- -
- 100%
- +
2
J amie found the bathroom, a mixed blessing given its condition. She never could figure out why men were such utter pigs—it must have something to do with that extra chromosome. The only towel in sight was a dismal shade of gray, so she simply used her hands to wash her face, then glanced up at her reflection.
Waif, was it? At twenty-eight years old Jamie Kincaid looked much as she’d always looked. Pale skin, gray eyes, hair an indiscriminate shade between brown and blond.
She pushed her hair away from her face, staring at her reflection thoughtfully. Good bones, good skin, even features. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to be ashamed of, either. She was never going to attract the kind of dangerous attention from the wrong kind of man. The only reason Dillon had known of her existence was because of her cousin. If it hadn’t been for Nate he never would have noticed well-behaved Jamie. They’d hardly run in the same crowd in high school.
If you could even say he’d been in high school. There had never been anyone at home to make sure he attended regularly. His mother had left when he was young, and his father had died in a drunken car crash when Dillon was sixteen. He’d dropped out just before graduation, and there’d been some story that had been effectively hushed up. Maybe he’d gotten someone pregnant, though that seemed a relatively mild offense. Beaten someone, been arrested? All she knew was that the school and her family were furious with him, Nate was amused, and Dillon, when she saw him from a distance, defiant.
He was still defiant. Living in this rattrap, living his marginal existence. It was probably the best he could manage with his alcohol and drug problems. The addictions hadn’t yet made their mark on his face. He still looked very much like he’d looked twelve years ago, with a few lines added for interest.
As if he needed anything to make him more interesting. Jamie shivered, turning away from the mirror. This was harder than she’d expected, and she’d expected it to be tough. Seeing him again brought all sorts of feelings back, unwelcome memories flooding through her mind, through her rebellious body. He made her feel young and vulnerable again, just by being there. She’d been a fool to come.
She’d leave, first thing tomorrow. As soon as her car was up and running. He wanted her out of there, and she wanted to go. She’d grab Nate’s things and take off. Dillon wasn’t going to give her the answers she needed. She should have remembered that much about him. He never gave up anything he didn’t want to.
No lock on her bedroom door, of course. Not that it would have made any difference—as far as she knew she was alone in this old building with Dillon, and he wouldn’t let anything as flimsy as a lock get in the way of what he wanted. And why in hell would he want her?
She shut the door, anyway, then picked up the lamp and held it over the mattress. It was thin, stained, but there was nothing crawling on it, and she was so bone tired she could weep. If she were in the habit of crying. She shook out the sleeping bag, unzipped it and crawled in.
And immediately scrambled back out in a panic, knocking the lamp over. It was an old down sleeping bag, and it smelled like Dillon. Like his skin, an ineffable scent that was unmistakable and disturbing. Almost…erotic. She couldn’t possibly sleep with that thing around her—it was like being wrapped in his embrace.
She sat on the thin mattress, shivering. There was no way she could attempt the long drive back home, no way she could escape without sleep. And no way she could sleep without some kind of cover.
She stretched back out on the mattress and pulled the sleeping bag over her. It settled against her like a silky cloud.
There was no escaping him, not that night. She’d chosen to walk straight into the lion’s den—she might as well accept it.
Tomorrow she’d be gone. Come to her senses. If her mother needed more answers she’d have to hire a private detective.
Nate was dead. Nothing would bring him back, and right now answers, justice, even revenge seemed too dangerous a quest. Maybe when she’d gotten some sleep she’d see things differently, but she didn’t think so. One look into Dillon Gaynor’s cold blue eyes reminded her of just how dangerous he could be. And she was a woman who valued safety.
She turned off the light, and the room was plunged into a thick, inky darkness, punctuated by a blinking neon sign somewhere beyond her window. He hadn’t given her a pillow, and there was no way she was going to go looking for one. She punched her sweater into a ball and put it under her head, pulling the sleeping bag up to her chin.
He was everywhere. Beneath her, above her, surrounding her. There was no fighting it, not now. She closed her eyes and remembered.
Twelve years ago
It was a beautiful late spring night in Rhode Island when Jamie Kincaid grew up. She was sixteen years old, privileged, beloved, living in a dream world with nothing more to worry about than grades and dates. Grades were no problem—as her cousin, Nate, always told her, she was too smart for her own good.
And dates weren’t usually an issue, either. She’d had a pleasant, nonthreatening boyfriend who’d done no more than give her a few closedmouthed kisses, and when he dumped her on the eve of the junior prom she was more annoyed than hurt. She had the dress, she’d worked on the committee, she had every intention of going, anyway, and dragooned her cousin Nate to take her.
Nate was more a brother than a cousin. He’d lived with his aunt Isobel and uncle Victor for the last nine years, since his parents had died in a fire. Jamie was an only child, and she’d always wanted an older brother. And ten-year-old Nate was a dream come true for young Jamie.
She still adored him, though nine years together had worn off some of the novelty. But then, everybody adored Nate—he was incredibly handsome, with a dazzling smile, dark eyes, silky black hair and the kind of rugged body that made him perfect for sports and teenage fantasies. He was beloved by teachers and students alike, his surrogate parents, and most especially by his besotted cousin, Jamie.
“What’s up, kitten?”
Jamie looked up from her spot on the floor. The pale pink prom dress billowed out around her, and she wondered if unshed tears made her makeup run. Being dumped wasn’t worth crying for. It was just…annoying.
She managed a crooked smile. Her cousin Nate hated emotions. With his easy charm he breezed through life, and he preferred those around him to do the same, and since Jamie adored him she did her best. “I just got dumped. Zack told me he was breaking up with me and taking Sara Jackson to the prom.”
Nate shook his head. “Great timing. I could have told you Zack was a loser. Want Dillon and me to go beat him up for you?”
Jamie controlled a little shiver. Her cousin was only kidding, but when it came to someone like his friend Dillon Gaynor there was no telling what might happen. “Don’t bother. I’ll get revenge sooner or later.”
“I suppose you still want to go to the prom? Forget it, precious! I may love you like a brother, but I’m not going to take you to a high school junior prom. I’ve already suffered through one once.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t ask you. I’m not going.”
“So what are you going to do? Aunt Isobel and uncle Victor have already gone out, and I’ve got plans with Killer. Wanna come along?”
Killer was Nate’s affectionate name for his lowlife friend Dillon. Unfortunately there were times when Jamie wondered whether or not it was a bit too appropriate. “That’s all right. You don’t want a sixteen-year-old tagging along after you. I’ll be fine. There’s a book I want to read….”
“Nope,” Nate said flatly. “You aren’t going to miss out on your prom to curl up with a good book. You’re coming with us. Time to visit the wild side of life. See how the other half lives. Try a little danger.”
“I’m not big on danger.”
“Your big cousin will be there to protect you,” he said. “And Dillon will make sure nothing happens to you.”
“Like I trust him?” she scoffed.
“Trust who?” Dillon said, lounging in her doorway.
That was only one of the things she didn’t like about him. He always walked in, appearing out of the blue. He seemed to know when her parents were gone—Victor and Isobel Kincaid neither liked nor approved of Nate’s friend, and he was wise enough to make himself scarce when they were around. But anytime they were gone he’d be lounging in front of the big-screen TV, eating their food, smoking cigarettes, watching her out of his cool, insolent blue eyes. When he bothered to pay any attention to her at all.
“My little cousin thinks you’re a dangerous man,” Nate said with a laugh. He was a few inches shorter than Dillon, dark hair to Dillon’s bleached-blond shag, sunshine and good nature to Dillon’s mocking deference that always bordered on rudeness. It was no wonder her mother disliked him.
“She’s right,” Dillon said, looking down at her. “So are you ready?”
“I’m trying to talk Jamie into coming with us. She just got stood up, and I thought it was time to broaden her horizons.”
She half expected Dillon to object, but he simply looked at her and shrugged. “If you think she’s up to it.”
“She’s my biggest fan,” Nate said. “She’d never rat us out. Besides, Jamie can be your date since you don’t have one.”
“No!” Jamie said, her horror overriding her usual courtesy.
If anything, Dillon seemed more amused than offended. “I don’t need a date where we’re going. I think you’re asking for trouble here, Nate.”
Nate’s smile was wide, the kind that won over friend and foe alike, clouded men’s minds and women’s, too. “But you know I love trouble.” He reached out a hand to Jamie and pulled her to her feet.
“She’s not wearing that,” Dillon said.
“Killer, you are no fun at all,” Nate protested. “I think we should show up at Crazy Jack’s with my cousin the prom queen.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jamie said nervously.
“Of course it is. Go change into something sexy. Dress like a bad girl for a change. Wouldn’t you like to be a bad girl, just once?”
“Not particularly.” She cast a wary glance up at Dillon. He tended to ignore her, and she’d probably exchanged maybe a dozen words with him in her entire life. “What do you think, Dillon? Should I come with you guys?”
She should have known she’d get no answer from him. “Suit yourself. Just hurry up.”
She was crazy to do it. Her parents only tolerated Dillon because of Nate, but there was no way they’d approve of her going out with them. Dillon came from the wrong side of the tracks, and his behavior befitted his upbringing. He’d already spent three months in juvie for stealing cars, and no one had any illusions that he’d changed his ways. He’d just gotten more careful.
Jamie could never understand what Nate saw in him. Maybe it was his to-hell-with-you attitude. Nate charmed everyone he came in contact with, needing their approval; Dillon didn’t care one way or another. He just did what he wanted and let the chips fall where they may.
And she was going out with him. Well, not with him, really. She was just tagging along with her cousin and Dillon and as soon as they got to Crazy Jack’s, wherever that was, he’d find someone to keep himself busy. Nate would look after her—she trusted him with her life.
The prom dress ripped slightly when she yanked it over her head. She tossed it in the corner, found a pair of jeans and a big white shirt. She buttoned it up high, just so Dillon didn’t get any ideas, and headed back out to the sound of their voices before she could change her mind.
They were in the kitchen drinking beer. Her father wouldn’t like that one bit—the boys were only nineteen and one of them would be driving. Dillon was to blame, of course. Maybe after tonight Jamie would have some kind of idea of what Nate saw in him. And if she did, maybe she’d help her parents figure out how to get Nate away from such a dangerous influence.
“That’s better, precious,” Nate said approvingly. Dillon said nothing, draining his beer.
“We’d better get going. Rachel will be pissed.”
“Who’s Rachel?” Jamie asked. Maybe Dillon had a girlfriend, after all. In fact, he was very good-looking. A polar opposite to her cousin, he was tall, blue-eyed, teenage skinny with endless legs. He had the best cheekbones she’d ever seen on a man, she had to admit that much. And the kind of mouth a susceptible girl might find attractive. If she liked danger.
“Never you mind about Rachel,” Nate said fondly. “She’s nothing serious. Just for fun.”
“Is she your date or Dillon’s?” she asked.
“Carry these.” Dillon shoved a six-pack of beer into her arms. “And you’ve forgotten. You’re my date for the night.”
She looked at him warily, not certain whether he was kidding or not. With Dillon you could never quite tell.
Her only choice was to ignore him. She wrapped her arms around the beer, hoping the white cotton of her shirt would disguise her bundle, and followed them out into the driveway.
It was a warm night in May. The peepers were in full voice, and there was a soft breeze ruffling through the bright green leaves overhead. The kind of night that always put an ache of longing in the pit of her stomach, though she never could quite figure out what she was longing for.
Dillon’s old car was parked in the driveway. There was no mistaking it—a very old yellow Cadillac convertible that he’d fixed up himself. It was fast and big, and he could outrun the police if he really wanted to. As far as Jamie knew, he’d never wanted to.
He’d always tinkered with cars. He’d been driving since he was thirteen, and she had no idea if he had a driver’s license even now. He went around to the driver’s side and climbed in, not bothering to open the door. Not bothering to open hers, either, of course.
She reached for the rear door, but Nate was ahead of her. “You sit in the front, kitten. I want the back seat for me and Rachel.”
He smiled at her, beguiling as always, and there was no way she could object.
“The doors don’t work,” Dillon said. “You’ll have to climb in. Hand me the beer.”
She hesitated. She could still go to the prom—there was no shame in going alone, and she had the dress. That stupid pink dress that she’d torn.
Safety or danger? Dillon was looking up at her, his cool blue eyes daring her. She climbed over the side of the car and slid down onto the worn leather seat of the Caddy, putting the beer beside her.
He took one, opened it and set it between his legs. Immediately drawing her attention to his crotch. She jerked her head away, staring straight forward. He wouldn’t notice the blush of color on her face. He wasn’t that interested.
He drove fast but well. He’d jury-rigged a cassette tape player into the dashboard, and he had it playing loud heavy-metal music. He finished one beer, tossed the can in the bushes and opened another, all without sparing a glance her way.
She had no idea where they were going, and the little shiver of excitement in the pit of her stomach mixed with fear as he turned down a dirt road, barely slowing the car. It sped along the rutted surface, moving deeper into the woods, until he finally came to a stop in a clearing. A battered old pickup truck was parked there, accompanied by a couple of rusting wrecks, and a narrow path led through the woods to a tumbledown building almost out of sight.
Nate had already jumped out of the back seat. “You guys stay here. I told Rachel to meet me at the house. I’ll just go get the stuff and be back in a minute.”
Dillon switched off the car, stretching out in the front seat. “Take your time,” he said lazily. “My date will keep me entertained.”
Was that excitement or dread in her stomach? Or a heady combination of both? “Maybe I should go with him…” she said nervously.
“I don’t think so. He and Rachel will want some privacy. He’ll be back eventually.”
“Eventually?” she echoed, and she could hear the panic in her own voice.
“Don’t look so terrified, sweet cakes. I don’t bite. Much.”
She was already as far from him on the wide front seat of the Cadillac as she could get. He reached between them, ripped another beer from the plastic ring and then set the remainder on the floor. Leaving nothing between them. “Have a beer,” he said. She wasn’t sure if it was an offer or an order.
“I don’t think…”
“I thought this was your big night of rebellion. Take the beer, Jamie.”
She took it. It wasn’t as if it was the first beer she’d ever had. She just didn’t like it much. However, she was so nervous her stomach was doing flip-flops, and maybe the beer would calm her down, help her to relax. She didn’t want Dillon thinking she was a total idiot. Though she didn’t even want to consider why his opinion suddenly mattered.
The beer was lukewarm, yeasty, and she took a long drink. Dillon lounged against the door, making no move toward her, watching her out of hooded eyes. “Nate will be bringing some more stuff if you’d prefer grass.”
“I don’t!” she said quickly.
“Just say no?” he mocked. “I bet you’re good at that, sweet cakes. I bet you say no all the time. Do you ever say yes?”
She didn’t answer, and he didn’t seem to expect her to. He leaned back against the seat, looking up into the darkening sky, totally relaxed, while Jamie sat miles away on the other side of the car, clutching her beer.
So he was every young girl’s secret fantasy, she mocked herself. Latter-day James Dean, bad boy with a killer smile and a mouth that could tempt a nun. And she was no nun.
“Do you want to make out?” she asked suddenly.
He turned to look at her, slowly, lazily. “Is that an offer?”
She squirmed, uncomfortable. “Well, if I’m really your date…”
“You’re not,” he said. “Much as I appreciate the offer of a virgin sacrifice, I think I’ll pass this time. I don’t make out.”
She took another swig of the beer. It was almost gone, and she wondered if he’d offer her another one. Probably not. “You don’t? Don’t you like girls?”
His smile was the most dangerous thing she’d ever seen in her life. “I like girls just fine. I don’t make out, I don’t neck, I don’t kiss as a recreational activity.”
“Then what do you do?”
“I fuck.”
Jamie choked on the last of her beer. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I fuck. I don’t kiss women unless I want to fuck them, and I sure as hell don’t kiss jailbait like you unless it’s a sure thing. And I don’t think you’re going to be slipping out of those jeans anytime soon, are you? Not for me.”
She just stared at him. Night was falling, and the breeze had picked up just slightly, running through his shaggy blond hair like a lover’s caress. “No,” she said in a small voice.
His smile was small and mocking. “I didn’t think so. Not from the way you’re hugging that side of the car. Don’t worry, baby girl. I won’t touch you.” He turned his head, peering through the gathering darkness. “It won’t be long now. Nate doesn’t have much staying power.”
“Staying power? What are you talking about?”
“He and Rachel are having sex. He goes for quantity rather than quality, and Rachel’s a good match for him. They’ll be out in a few more minutes, smelling of sex, half drunk with it. That, and the dope he went to get.”
“Whose house is that?”
“Mine.”
“Are they your drugs?”
“Yes.”
She was silent. She’d gone through all the mandatory drug-education classes, she knew the dangers. She’d been around marijuana enough to know the smell, to see people get giggly with it, then numbed out. “Are you a dealer?”
“Why? You looking to score?”
“No. I was just curious.”
“I think you ought to stifle that curiosity, sweet cakes,” he said. He glanced at his watch, a cheap Timex, and swore. “Maybe Nate’s being more creative than usual.” He looked over at her, considering. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“What?” It came out as a nervous little squeak.
“Come here.”
3
J amie woke up in the shadowy gloom, lost, disoriented, fighting back panic. There was a loud, roaring noise coming from somewhere, she was cold, her back hurt, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. The neon light flashed on again, illuminating the small room for a brief moment, and she remembered. And felt her panic increase.
She sat up, taking deep, calming breaths. She never liked sleeping in unfamiliar beds—one of the many reasons she’d driven straight to Wisconsin without stopping at a motel along the way. Even in the familiarity of her own bed she seldom slept well—the slightest sound would jar her awake and she would lie there, for hours on end, staring into the darkness.
At least this time she had a reason. The windowsill was eye level from her seat on the floor, and she looked out over the alleyway, into the dismal gray light of a November dawn. She had no idea how long she’d slept—it might have been hours, or minutes. The room was cold, and in the unforgiving light of day it looked like a cell. Though she could finally identify the roaring noise as heat pouring into the room from a vent near her mattress. At least this place came equipped with an extremely noisy furnace.
She lay back down again, closing her eyes. There was no use getting up—Dillon would be sleeping off the effects of whatever he’d had the night before, and he wouldn’t be in any shape to help her. Not that he’d be interested in doing anything for her—they’d never gotten along. But he’d be motivated to get her out of there, if for no other reason than he’d never liked her.
She shivered. It had never really left her—that haunted night so long ago. Months, even years, went by without her thinking about it, without remembering the painful embarrassment and shame, but one look into Dillon’s cold blue eyes had brought everything back, with a vengeance. The rough pleasure in his hands. The shattering misery of how it ended.
She took a slow, deep breath, willing her tense body to relax. Long ago, she reminded herself. And by the end of the night Dillon had been so wasted there was no way he could remember any details. If he even remembered that night at all.
She must have been out of her mind to think that she could come here unscathed. Though maybe that was part of the reason she’d come, jumped in her car before she thought better of it, taking off into the dark November night like an angel on a mission. She wanted answers about Nate’s death. But she needed to face Dillon Gaynor and put any lingering emotions to rest. To let go of the past before she could get on with her future. And like it or not, Dillon was part of her past, inextricably entwined with Nate.
She’d been wearing the same clothes for forty-eight hours, and she was feeling beyond grungy. As soon as she got away from here she’d stop at the first motel she found, take a two-hour shower and even try for a nap. And then drive straight back to Rhode Island, with no more answers than she’d had when she started on this idiot quest.
At least the room was warming up, and she could dispense with the sleeping bag. She shoved a hand through her tangled hair, scrambling off the thin mattress. And then she saw her suitcase.
She stared at it, not making the mistake of thinking it a good sign. If Dillon had managed to fix her car, then he wouldn’t have brought her suitcase up—he wouldn’t do anything to prolong her stay.
She opened the door to the long, narrow hallway. The bare lightbulb at the end illuminated the empty bathroom. All the other doors were closed, and she wondered where he slept.
Not that it mattered. At that moment the bathroom was looking pretty damned good, and a shower was becoming more and more appealing with the arrival of clean clothes. She wasn’t getting out of here until Dillon woke up and she was able to get Nate’s things, and there was no way she was going to sit around in these clothes for another minute.