Edge of Midnight (18 page)

She shivered, her chest and shoulders goosepimpling. Sean’s eyes swept over her body. She crossed her arms over her bouncing bosom, and almost laughed. Embarrassed about that, after what they’d just been through. Please.

She tried to organize her thoughts. A million frantic questions jostled for space. “So you guys never found any clues? About Kev?”

The dirt road had turned to smoother gravel, and now gave way to asphalt. They were passing farms and houses and mailboxes now.

“Just the clues Kev gave you,” Sean said. “Just the note.”

“What did that note say?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered.”

His face was distant. “One thing at a time. Scoot down. You’re conspicuous even when you’re wearing a shirt, let alone topless.”

She hunched, feeling slapped, and draped her hair over herself.

They headed into an older, seedier part of town, crossed the tracks with a tooth-rattling bump and turned in the parking lot of a motel. The highway roared on the overpass above. “Look,” he said. “I’m not kidnapping you. If you want to go home and paint a bull’s-eye on your chest, you’re free to go. I’ll hate it, but I won’t stop you.”

Liv nodded, almost wishing he hadn’t said it. After T-Rex, she wasn’t in any condition to make life and death decisions. It was easier to get swept along by wild floodwaters. If the floodwaters were Sean.

“Besides, you’ve got your fiancé to protect you,” he said.

It took her a few seconds to make the connection. “Oh, God, no! Blair is not my fiancé. That was just a lie my mother told, to get rid of you. You dashed off last night before I had a chance to make that clear!”

A door of one of the rooms swung open. A large-bellied, bearded man sauntered out, hiking up his jeans and scratching his balls.

The move was too swift to counter. Sean jerked her across the seat and onto his lap before she knew what he was doing. She grabbed his shirt to steady herself. “Don’t freak,” he murmured. “You need an excuse to be topless, and this is the best one I can think of.” He wound his fingers in her tangled hair, and kissed her.

It’s just theater, silly. Don’t melt for a public act.

It was impossible to heed that stern voice. Her protective layers were torn away, leaving a naked core of shivering need. His lips were so hot, soft and urgent. She clung to him, kissed him back desperately.

Someone whacked the body of the Jeep, making her jerk. “Whoo hoo! Go for it, buddy boy! Helluva way to start yer day!”

Sean stuck his hand out the window, gave the guy a thumbs up.

He slid lower in the seat, pulling her down on top of him. Their lips parted, with a moist pop that reverberated through her body. He was burning hot, radiating emotion. He vibrated in her arms. The armored chill that had encased him ever since her revelation about Kev was gone. The kiss had melted it. The look in his eyes bordered on fear.

He hadn’t shown fear when sprinting towards a bomb, or facing down a gun, or in mortal combat with a killer. But he was afraid of her.

She wanted to reassure him, but she couldn’t think of words that made sense. Only kisses could convey what she wanted to tell him.

He tugged, gently, on the back of her head. A flash of insight warned her that this wordless invitation was more dangerous than the wild sex and high drama of the night before. This was the real honey-baited trap. This soft, torn-open feeling in her chest.

But it didn’t matter. She leaned forward. He made a breathless sound, almost a whimper when their lips touched.

The kiss was almost reverent. They kept their eyes open, afraid the other would vanish into smoke. Sweet, perfect. A shining miracle, unfolding and blooming. They didn’t want to break the spell by being too eager, so they circled around it, marvelling. Afraid to breathe.

Liv had never considered herself an expert kisser, but she finally got what kissing was all about, in a flash of bone-deep understanding. It wasn’t about technique, or experience. It had nothing to do with how innately sensuous she was, or wasn’t. It was about yearning, welling up from inside. She ached to touch him, to be scorched by his heat, to feel that metallic bronze sheen of beard stubble rasp over her skin.

She wanted to lavish him with all the tenderness she had.

The guy in the parking lot had been joined by a buddy. The two of them cackled and guffawed together, shouting out coarse suggestions.

She couldn’t care less. They were dogs barking in the distance.

She clutched sodden handfuls of his shirt. He clutched her back. Lips and tongues fused. Asking questions, demanding answers. Begging for salvation, for redemption. It would take years of frantic kissing to sort it all out. Years of desperate loving to make up for the pain.

They needed to get started. Right now would be a very good time.

His hand clamped across hers where it gripped his thigh. He dragged it up, placing it on the bulge of his erection.

Their eyes locked. He offered her his body, silently asked for hers.

She didn’t know under what terms. She no longer cared. He could do anything he wanted. Right here in the parking lot, with a hooting, jeering audience. She wanted to rip his clothes open, let the broad club of his penis fall out into her hand, hot and hard, the skin suede soft, so sensitive. She wanted to lick the thick, gnarled purple veins. To suck on him. To climb on top of him and ride. Bend over and have him fill her from behind, bracing herself against the storm of pounding violence. She needed it bad. She needed it now. She reached for his belt buckle.

“I see you’ve wasted no time.” The low voice was faintly amused.

Sean jumped, so violently that he bumped his forehead against hers. “Shit,” he hissed, rubbing her head. “Sorry, babe.”

A young man stood outside the Jeep, with somber dark eyes, a memorable nose and long, shiny black hair that blew loose over his face. He gazed at her with intense curiosity. She blushed hot crimson.

“You told me to meet you here,” Miles said. “You begged me, bullied me, guilt-tripped me. Told me it was a matter of life and death.”

Sean rubbed the bump on his forehead, willed the blood in his groin to redirect itself into his brain. Just enough for minimal, baseline function. “Still is,” he growled. “It’s just your timing that sucks.”

Miles’s grin came and went swiftly. “The next time I bust my ass at five AM to do you an incredibly difficult and inconvenient favor, I’ll try not to interrupt the sex.” He peered in, and gave Liv a shy smile. “Hi.” He shot Sean an uncertain glance. “So, uh, that’s her?”

“That’s her,” Sean said. “She was abducted this morning. I followed a beacon in her shoe, up to Orem Lake. Got there just in time.”

“I’m real glad that the trauma didn’t put any dents in your libido.”

Sean made an impatient growling sound. “Shut up, Miles. It’s not about that. I was just creating a pretext for her to be half-naked.”

“Convincing,” Miles commented dryly. “Did you waste the guy?”

Sean winced. “He got away. Or we’re the ones who got away. I’m not sure who racked up more points this round. Hey, Miles. Be a real man. Give the lady your shirt. Do I have to tell you everything?”

Miles looked down at his flapping, oversized gray shirt. “Oh. Uh, sure.” He unbuttoned it quickly, revealing a tight black T-shirt beneath, and passed it through the window to Liv. “It stinks like smoke,” he said apologetically. “I was doing sound for an acid punk band. Those degenerates were sucking on blunts all night long between sets. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thanks so much.” Liv wrapped it around herself.

Miles held up a big pink plastic paddle with a key dangling from it. “You guys want to see your room?”

“God, yes,” Sean said. He scanned the parking lot. Big Belly and his pal had climbed into their rigs and taken off, and the parking lot was empty and clear. He jumped out of the Wrangler and leaned into the backseat, shoving T-Rex’s Beretta into his kit bag, and loading up everything that could conceivably be useful while on the run.

He and Liv followed Miles to the room at the end of the long, low building. Miles opened the door, and gestured them in with a flourish.

The room was small and stale, smelling of dust and damp and old cigarettes. He had a pang of regret that he hadn’t thought of someplace nicer. He suppressed the niggling doubt, closed the hotel room door, locked it, threw the bolt. This was just a hole to huddle in, to lick their wounds. And maybe some other sweet tender bits, if he got lucky.

Miles pulled a set of car keys, and flung them to him. “Here you go. Your reasoning being that nobody on earth would ever believe Sean McCloud would drive such a pussy car?”

“Something like that,” Sean said. “And you’re not telling anybody. I threw my beacon away. I’m off the grid. Get it?”

Miles’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t ask me to lie to Con or Seth or Davy. Those bastards are mind readers.”

“I’ll contact them soon,” Sean assured Miles.

“The trick will be thinking of something to tell my parents,” Miles said glumly. “They just gave me the damn car ten hours ago.”

“Say you lent it to a cute girl,” Sean suggested. “It’s pathetic, but credible. And literally true.” He glanced at Liv. “I’m doing this for her.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. The desire to get laid is the fuel that powers the universe. The Sean McCloud credo.”

A crack like that usually slid right off his back, but today it stung.

Sean shot Liv a nervous glance. She was carefully not looking at him, perched on the bed, her body virtually tied in a knot, her hair draped like a curtain around her face. Her mouth tight. Not good.

“Don’t bust my balls,” he growled. “It’s been a shitty morning.”

“I’ve been up all night myself,” Miles replied. “Plus, I’ve got a two hour walk ahead of me, mostly uphill, to get back to Endicott Falls. You are one high-maintenance friend, you know that?”

“High maintenance equals high performance,” Sean reminded him. “Think Ferrari. Think priceless racehorse. Think fighter jet.”

“Yeah. Great,” Miles said sourly. “I’m on foot, bozo. Don’t torture me with images of super-fast modes of transport.”

“Oh, cheer up,” Sean snapped. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. If I get killed, you get my Wrangler. Fair enough?” His gaze flashed over Miles’s shabby jeans and grayish athletic shoes. “My wardrobe, too.”

Miles looked pained. “Don’t say shit like that! Is it that bad?”

“It’s bad. The guy who nabbed her this morning is a fucking maniac. All bullshit aside, I’m sorry to involve you, buddy. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry to leave you on foot, too. But you can’t use my Jeep. It’s red, for Christ’s sake. It’s too recognizable. It would be the kiss of death.”

“It’s OK.” Miles’s look of stoic calm could only have been learned by studying Davy. “I’ll hitchhike. If I’m lucky, I’ll get back in time to swallow a couple raw eggs, and I’ll be in great shape to teach my first karate class. You’re checked in until tomorrow at eleven. I took three hundred out of the machine. Bought the stuff you wanted. Here’s the change.” He handed Sean a crumpled wad of bills, and a shopping bag. “The car’s gassed up. You want me to leave the Wrangler somewhere?”

Sean fished the keys out of his pocket and passed them over. “Dump it in the BiMart parking lot. Get away from it, fast. And Miles. Keep your head down. This never happened. You never saw me.”

“Don’t worry.” Miles’s gaze wandered over Sean’s blood-streaked face and torso. “You look like shit. Anybody good enough to do that kind of damage to you would run me over like a tank. I don’t want to die.”

“Good man,” Sean said. “Have you thought of a cover story?”

“I lent my car to Keira, the cute backup singer in the Howling Furballs,” Miles said. “The one with the pierced clit.”

Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my boy.” He stopped, eyes narrowing. “How’d you know that girl’s clit was pierced?”

Miles rolled his eyes and looked martyred. “She told me.”

Sean was cast down. “Oh. So you never, uh…”

“Nope,” Miles said dolefully. “Girls just tell me things. All kinds of crazy shit. It’s always, ‘Oh Miles, you’re such a great listener. I wish my asshole boyfriend was just like you, but all he wants from me is sex, sex, sex.’ It’s, like, the story of my life.”

“That sucks, buddy,” Sean said sympathetically.

“We’ve all got our crosses to bear. At least nobody tried to kill me today.” Miles pointed out philosophically. He stuck his hands in his pockets, rattling the Jeep’s keys. “OK, I guess I’d better disappear. Let me know what’s going on, OK? This shit’s weirding me out, big-time.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Sean promised. Miles’s worried look made him want to bear-hug the kid and tousle his hair. He suppressed the impulse with difficulty. Miles was finally developing spine-stiffening machismo and male dignity. Sean didn’t want to impede the process.

Miles nodded politely to Liv. She nodded back. “Thanks for the shirt,” she murmured.

Sean unlocked the dead bolt for him. “You saved my ass.”

Miles gave him a quick grin. “Anytime.”

Sean watched the kid climb into the Jeep through a crack in the door, his stomach hollow. It was only two minutes on the strip mall to get to the BiMart parking lot, but he hated exposing his little buddy to the risk of attracting any attention from those murdering fuckheads. Miles was smart and talented, but a hopped up gorilla like T-Rex would smear him all over fifty yards of asphalt. Having Miles on his conscience, too…Christ, that would be the final nail in his coffin.

He shut the door, slammed the bolts and locks and chains home. The deed was done. No point stressing over it. He unzipped the duffel part of his kit bag that he’d dragged out of his truck, and rummaged through the jumble of spywear prototypes until he found a pair of squealers, Seth’s portable alarms to fix on the door and windows. They weren’t much, but they might give him that split second advantage that meant the difference between life and death. If everything went to shit.

Finished with that, he turned to find that Liv had dumped the contents of Miles’s bag onto the bed. First aid supplies, soap, shampoo, combs, a three-pack of white XXL T-shirts, all good. There was food, though he was still too buzzed to think of food. Granola bars, chocolate, sardines, Ritz crackers, pepper-jerked beef sticks, standard convenience store fare. Miles had thrown in a couple pairs of cheap sunglasses and some baseball caps. Great. That would help, with anonymity.

His gratefulness evaporated when Liv held the caps up for him to see. One had a cartoon female body wearing only a skimpy pink thong on her prominent ass, turning a seductive kitty-cat face over her shoulder. Pussy Kat was stitched above the bill in pink cursive letters.

The other one read simply Sex Machine in big, white letters.

That snide, smart-assed cretin.

Then Liv held up a package of condoms in her other hand. He actually blushed. “I did not tell him to buy those!”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “He knows you well. What’s the Sean McCloud credo? The desire to get laid is the fuel that powers the universe?”

“I’m rearranging his teeth when I see him next,” Sean growled.

Judging from the look on Liv’s face, it looked like the screaming, pounding, wall-shaking fuck-fest had been indefinitely called off.

Just as well. The kiss had him on the verge of bursting into tears, begging her to love him forever. He hated to think of what extremes screwing her would have reduced him to. Particularly since she thought he was a fluff-brained gigolo that would pork anything with a pulse.

It made his face burn like a hot griddle.

The aftereffects of that kiss made him itchy and restless. He wanted to kick down doors, put his fists through walls. He should probably jack off in the shower, wrangle the savage beast down to reasonable proportions. Liv had been through enough this morning without having to do a whip-and-chair routine with his unruly dick.

He peeled off the filthy, bloodstained shirt, flung it on the floor. Bent down to pry off his shoes. He pulled out the Ruger, checked the cylinder out of habit. Still fully loaded. He cocked it, and placed it in Liv’s hands. She looked up at him, wide-eyed with alarm. “What’s this?”

“I’m taking a shower,” he said. “I want to wash the mud out of these cuts before I put disinfectant on them. You’re on guard duty.”

She sputtered with protest as he unbuckled the holster and the knife sheath. “But I don’t know how.”

“You did great with that Beretta,” he said. “You rocked.”

“But…” Her voice trailed off helplessly. “Isn’t this a bit excessive? I mean, nobody know’s we’re here but Miles, right?”

“Right. It is excessive. It’s totally ridiculous. So is what just happened to us with T-Rex up at the lake. Any more questions?”

He shoved down his pants, which had the desired effect of choking off whatever other protests she might have made, as his hard-on sprang out, in all its undignified glory. Swaying back and forth, the flared tip as big as a ripe plum. Adorned with a drop of pre-come.

“Good Lord, Sean,” she said. “Talk about excessive.”

“Excess is the road to the palace of wisdom. Watch that door.” With that parting shot, he stalked into the bathroom, stepped into the plastic tub, and set the water running, as hot as he could stand it.

It stung in all his scrapes and cuts. It felt like getting flogged. He gritted his teeth and went at himself with the cheap deodorant soap.

He soaped and rinsed, soaped and rinsed, watching mud and blood and grit swirl around his feet and down the drain. He took his aching cock in his soapy hand, but he was too conscious of Liv out there, holding his gun in her shaking hands. Unguarded, while he panted in the bathtub, yanking on his tool. Nah. Didn’t seem right.

He rinsed the soap off, toweled off. The threadbare towel got smeared with pinkish bloodstains almost immediately.

Liv let out a sigh of relief when he came out, as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time. He followed her gaze as her eyes darted down to register if he was still—yep. Sure enough. Still was.

He took the gun from her. “Go take your shower,” he told her.

“You’re covered with cuts and scrapes,” she said. “Let me—”

“First, shower. You’ll feel better,” he said. “You can do the Florence Nightingale routine when you get out.” She fled into the bathroom, and he ripped open the gauze and the surgical tape. Most of his cuts were from his falls in the fight with T-Rex, the glass on the deck, the bouncing over granite on the fall to the lake beach. A couple bullets had scored him, too. He was damn lucky. Oozing all over, but still lucky.

She exited the bathroom in a cloud of perfumed steam, eyes downcast, face red, having managed to tuck the scroungy little towel around her luscious curves. Her hair was wrung out, hanging down in damp, tangled locks. He was going to comb that for her again, whether she knew it or not. Combing her hair soothed his soul.

“Ladies first,” he said. “Come over here, and let me fix you up.”