100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (54 page)

He gave an even lustier laugh, and while I reached for the scar Jaws had on his hand, I was met with a strong grasp that was unmarred. “You are definitely one clever girl,” he chuckled deeper, like he knew what I was doing. “But no, I’m not Jaws; although, he’s the one who sent out the SOS. Sorry about the gas, babe, but I’ve never seen a bigger cluster snafu in my entire life. This place looks like the backdrop to a bad dystopian novel. If I hadn’t gassed everyone, God only knows what would’ve happened next.”

It was definitely a moronathon. Troubling thing was, sleep was coming like a speeding bullet, and I didn’t want to succumb without answers. “Why help
me
?” I whispered in a cough. “Jaws knew my mother. Did you?”

Dodge Charger continued to stroke my hair, his fingers going all the way to the scalp. A message lay there, but unfortunately I couldn’t decipher the specifics. But he knew her. I felt it in his touch. He then bent down and dropped a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Jaws said he’d take care of you, babe. And he did. You’re safe. The diversion I left for the 911 squad is probably clearing by now, so I’ve gotta bail. But I’m taking the evidence of me along. We’re cool?”

The sector of my mind that commanded talking had ceased to work. The one that kept secrets, however, got the message loud and clear.

Keep my trap shut.

I fell asleep to a siren.

Epilogue: Beneath Your Beautiful

T
ito had Charlotte Veronica Harper-Stark
by the girl cojones, and Cookie didn’t like the feeling. Getting my reward money—while remaining anonymous—had proven to be extremely difficult. Cookie was demanding a name. First off, Tito didn’t have my name. And secondly, he knew me as Jester. I got the feeling giving $10 Gs to someone named Jester was a real government no-no. At my request, he had me on a conference call with the Prosecutor of Mack County as he so eloquently attempted to remind her what the word “anonymous” implied.

It didn’t help matters that he ran the story today without her consent.

And it really didn’t help that he mentioned the ten grand—again, without her consent.

Tito finished, “The Ghost was unmasked as Collin Lockhart, Student Council President at Valley High School who my source corroborates as the real Ghost. He and two other males were arrested Friday night while attempting to rob Belinski’s Book Store. A fourth suspect was found dead at the scene. He held three employees and the owner hostage at gunpoint. Lockhart confessed to my source that he killed a young man by the name of Nico Drake because he thought Nico was going to finger him as The Ghost. I’ve tied Collin’s half-brother, Brantley McCoy, to the murder of Bishop Fowler, along with the illegal impersonation of a fictitious male named Eric Young. A lady named Evelyn Seacrest knew McCoy as Young. ‘A nice young man who needed some love,’ was her quote. She actually met McCoy at a church service, when his mother had kicked him out of the house, and told him Fowler had a room for rent. She can provide even more information, I’m sure. And give me some time, and I’ll tie Lockhart and McCoy to a couple of other violent deaths of men just like me. McCoy also admitted he sold marijuana on the side as Big Moby. In fact, another Valley student named Madison Flannery was his delivery person, according to Slapstick Wilson. And before the story ran this morning, I contacted an Officer Abbott to pay Madison a visit before she could jump town. I heard she is quite the artist, and I have a feeling she might be the one who forged my signature on some documents. Lockhart and McCoy also had a side hobby of vandalizing local storefronts. Everyone in my article has given police statements, Cookie.”

Here’s the great thing about last night’s sequence of events. Each confession Collin and Brantley gave was only within
my
presence. Mr. B hadn’t arrived and Rudi and Chichi were in the back, play-by-playing the 911 operator and Dylan. Mr. B hadn’t arrived yet. So when I phoned Tito with the scoop last night, my identity of Jester was, fingers-crossed, ironclad. If the other guys involved admitted what had been confessed, they’d admit their own knowledge. So as far as I could tell, Jester was still waving that flag of anonymity. But I was pushing it, folks. My deepest fear was I’d be sitting here months from now and find Tito knocking on my door. The whole process made me think of a female last summer called Pixie. Pixie is Dylan’s grandfather’s informant. He’s a vice detective in LA, and to this day, Lincoln Taylor still couldn’t put a face to the name. I’d been rooting for him to pull off her proverbial mask. Now I sort of rooted for her.

Collin and Damon were incarcerated; Slapstick was hooked up to an IV at University of Cincinnati Hospital. The first two had gone straight to jail. Slapstick’s case, however, wasn’t so cut and dry. His freedom would be hard sought because he one, had a knife; and two, hung with the wrong crowd. But Rudi, Chichi, Mr. B, and I were prepared to move heaven and earth to help him. He’d evidently spoken with Tito since being hospitalized; otherwise Tito wouldn’t possess the info about Madison. So the fact he cooperated with authorities was a sign in his favor. And Brantley? Brantley “fell” on the knife Damon stabbed Slapstick with. I reserved judgment on the particulars, and when the sleeping gas eventually cleared, everyone was so freaked out by the whole ordeal, no one mentioned mysterious smoke. And I’d take that detail to my cold, lonely grave.

Thirty minutes later, Cookie swore Tito would have his hands on ten thousand big ones before the end of the year. He’d hang onto it, and at my instruction would turn it over to me. We hadn’t worked out details of the exchange, but I imagined it would involve Vinnie. Unbeknownst to Cookie (as well as Tito), I’d divide the money with Grumpy, Finn, Bean, Vinnie, and Slapstick. I went at this thing with equal parts ignorance and boredom, but now that I’d found success, I felt it best to spread the green around. Christmas cheer and all that.

Now I just had to figure out where to hide ten grand from Murphy.

The man was an ex-bookie. He could sniff out money quicker than the IRS.

Thing was, the “end of the year” meant I still might not have cash by Christmas. Sigh. My only recourse would be to borrow money from Murphy and gradually pay him back.

Now came the issue of Coach Wallace’s car. Collin fingered his brother. Story over. When I phoned Coach this morning, he offered a check for Services Rendered. Taking it didn’t seem right, but I informed him he could close out his debt to me with a visit to Jojo. Once again, his response was silence. But then I heard a female’s voice in the background I immediately recognized as Jojo’s. Aww, that Christmas miracle felt good.

On a side note, it was my understanding Valley’s Athletic Boosters had taken up a collection to get his car repainted. Dylan’s father got him a deal for dirt-cheap, and since my karma bank could use a deposit, I’d donate money myself and consider the universe and me clear.

I padded upstairs and grabbed my iPhone, thumbing in the speed dial of the number Rookie and Red demand I call ASAP.

Rookie’s annual Christmas Party.

My presence was required.

With a plus-one.

Crap.

Because of last night’s events, Dylan was still in the “freaked” part of freaked the way out. I could see his point. To say it’d been a violent few weeks was an understatement. Before I barely got “Hey,” out of my mouth, his mouth jumped to fifth gear.

“I know we’ve talked until you’re blue in the face, but there are a few things about last night that have been bothering me,” he said. “Mainly, I’m overwhelmed with the number of people that have come in and out of your life right under my nose. Explain. Explain how this even happened.”

Dylan was still having trouble with the Fab-Four, the crew from last night at The Double-B. Well, I wasn’t going to date them—share a jail cell perhaps, but not date. To recap, police cruisers ran into a five-car pileup at the intersection three blocks away. No one was hurt, but if that was the diversion the man in the Yellow Dodge Charger had spoken of, he had some majorly mad skills I needed to acquire. I’d wakened with an oxygen mask over my mouth and Dylan tenderly rubbing my hands with his thumbs. With the look of love on his face, in that moment, I would’ve given him absolutely anything.

My answer was more prolific than normal.

“It’s who I am, D,” was the explanation. “I told Coach I’d find out who trashed his ride. I fell into the identity theft stuff along the way because I ticked off the wrong people. I didn’t know Collin was a possibility, nor did I know Brantley McCoy was his brother. In fact, Damon and Slapstick are better liars than I gave them credit for because I thought they smelled clean.” See, this was the problem. That was a half-hearted attempt at the truth, but thank the Lord Dylan was more interested in other things than my integrity. How do I know this? In the past, he would’ve refused that explanation until he had a piece of my hide. Now he was too concerned with getting a piece of my heart.

“Was there anything else on your mind?” he murmured.

Jesus, take the wheel…

“S-so will you, uh, go to Rookie’s party with me?” I stuttered.

Dylan was silent.

Somebody. Kill. Me.

I now knew how the average male felt when he got turned down after putting his heart and soul out there. I’m positive I smelled like a donkey’s ass because God knew I felt like one. I mean, this was last minute. That insinuated you were the last choice. But in all fairness, he’d asked me to the Winter Formal the freaking day of.

“Ah, two dates in one week,” he murmured. “That spells relationship, but I must say you’d already promised Saturday night to me anyway. A promise I’d planned to remind you of in the next few breaths.”

“Oh yeah, baby, but if I remember correctly that was under extreme bodily duress.”

I slammed a hand over my mouth. Baby…I’d called him baby. What had crawled up in my tomboy tongue and sucked out my inner-bro?

“You’re flirting,” he murmured low in his throat.

The answer there was yes…if I was stupid enough to admit it. And it sounded like Dylan had this whole thing planned from the start. He knew I’d ask because I’d already planned to see him anyway. He’d outsmarted me. “Are you going to make me beg?” I pouted. Oh, God, I’d beg. It was either Dylan or Vinnie, and Vinnie’s Fu Manchu probably wouldn’t fly with the hoity-toity crowd.

“No, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “I’m flattered you’ve asked, and as will always be the case, the answer is yes.”

Yup, I started to hyperventilate. Put my head between my legs and prayed to the carpet gods I didn’t eat the floor. Dylan murmured, “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s a formal affair. Wear your red dress and new shoes. I’ll dress accordingly because it’s my understanding my parents are guests at Rookie’s table. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

Linen tablecloths draped the table and chairs. Red poinsettias served as a
centerpiece. White china with gold edging lay in front of me with too many utensils and cups to count. I reminded myself to use them outside-in. As soon as we settled, Red gave me half a smile, unleashing her pearly whites on Dylan. “I’d like to apologize straight-up for what Darcy may or may not do tonight. I’m afraid this night will be a snore for Little Miss Crime Stoppers.”

I snorted with a grin as Red and I had one of those mother-daughter moments where we both realized I’d never morph into the type of female textbooks said was
ideal. We also had one of those moments where she informed me we’d converse later in private. I bet she’d feel differently if she knew I personally erased Cookie from her life.

As Rookie slid in beside her, he placed his arm around her chair, the gleam of his thick platinum wedding ring catching the light. He snuggled into Red for a quick peck on the cheek. Most men tried to hide their emotions; Rookie flaunted his. Red smilingly obliged, her actions not acknowledging they’d divorced a fourth time a year ago. Her green eyes were the perfect complement to her emerald drop earrings and the perfect contrast to a strapless black velvet bustier gown no one—Rookie especially—could rip their eyes from.

After a lavish dinner, I took a sip of white chocolate latte and watched the couples file onto the dance floor, holding their loved ones tight, basking in a full stomach and the wintery feel of the room. Most had stopped by for holiday greetings to Rookie. I smiled as he proudly introduced me and acted unsurprised when comments were made on the similarities between Red and me. I came to the conclusion holidays brought out the stupid in people. Perhaps that’s what’d been wrong with Dylan and me. The holiday spirit made us act ways—and even feel ways—we normally wouldn’t.

As I contemplated the thought, I rapped my ruby-red stubby nails on the table, wishing like heck I had a plastic bag to suffocate myself with. Dylan put his cheek alongside mine, breathing in my ear. “Dance with me, sweetheart. I’m dying to get my arms around you.”