In the Arms of the Wind (31 page)

“You won’t be protecting me if you kill us while you’re doing this, Daniel,” she said primly.

“Shut up,” he ordered, casting her a quick side glance before running the red light at the end of the exit ramp, fishtailing as he took a short right turn.

He reached over to turn on the radio, cranking the volume to an ear-splitting level as he took another quick turn.

More squealing tires, blaring horns punctuated the turn.

Her right foot pressed hard against the floorboard, one hand on the arm rest—squeezing for dear life—and the other balled into a fist in her lap, Kaycee lowered her head, closed her eyes and hoped Danny wouldn’t plow into the back of another car or T-bone one at an intersection. She had no idea how fast he was going but she was pretty sure it was a good thirty or forty miles per hour over the posted speed limit.

He took a turn so sharply she was thrown nearly into his lap but she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see how close they’d come to death. Another sharp turn the opposite way slammed her against the passenger door and she whimpered.

“All right!” she heard him hoot. “Eat shit and die, motherfucker!”

When he increased his speed even more, she hesitantly opened her eyes, lifted her head and saw they were on the interstate, passing other cars as though they were standing still.

“You’d better hope a state trooper doesn’t stop you,” she yelled over the blare of the radio.

“That state trooper better not try,” was his answer.

She glanced in the side mirror and no longer saw the dark sedan. She turned her face toward him. “Happy now?”

“Damned straight,” he pronounced.

Getting a headache from the loud music, she leaned over to turn off the radio. The silence was a blessed relief.

“So where are we going?” she asked.

“Townsend,” he replied.

Kaycee tensed. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” he told her.

She started to protest but thought perhaps his bodyguards would realize that was where he might go and follow. She didn’t like the idea of him being without protection.

“We used to come up here for the Blessing of the Fleet every spring,” he told her. “
Maimeo
always loved it. Ever been out to Sapelo Island?”

“No.”

“We can take a ferry ride out there, see the lighthouse and maybe tour the Marine Institute.”

“I don’t think I’m up to that today,” she said.

He released a long, irritated breath. “Okay, then how ’bout we go out to Windlass? They have the best corn-shrimp chowder you’ll ever eat and the sourdough biscuits melt in your mouth.”

He needed to eat and she was beginning to think her headache was hunger-related so she agreed the Windlass sounded like a good idea.

Once at the restaurant his mood changed again and he was back to being his usual charming self. He ordered Greek salads, two bowls of the chowder, a plate of biscuits with orange marmalade, raspberry tea for them then settled back to stare at the water.

“Wanna take in a matinee?” he asked.

“If you want to.”

He started playing with the silverware, doing paradiddles on the tabletop with her knife and his.

“I played drums when I was a teenager,” he said. “Drove my mother crazy.” He grinned. “That’s why I did it.”

“I was in band in high school,” she said. “I played the flute.”

The waitress brought their salads and he slid her knife across the table to her, laid his down and picked up his fork, diving into the food as though he were starving.

“Best Greek salad ever,” he said, stuffing a big dollop of black olives and pepperoncinis into his mouth.

“You’re right,” she said after one bite. “I love feta cheese.”

They ate the salads while carrying on a discussion of the merits of various Sigourney restaurants, but when the chowder arrived, Danny lapsed into a sullen silence that was stunning in its abruptness. He ate with his head down, left hand clenched into a fist beside his plate.

“This really is wonderful chowder,” she told him, but he seemed to be ignoring her now.

“Are we going to have room for dessert?” the waitress asked as she came over with the check.

“I don’t know,” Danny snapped, swiveling his head up to glare at her. “Are you?”

The waitress’ smile slipped a notch as she slipped the check onto the table.

“I think we’ll pass on the dessert,” Kaycee said, drawing the woman’s attention to her. She smiled. “Thanks though.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the waitress said, shot Danny a hostile look then walked away.

“Bitch,” Danny muttered. He leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes hard on Kaycee.

She stared right back at him—unsmiling and not speaking—until he turned his attention to the window.

“I can’t help it,” he said, a muscle working in his jaw.

“I know.”

“You finished?” he asked without looking at her.

“Yes.”

He pushed his chair back, dug his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw a couple of twenties on the table then came over to hold her chair for her.

“You still wanna take in a movie?” he asked.

She didn’t think he could stand being cooped up in a dark theater right about then and wasn’t really interested in sitting through a movie herself.

“Not really. Why don’t we take a walk down the pier?”

He nodded. The day was overcast but warm with a gentle breeze coming off the water. He took her hand as they walked behind the restaurant and along the jetty that led to the pier about a block away, lacing his fingers through hers.

They had the pier to themselves. It was the middle of the day, kids were in school and parents at work. The solitude was nice—helpful too—for when they reached the end and Danny leaned against the railing, he let go of her hand and opened up to her.

“Sometimes I feel like my skin is going to split right down the middle and peel away from me,” he said, resting his forearms on the railing to stare down at the water lapping against the pylons. He laced his fingers together with the thumbs pressing against one another. “I almost wish it would.”

She huddled close to him, sensing he needed the contact. “Why?” she asked gently.

“Then maybe I’d feel clean again.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” he said defensively.

“And I’m listening, but I don’t have the information needed to help you, baby,” she reasoned with him. “You need someone who knows about this sort of thing, who has helped others get past it.”

He covered his eyes with the base of his palms. “I’m not talking to a stranger about being raped.”

“Then talk to your Uncle Liam,” she said.

“Hell no!” he snapped, digging his fingers into his forehead as though he could pull the pain from it. “You don’t know that son of a bitch like I do!” He turned his head so he could look at her. “He’s the last person I’d ever talk to about this, Kaycee. He’s gay!”

Her lips parted in shock. “Oh,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“And he’d go straight to
Daideo
and tell him what happened,” he said then snorted. “Seal of the Confessional, my shanty black Irish ass! He’s not to be trusted, Kaycee. Ever. You understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Sean’s okay. If you need a good priest, he’s the real deal.”

“That’s good to know.”

He was silent a moment then cursed savagely.

“I just can’t get past it,” he said. “No matter how hard I try, I just can’t. I feel like I’m going to go stark raving mad any minute.” He straightened, wrapped his hands around the wooden railing, pulled at the wood. “And those damned pills Uncle Mike gave me to take aren’t helping. They give me a headache and make me sick to my stomach.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like shit.”

“Think about the alternative if you don’t take them,” she said softly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he acknowledged then turned to lean his hips against the railing, digging his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He looked down at his loafers. “Ain’t life just fucking grand?”

She glanced down at her watch, surprised to see it was creeping up to three o’clock. She wondered if Uncle Mike would still be in his office.

“Am I boring you?” he challenged.

Kaycee pursed her lips. “No, Danny. I wanted to see what time it was because I was thinking of calling your Uncle Mike.”

“What the hell for?” His eyes were flashing golden fire.

“To see if we could go see him this afternoon, sit down and talk with him about this. You trust him, don’t you?”

His shoulders relaxed just a little. “Yeah, I trust him, but I’m in no mood to be analyzed right now.”

“All right,” she said reasonably. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Fucking you ’til you beg for mercy,” he said. Though he said it softly, there was no softness in his penetrating stare.

“Well, that ain’t gonna happen, babe,” she declared. “I’m not in the mood to be fucked.” She raised her chin. “Now if you had wanted to make love to me, I would have been happy to go with you to that motel over there and turn your world upside down. But since all you wanna do is fuck, I’ll pass.”

He swore under his breath, bumped his ass against the railing and started walking away from her with his hands still in his pockets. She let him get halfway up the pier before she followed—worried he’d just as soon leave her stranded out there as not considering his mood. He was leaning against his car when she joined him.

“You see what I mean?” he asked. “I’m losing it, Kaycee. I can’t even carry on a normal conversation with the woman I love without making it a fucking confrontation.”

“Let’s drive up to Savannah,” she said, opening the passenger door. “I know this great little bar out on Tybee Island. We’ll have a few drinks, listen to the jukebox, maybe take a turn or two around the floor then go into the restaurant and have some of their famous crab cakes.”

“I hate crab cakes,” he groused.

“You can have a fucking hamburger then,” she told him, getting into the car.

He got behind the wheel, pulled his seat belt across him then snorted. “I hate fucking hamburgers too, come to think of it.” He put the key in the ignition. “Did a lot of that when I was a kid.”

She looked over at him. “A lot of what?”

“Fucking hamburgers,” he said then shrugged as he turned the key. “Well, it was actually raw hamburger meat I made into a little valley, stuck my weenie in it and merrily humped away.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Eew. Eew!” she said, her face scrunched. “You didn’t!”

“Sure I did. Closest thing I could find to a pussy at age ten,” he said as he backed out of the slot. “Cold, slimy, pretend pussy but pussy nevertheless.”

She stared at him. “You are sick,” she said. “You know that? You are one sick puppy.”

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “But I’m a cute sick puppy.”

Chapter Fourteen

By the time the sun set, he was in a much better frame of mind. She kept him occupied every minute with jokes or inane conversation, in-depth discussion of topics that interested him even if they bored her to tears. She plied him with a few watered-down drinks at the Grab-A-Crab bar then pushed 7-Ups and pretzels on him the rest of the time. She made him dance with her until his headache started hurting again then she insisted they walk along the ocean to watch the sunset. Keeping him moving, keeping him busy, keeping his mind off what had happened, not allowing him a spare moment to dredge up the hideous, debilitating ordeal seemed the best way to handle him and it worked. The long walk up and down the beach gave him an appetite, pushed his headache away, and when they sat down in the restaurant of the Grab-A-Crab, he ordered a large platter of battered shrimp and dove into it with gusto.

“I keep eating like that and I’ll start to look like the Michelin Man,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

“More like the Pillsbury Doughboy,” she quipped, insisting on paying for their meal this time.

“I think I need an antacid tablet or two or three.” He slid a twenty beside his plate for the tip and when she would have grabbed it, slapped her hand. “Stop that,” he warned.

Outside, lightning was flashing in the distance and they both groaned.

“I’m starting to feel waterlogged,” he grumbled.

“Comes from sleeping butt-naked in the rain,” she reminded him.

“Admit it,” he said, snaking an arm around her as they walked to his car. “You liked it.”

“I liked the sex part, yeah, but not the flirting with being incinerated.”

“What if we got a room here tonight and I made love to you until the wee hours of the morning?”

“Think you could last that long?” she teased.

“All I can do is give it the old college try,” he answered.

“Where did you say you went to college?”

“Screw U,” he said with a straight face, opening the passenger door for her.