You've Got Tail (7 page)

I liked to consider myself a smart woman, and while my head told me to heed Ruth's warning and run like the wind, my heart had already decided to put down roots.

I'd left Ruth's feeling wholly unsettled. When I got back to the diner, Neville Lutjen and Babel were arguing. They both got quiet as they saw me approach. “Hello again, Mayor Lutjen.”

“Hello, Sunny,” he said with the full force of his charm. When he smiled it made his face look young and handsome, even under the beard and mustache. I could see why he'd been elected to office. He gave the appearance of confidence and competence. Add in charisma, and probably money, and Neville was the epitome of a politician. “Nice day.” He tipped his head to me.

Through clenched teeth, Babel said, “Thanks for stopping by, Neville.”

“We'll continue this discussion later, Babe. Bet on it.” He tipped his head again to me. “Ma'am.”

“What was that about?” I asked when the mayor was out of earshot.

Babel shook his head. “Your coming to town has stirred up a hornet's nest, Sunny. Folks around here aren't happy with Chav or me.”

The “folks” would just have to get over it, I nearly said aloud. With all the warnings to leave, I had a healthy sense of alarm, but I was more concerned for Chavvah. She'd stayed in Peculiar because of her determination to find out what happened to her brother, and if I had gone missing, she would have been just as dogged. It is the kind of person Chav is and has always been at her very core. So, there was no way in hell I was going to let the local yokels run me out of town until I found her safe and sound.

Before I could say as much, Jo Jo came barreling out the door. “Oh, hey, Sunny. Everything's in. You had a lot of junk in that trailer.”

I didn't take offense to the use of “junk” to describe the only personal items I brought with me from California. Most of it
was
junk, but it had sentimental value. “Are you trying to renegotiate your salary?”

He blushed, and again it made him seem impossibly young. “Nothing like that.” Jo Jo grinned sheepishly.

I dug in my purse and pulled out two twenties and a ten. I handed the money to Jo Jo, which he eagerly accepted. “My keys?”

“On the counter inside.” He stuffed the money into his front pocket. “You need any more help, you just let me know.”

I liked Jo Jo. It seemed he was the only one in town who actually wanted me to stay. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

“Get on home, boy. Your pa's probably fretting,” Babel said.

“Doubt that.” Jo Jo grimaced and rolled his eyes. “I'm going.” He took off toward the south end of town, practically skipping as he went.

I went inside, Babel following close behind. I could sense his presence, even without turning back to look. “What an odd name. Jo Jo. What's it short for?”

“Jolon. His father owns a small piece of property just outside of town. Good kid for the most part. Gives his dad a lot of grief. It's got to be hard being a single parent.”

“Where's Jo Jo's mother?” I turned around and found myself toe to toe, and nose to chest, with Babel. His nearness made my lungs tighten.

He shrugged. “She ran off, or so some say, when the boy was only eight.”

This close to Babel, I found it hard to think. His wide masculine shoulders made me swoon. His lower lip stuck out just the tiniest bit in a too-cute-to-not-kiss way. Ack! I had to look somewhere else, but when I tried, my gaze immediately went to his abs and hips. Definitely not better. Not if I wanted to string sentences together coherently. I chose his eyes as my final target. His blue eyes were the color of cold, but they warmed me up from the inside out. I held his gaze, gulped, then managed to say, “And his dad never remarried?”

“No. I don't think Brady Walker has ever given up on the idea that she might return one day.”

“Wow, that's sad.” And romantic. In a tragic and lonely way.

“Yep.” Babel stroked his hand down my arm. A simple touch that left me squirming on the inside.

Why was he touching me?

His mouth, slightly fuller on top than bottom, relaxed into a soft pout. I wanted to feel the softness of his lips pressed against mine. My heartbeat quickened and my palms went cold and clammy. I could warm them on his skin if I could just make my arms move. He dipped his head toward mine, slow and careful. I wanted him so badly, it frightened me.

He sniffed my hair, a long drag of air. “You smell…Like home.” He traced the skin of my lower jaw. “You shouldn't, but you do.”

My knees were pudding under his weighted gaze. There were so many reasons why jumping on Babel couldn't happen. Shouldn't happen. First, he was much younger than me. Second, he was my best friend's brother. And third, finding Chav was my number one priority, not finding a boyfriend. And in spite of those obstacles, I felt strongly attracted to him, desperately attracted to him. The kind of desperation that made me stupid and impulsive, and made me forget my best friend was probably in serious trouble.

I had to stop whatever was going to happen. I had to stay on track with the reason I'd come early in the first place. “Does that happen a lot around here? People just up and disappearing?”

Babel looked stricken. He stepped back. His kissable lips pressed into a thin line.

“I'm sorry, Babel.” And I
was
sorry, for more reasons than just one. My brain said I'd done the right thing, while the more primal parts of me cussed like a sailor on shore leave.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you getting at?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging, I looked away from him to stare at the small window above the door. “What you said about Jo Jo's mom, and…” I had no idea where I was going with this line of thought. So, I changed the subject. “I met Ruth Thompson today. She told me a little about Judah—”

“She should mind her own damn business.” His voice combined anger and hurt all rolled into one painful package.

“She didn't say much. I swear.”

He sniffed. “What did she say exactly?”

“Only that Judah had been a good man and a good friend. I got the impression that she missed him.”

This seemed to surprise Babel. “I didn't know they were close.”

I didn't tell him I'd seen Judah kiss her in a vision, and even without that vision, her voice had betrayed how much she'd felt for him. So instead, I said, “He was best friends with her son Tyler.”

He grunted. “Hmm. Tyler's always given me the impression he didn't like Judah much.”

Strange, but okay. At least Babel didn't look angry with me anymore. “What do you think happened to your brother?” My voice held an edge. “And do you think it has anything to do with Chav?”

I watched him tug his lower lip between his teeth. My body reacted to the gesture. It seemed to be reacting a lot around Babel. The impulse to take that lower lip between my own teeth ran through me like a double shot of espresso. I clenched my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, trying to force out the feeling. I didn't understand my reaction to him. Sure, he was yummy goodness in a hard-body package, but the lure was more primal.

“I don't know,” he finally said. “Neither Judah nor Chavvah would have disappeared without a word to anyone. It's not in their natures. They are somewhere out there, maybe together, maybe not, but I have to hope. Right?”

He referred to his brother in present tense. He believed Judah was alive, that both his siblings were in trouble, but not in a no-turning-back kind of way. I touched his hand, a gesture of compassion, and in that moment, I saw him sitting alone by a fire in a large living room. He looked much younger, less seasoned. He couldn't have been much older than fourteen or fifteen in the vision.

Judah walked up behind him. “Don't be mad, bro.”

Babel turned to him. “I just don't understand why you want to leave.”

“I can't make it work out here. Not like Mom and Dad.” Judah ran his hand through his loose curls, tucking the white patch behind his ear. “I don't want to integrate. I want to be what I am. What
we
are. Without always stressing and hiding.”

A young Babel had pivoted away from his brother, unable or unwilling to respond. Tears formed in his deep-blue eyes and I staggered back, breaking the small thread linking me to Babel's past.

“What
we
are,” I mumbled.

“What?” Babel asked.

I realized he had a hold on my upper arms, keeping me upright. “What?” I said back as the fog cleared from my head.

“You going to pass out again?”

“No.” At least I didn't think so. But something else nagged at me hard. I'd had several visions in one day. All very clear. Bizarre, but exhilarating at the same time.

I hugged my upper arms. I would find Chav. I believed it now more than ever. I was exactly where I was meant to be. The shift in frequency of my ability since I'd arrived was all the proof I needed. I would find Chav, even if I had to turn over every rock and expose every skeleton in this town.

M
iddle of the night, I woke up sticky with perspiration. I couldn't believe how unbearably hot Missouri nights were. California got hot, it was California after all, but Missouri added an intense humidity that could only be called sweltering. I felt like I'd melted into the bed. I'd left the windows closed at Babel's urging. Something about “critters” crawling into open spaces at night, and after the whole dog incident, I believed it. But the ceiling fan didn't work and I couldn't take the heat one minute longer.

Sliding the window up, I vowed to bring central air-conditioning to this backwoods town.

A gut-wrenching scream pierced through the sound of crickets and tree frogs.

Quickly, I slid the window back down and did the heebie-jeebie dance. It had sounded like a child being tortured, if I could even imagine such a thing. Horrified, I was nearly too immobilized to act. Then I thought about Ruth's little boy, and I didn't think I could live with myself if I did nothing and some poor kid got hurt out there.

I peeked out the window, hoping someone else had heard and gone to investigate. But nope, the street looked pretty damn deserted from what I could see. I'd read that mothers have a predisposition to instantly waking upon hearing a crying child. Where were all the freaking mothers?

I knew I should go check to see if someone was hurt—after all, it was the civic-minded thing to do—but I was scared. What if something big and bad waited in the darkness, perched and ready to kill the next unsuspecting victim who crossed its path?

I mean, I'd begun to feel a bit like an unsuspecting victim. Not a great feeling.

While my head was trying to talk myself out of investigating, my body had other ideas and before I knew it, I was completely dressed. I think my head was the smarter of the two. Not wanting to be completely TSTL (too stupid to live), I called the sheriff.

“What'd it sound like again, Ms. Haddock?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I mimicked the noise once more. This was the third time he'd asked, and with the muffled grunts of laughter in the background, I was pretty damn sure he'd put me on speakerphone.

The bastard.

“Sheriff Taylor, are you going to investigate or not?”

“Not.”

“What? Someone could be really injured or worse.”

“Doubt that. What you heard there, little lady, was what we like to call in these parts, a barn owl. Nothing more than that. And while the sound they make is gawd-awful, we don't usually have anybody die over it.”

The whole barn-owl scenario sounded convenient, but much better than my theory of a child-murdering psychopath. For a moment I missed the ex-asshole. Sure, he was a lying, cheating whore of a man, but at least he'd been present. At least I hadn't been alone to face potential critters crawling through my windows and barn owls mimicking children being tortured by whack-job killers. Even if I hadn't been psychic, I think my Spidey senses would have been tingling about this place.

Being that I was hot and not a complete chicken-butt, I cracked the window open again.

When I turned around, I wasn't alone. “You again,” I muttered to the mystery mutt who'd started to become a fixture in my life. “How'd you get in here?”

He cocked his head sideways at me, and his eyes were alight with intelligence. It pawed toward the door. I huffed, hands moving to my hips, and stared at it. I'd stopped being afraid of the animal after the whole restaurant appearance. After all, if it had wanted to attack me, it would've done it already. No, this dog wanted something from me, and with great determination, it kept tracking me down.

“What's the matter, boy? Is Timmy trapped in the well? Is Johnny pinned under a tractor? Did the cow kick Mary Lou in the head?”

The dog growled, obviously not a
Lassie
fan. A growing push inside my head, like earlier, blossomed, giving me a slight headache. I knew what the dog wanted; it wanted me to follow it out the door. Crap. I'd always had a way with sensing basic emotions and needs from animals: anger, fear, hunger, joy, but this…

“No freaking way.” I shook my head. “I'm not going anywhere tonight, so just get that thought out of your head. Or better yet, get it out of mine.”

It growled again. Anger replaced any residual fear and I growled back. Since when did I start taking orders from dogs? Ex-boyfriend included. “You do know what happened to Old Yeller, right?”

The animal whined, placing his nose under his forepaw. Great, I'd hurt its furry feelings.

The push came again.
Chavvah
. The word came across as a barely audible whisper. The dog began to paw at the door once again.

“Fine,” I sighed. It was dumb to think a dog might hold some clue as to my friend's whereabouts, but I wouldn't forgive myself if I didn't at least try. “This better be freaking worth it or I'll be adding dog stew to the menu.”