Into The Fire. Anne Stuart
been lying about the beer. They must have finished it all during their late-night poker game. The contents of the refrigerator consisted of a chunk of moldy cheese, half a quart of milk and enough cans of soda to satisfy anyone. She grabbed a Coke and shut the door, snapping the top and taking a long drink, letting the sugary caffeine bubble down her throat.
He was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Not that she’d ever been able to guess what he was thinking. “What?” she demanded irritably.
“You don’t strike me as the type who’d drink straight from the can.”
“Maybe I don’t trust your idea of cleanliness.”
“I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”
“It’s not. When did you get my suitcase? Is my car here?”
“Your car’s still stuck in a ditch out on the highway. And I didn’t get the suitcase. Mouser was running an errand for me and he stopped and got it. You made quite an impression on him, but then, he doesn’t know you as well as I do.”
“You don’t know me at all. We haven’t seen each other in twelve years, and back then you had nothing to do with me.”
“That’s not the way I remember it.”
It felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She didn’t even blink. “And your memory is so clear after all these years?”
“Clear enough.” She wondered if she was imagining the faint thread of menace beneath his smooth tone. Probably not.
“I need to call my mother.”
“Why?”
“To tell her I got here safely. And to tell her I’ll be leaving as soon as the car is ready. This afternoon, I hope.”
“Hope away,” he said. “Mouser said your car was pretty messed up.”
“This is a garage, isn’t it? I’ll pay you to fix it.”
“I work on old American cars, not imports. Different tools.”
“Then I’ll call Triple A. If they can find someone to fix it I’ll stay in a motel until it’s ready—otherwise I’ll rent a car.”
“Honey, this town is the armpit of despair. The only motel around rents rooms by the hour, not the night, and no one rents cars but me.”
“So?”
He glanced at her. “So I don’t rent cars to drive out of state. No way to get them back.”
“I’d think you’d be motivated to get me out of here.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said lazily, reaching for the coffeepot, which was now filled with thick black sludge. “I think I’m going to enjoy reliving old times. The halcyon days of my youth and all that.”
“Your youth wasn’t particularly halcyon.”
“Neither was yours, princess.”
“That’s not the way I remember it. I had two loving parents, a secure life, I had Nate as my brother and best friend. Until you got your hooks into him.”
He took a chair at the table, reaching for his cigarettes. It seemed like years since she’d been around anyone who smoked, and she watched with fascination as he lit the cigarette with a flip of his silver lighter. “Memories can be faulty,” he said, and blew smoke at her.
She would have liked to summon up a hacking cough, but in fact she’d never been particularly sensitive to smoke. Besides, he was clearly trying to bother her, and she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. “Maybe yours are. I think I’m a little clearer on details than you would be.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Where’s the telephone?”
“In the garage. It’s a pay phone—be sure you have plenty of quarters.”
“How do you manage to do business without a phone?”
“I don’t like people intruding on my privacy.”
“Then I’ll be doing my best to get the hell out of here. Just find me Nate’s stuff and I’ll give AAA a call.”
“What’s the hurry, princess? Nate’s been dead for three months—he’s not going anywhere.”
“Don’t you even care?” she demanded. “He was your best friend! A brother to you, and he died when he was under your roof. Don’t you feel anything? Grief, regret, responsibility?”
“I’m not responsible for Nate’s death,” he said in a detached voice.
“I didn’t say you were. But you’re the one who should have protected him. If he’d gotten in with a bad crowd you should have done something, anything, to help him….” Her voice trailed off in the face of his ironic expression.
“Maybe you better make those phone calls,” he said, rising and pouring himself a mug of steaming sludge. “You want any of this?”
“I’d rather die.”
“Sooner or later, angel face, you’re going to have to learn to lower your patrician standards.”
“You aren’t going to be around to see it.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m looking forward to it.”
The smell of the coffee was tantalizing. She knew it would be awful—too strong, too bitter. It would wreak havoc on her stomach and her nerves, and even milk and sugar wouldn’t make it palatable. And she wanted it, anyway.
She rose, shoving a hand through her wet hair. He was watching her, and she didn’t like it. The sooner she was out of there the better. “So my car’s still in the ditch on…what road did you say it was?”
“Route 31.”
“Fine. I’ll call AAA, I’ll call my mother, and I’ll make arrangements to give you back your privacy as soon as possible. That’s what you’d like, right? Have me get the hell out of here?”
“Do you have any doubts about that?” He stubbed out his cigarette, looking up at her above the thread of smoke.
In fact, she did. It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to have her leave. “I’ll just go get my purse. Maybe my cell phone will work here.”
“Maybe,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and not even grimacing. “But I wouldn’t count on it. I wouldn’t count on anything if I were you.”
She didn’t bother arguing with him. She didn’t bother wasting another word on him—she simply headed up the dark, narrow stairs, stepping over the stained spot where the rat’s corpse had rested, going straight to her room.
In the gray light of a November morning it looked even less welcoming than it had before. The room was Spartan—just the mattress on the floor, the sleeping bag and her suitcase.
And no sign of her purse anywhere.
It was cold up here. Nate never thought he would be so cold, looking down on them. It was an odd sort of feeling—floating, dreamy, and then everything coming into focus. He should have known she was coming—he just couldn’t understand what had taken her so long to get here. His death would have shattered her, and there was no way she could move on with her life without getting answers. She’d come here to face his old buddy Dillon. The man who had let him die .
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it yet, even though he’d had a long time to think about it. Time had stopped making any sense, one day blending into another. He was trapped in this old building, unable to leave, but he’d heard her moving around, and known it was her .
The dead rat had been a nice