me away from you tonight.”

The seductive glow in her eyes deepened. “If I had you chained to a tree, Davy McCloud, I'd do more interesting things than sleep alone.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Let's see,” she murmured. “I'd start with a slow striptease. Right in front of you. Just out of reach of your chained hands.”

The heavy throb of blood in his groin deepened. “So far, so good.”

“Then…then I'd suck on your nipples,” she offered. “Run my fingertips over the surface of your skin with my magic feather. Half tickling, half petting. And when you're struggling and pleading, I'd get down on my knees—and lick the tip of your, um—”

“My cock?” he supplied helpfully.

“Just barely,” she warned. “We're talking torture here. Just a tender swirling lick, like I'm tasting a new flavor of ice cream.” Her voice shook slightly. “I'd tease that sensitive spot underneath the, um, head…and lick away the shiny drop that's forming right in the slit at the—”