Burning Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  “I’ll drive,” Fonda said. “I know the way, and you can close your eyes. Before you object—which I see you’re going to—there’s nothing unmasculine about being in the passenger seat.” She got out, walked around to the driver’s side, and opened his door.

  He wanted to argue, but honestly, he couldn’t think of a good angle. He was tired enough that his reflexes could be compromised, and he didn’t want to endanger her because of his pigheadedness. He’d done that enough times in his life.

  He got out and climbed in on the other side. He did close his eyes, for a few minutes at a time, but never dozed. “What part of D.C. does your father live in? I don’t want to be too far away from Annapolis.”

  “It’s on the east side. But I want to go into D.C. first.”

  “Not to where you live.”

  “No, I want to go by where I worked before I left to work for Darkwell.”

  “They probably know your employment history.”

  “I haven’t been back there, other than for short visits, since I started working for Darkwell. They won’t be watching the place.”

  He hated sitting there doing nothing, and in general felt plain ornery. He checked in with the Rogues and gave them the latest. It gave him something to focus on instead of Fonda.

  Lucas said, “You all right? You sound tense, and that’s saying a lot when it comes to you.”

  He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I’m antsy, like I have little electrical shocks running through me.” Which reminded him, and he’d much rather talk about someone else than himself anyway . . . “How are you feeling, bro?”

  “I have more energy than I’ve had for a while. And no storms of images, even with all the stuff you’ve got going on. It’s frustrating, because I can’t warn you.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not dying, either.”

  “Well, there’s that. I can’t get into anyone’s dreams, even Sayre’s.”

  “Hopefully he’s on my case now. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Like you don’t have enough going on.”

  He glanced at Fonda, who looked his way. He didn’t like that she was involved in the Sayre business. “I can handle it. How are things with you and Amy?”

  “I have nothing to say on the subject.”

  She must be in the area, and by the hard tone in Lucas’s voice, things weren’t good. “Remember, she did it out of love.”

  “Eric Aruda is not giving me advice about love. Right? Now I know you’re an imposter, trying to elicit information from me.”

  “I’m just saying . . . you didn’t see the look on her face watching you bleed. She was terrified.”

  “You didn’t stop her.”

  “Lucas, you were dying. That woman loves you like nothing else. If I had stopped her, and you died, she would have killed me. Cut her out of your life and you’ll cut out part of yourself.”

  Where was this coming from? He glanced at Fonda, who was probably listening to every word.

  “What’s going on with you and Fonda Raine?” Lucas asked. “ ’Cause if how you’re talking is any indication—”

  “Nothing. We’re just trying to stay alive. I’ll check in with you later.”

  He signed off, paying attention to their surroundings as she drove into the city. He liked to know where things were, like hiding places and alleyways. Paranoia worked for him these days.

  The area wasn’t bad, a mix of ethnic restaurants and multiuse brick buildings. Chinese food sounded good about then. They’d grabbed a sandwich, but he was ravenous again.

  Fonda had a wistful expression as she looked around. “My apartment is down that street,” she said, pointing across him. “It was so good to be back that one day. I thought . . . I had hoped that I could come back to my life after . . .” She glanced at him, a sheepish look on her face. “ . . . well, after killing you. But I wasn’t sure I could. I wasn’t sure what I would be.”

  She pulled up alongside the curb in front of a grouping of buildings, one stacked right up next to another but each retaining its own style. A whimsical pink sign announced PASTIMES: VINTAGE CLOTHING. She took it in, along with a deep breath before getting out.

  He scanned the area as he too got out. He wished he knew what the guy working with Westerfield looked like. “Know Your Enemy” was one of his favorite Green Day songs, and now it had even more meaning. “Tell me again why we’re stopping here.”

  “I want to get some clothes that feel comfortable for me. And, well, just in case . . . things don’t go well, I’d like to see the store and my coworkers one more time.” She’d been looking at the storefront, but now turned to him. “I told them the truth, that I was being tapped for a government program that I couldn’t tell them about.”

  She pushed open the door before he could reach it, and a bell dinged. A redheaded woman in her fifties was unpacking a box. She looked up, and a warm smile broke out on her face. “Fonda!” She got to her feet and swept Fonda into her arms. “Are you back? I told you I’d keep a spot open for you, and I meant it.”

  The gratitude on Fonda’s face softened the hard edges. Her smile, though, was tempered by the truth. “I’m afraid not, Marion. We don’t have a lot of time, but I wanted to stop by and say hi. I’ve got a few more things to take care of jobwise. Hopefully soon.”

  Marion leaned back and took locks of Fonda’s hair in her fingers. “What have you done to your hair? It looked so soft and pretty last time I saw you.”

  “I needed a change.”

  Marion nodded toward a large picture of a cute blonde in a pink dress, and Eric realized with a start that it was Fonda. “I liked you better when you looked like that.”

  Soft, without the dark smudgy makeup around her eyes, posing with her finger at her chin. Fonda before Darkwell and Jerryl and him. There were other blown-up pictures of her on the walls and columns, her blond hair tied back, lashes thick and dark. In one she wore a fringed dress, like something out of the sixties. In another, a two-piece short set with a crop top.

  Some posters featured the woman who was walking up to the register with her gaze on him. “No wonder you’re staying away. Who’s this?”

  Fonda’s eyes widened when she realized she’d have to identify his role in her life. “Uh, this is Eric. He’s a . . . coworker. Eric, this is Marion, the shop’s owner, and Natalie, one of the employees.”

  Natalie, with black, straight hair that fell past her shoulders and eyes just as dark took his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” Those eyes took him in, head-to-toe, drawing out the words, “You’re big.” That didn’t seem to bother her at all, not by the naughty smile on her face.

  Fonda was watching, her eyes narrowed. “Not dating Chuck anymore, Nat?”

  “Nope.” She still hadn’t looked at Fonda.

  “You have a customer.” Fonda nodded toward another young woman who was standing by one of the round racks holding a dress and watching them.

  Damn, he hadn’t been out among people in so long, he forgot the female attention he sometimes got. Normally he liked it, but he didn’t care much now.

  Marion looked at the posters with a smile. “I’ve had four customers who don’t know you think those are pictures of Edie Sedgwick.”

  Fonda smiled. “I’ll take that as a supreme compliment.”

  Marion drew Fonda’s attention as she walked to a door behind the register. “I have some clothes for you, put them back in case you came by. They have your name written all over them.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she said, but her smile returned as she focused on Marion, who was coming back with hangers of clothing. She hung them on a rack near the register.

  Fonda’s face glowed as she looked through the outfits, the hangers clacking together. “Groovage. Thanks, Marion.”

  Marion looked at Eric. “Fonda went from a customer who spent more time here than at home, I think, to an employee, to manager. She knew how to sell, and the customers love her. Everybody misses her, so hurry up and finish t
hat assignment of yours so she can come back to us.”

  “I miss it here,” Fonda said, trying to hide her reaction to Marion’s praise. As though she wasn’t used to getting it. Well, she probably wasn’t, and he knew why she spent more time here than at home. He doubted Marion did.

  He felt that tightness in his chest again, picturing Fonda as a teenager, basically on her own. He couldn’t wait to meet her father. His fingers flexed at the thought of it, and of what he wanted to do to the man.

  Fonda zoomed over to a rack of earrings like a nail to a magnet. She was a kid again, enraptured by big plastic earrings, a huge smile on her face. He felt a tickle in his chest and coughed to dislodge it.

  “I need some pajamas, too,” Fonda said, setting three pairs of earrings on the counter.

  The women wandered over to a rack in the back, and Natalie went with them, peppering Fonda with questions. He could hear her rapid whispers as he grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans from a rack in the men’s section. “Hot damn, Fonda, you work with him? Is he a spy or something?”

  “Or something,” Fonda replied, glancing toward him. “Something else is more like it.”

  “Is he single?”

  “I guess.”

  “You two . . . you’re not . . .”

  “No.”

  “Good.” And Natalie made a beeline for him, a predatory smile on her face. “Let’s see what we have for you, maybe something from the eighties.”

  She showed him different shirts, then took his arm, as though they were going onto the dance floor, and led him to the dressing rooms, carrying three shirts for him to try on.

  “I don’t need to try—”

  “Nonsense. Let’s see how they look on you.”

  Fonda took one look at the two of them and disappeared into one of the dressing rooms, closing the door with a loud thump.

  Natalie was touching him, her fingers squeezing his upper arm. Funny, it didn’t have the same effect as when Fonda put the salve on his back. This woman was clearly interested, which should have awakened his hungry body. It didn’t normally take much.

  Like when Fonda came out of the dressing room in a form-fitting dark red bodysuit. She twirled around, looking at her reflection in the three-way mirror. “It’s dreamy. I love it!”

  “Me, too,” he said before he could think better of it. Soft velvet clung to her breasts, over her flat stomach, and hugged her hips.

  She met his heated gaze but quickly turned away. “Do you have any ankle boots?”

  Natalie took Fonda’s arm this time, yanking her toward the back where racks of shoes covered the rear wall. “You are so lying!” she whispered beneath her breath.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You, him . . . Puh-leeze.”

  Marion walked up to him, so he couldn’t keep listening while pretending not to. He gave her a smile. “Ring everything up.” He pulled out his wallet.

  The woman regarded him with a smile, but not a thank-you-for-purchasing-our-clothes one. “Fonda’s a special girl. I sort of see her as a daughter, but she doesn’t let people in, not really. I can see she likes you. I may not get another chance to say this to you, and I’m probably out of line, but so be it. I didn’t get where I am by holding back in life. She may look tough on the outside, but be gentle with her. She’s not that tough on the inside. And she’s got a big heart.”

  He handed her several bills. “No disrespect intended, but you’re wrong, ma’am. She doesn’t like me, not like that.” If he’d told her how they’d gotten together . . . he nearly laughed at the thought. “But I’ll do my best to protect her.”

  She smiled, studying him. “I see that you will. I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “To what?” Fonda said, coming up to the counter.

  “Watching out for your safety.” The woman was smooth, he’d give her that.

  She handed him back way too much change. “Employee discount,” she said before turning to Fonda. “Come back soon, hon. Your job will be waiting. Oh, almost forgot. I have a bag of discards for you.” She went into the room again, coming back with a big fat garbage bag.

  Fonda opened it and pulled out several articles of clothing. She seemed as excited about that as about the clothing Marion had put aside for her. “Thank you! I know exactly who to give them to.” She hefted the large bag over her shoulder, like Santa Claus.

  “Discards?” he asked, taking it from her.

  She turned to him, and her face was glowing, a beautiful sight. Dimples creased her cheeks. “The clothes that don’t sell. I give them to women who don’t have nice clothes. It’s funny, I hated wearing old clothing I’d bought at consignment shops before I started coming here. But now that’s all I wear, though these are considered vintage.”

  Sounded like a label meant to up the price, but whatever.

  “You didn’t have to pay for everything,” Fonda said as they walked out.

  “No big deal. She hardly charged anything anyway.” He walked over to the fast-food Asian restaurant three stores down. “Nice lady. She cares a lot about you.”

  “I doubled her store’s sales.”

  Funny how she didn’t acknowledge the caring part. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  “You just ate two big sandwiches. And three packages of Ho Hos.”

  But she went in with him and ordered a bowl of wonton soup. He devoured a General Tso’s chicken. She kept hopping up, walking to the front window, then sitting down again for another spoonful.

  “Natalie sure liked you,” she said after standing again.

  “Who?”

  “Natalie. You know, the tall, attractive, dark-haired girl. Duh.”

  He pretended he couldn’t offhand think of who she was talking about by giving her a blank look. Actually, he couldn’t picture what she looked like. He could, however, picture Fonda’s sour look when Natalie had escorted him to the dressing room.

  “The one at the store,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “And you call yourself oversexed. She was practically throwing herself at you.”

  He tried to hide a smile. Was she jealous? “Oh, her. I just thought she was a good salesperson. I did buy all the shirts she picked out for me.”

  She dropped back into the plastic seat. “You did that because you were hot for her.”

  “I did that because I liked the shirts. Do you want me to like her? I could ask her out sometime—”

  “No.” The word came out too firmly, and she waved it away. “You can do whatever you want. After this is over with.”

  He gave her a toothy smile. “Gee, thanks.”

  She frowned at him, looking adorable and sexy, especially because her lips were pursed. “Just don’t come in the store when you pick her up for a date. That would be awkward.”

  “What about after we’re married? Won’t the kids think it’s strange that Daddy never goes to Mommy’s place of employment?”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Well, you’ve got me dating her, so might as well take the next steps. Her parents love me, but her cat only tolerates my presence. We’ll probably get a dog next spring.” He gave her a guileless smile.

  “You are exasperating.”

  Damn, she was jealous. Astonishing. So when she was probably expecting a smart-assed reply, he said, “And you’re adorable.” Before she could react to that, other than her stunned expression, he got up and dumped his empty plate into the garbage.

  “Wait a minute.” She went to the counter and ordered a plate of chicken kung pow to go.

  “We can eat it here,” he said.

  She was big into avoidance, he noticed. He’d thrown her, and now she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not for me. It’s for George.”

  His eyebrows jumped up. “Who’s George?”

  “A friend.”

  Now it was his turn to feel a twinge of jealousy. She paid for the order and took the plastic container the lady handed her. He grabbed the bag of discards. They w
alked out, and she headed down the block. He alternated his gaze on their surroundings and her small tight ass in that bodysuit. It had a diamond cutout in the back that matched the smaller one in the front at her neckline. The collar went high, with a rhinestone at the center, and even on her short frame, the outfit made her look tall and lean. What word had she used? Oh, yeah . . . groovage.

  He remained just behind her, keeping up with her brisk pace. Finally she slowed at the end of the block and looked to the left. “Hi, George!” She disappeared from view for a second. He turned the corner and saw her handing the container to a black man who was sitting on the sidewalk, an old mail cart beside him probably holding his worldly belongings.

  “You a blessin’, Fonda, a God-given blessin’,” he said, taking the container with a weathered hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you later.”

  She walked past Eric and toward the truck. George opened the box as though she’d given him a treasure. She’d even remembered the spork, which confirmed that this wasn’t the first time she’d done this.

  “That was awfully nice of you,” he said, coming up beside her.

  “He never begs, never asks for anything. He’s just happy to be alive.”

  Fonda got into the driver’s side while he put the bag in the back of the truck. She took a deep, fortifying breath when he got in. “Now, on to my father’s. Let me handle him. Last time, I told him I was recovering from a friend’s death. I don’t know what I’m going to tell him this time.”

  Like how she was going to explain him.

  Neil walked out of Pastimes and called Malcolm. “They were here not twenty minutes ago. She doesn’t work here anymore, but she and Aruda stopped by for a visit.”

  So close.

  “Let me check.” A few minutes later Malcolm said, “She’s in that area east of D.C. again.”

  The one he couldn’t find her in before. He’d been swamped by all of the emotions saturating the air: despair, anger, self-hatred. As much as he loved emotions, all of them, they interfered with his finding Fonda the first time.

  “I’ll try again,” Neil said, disconnecting. Maybe he’d get lucky.