Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  If they’d ever seen any sort of TV at all, everyone knew the rules for following another car. Not close enough to get noticed, but not far enough to lose your prey. Actually doing it was another story. This Rachel character was in one hell of a hurry. My beat-up truck cried as I sped after her.

  “Did I mention she drives like a bat out of hell?”

  “No, you didn’t. Where is she supposed to be heading? Bank robbery?”

  “She’s supposed to be going to work.” I heard the clatter of dishes on his end and had a vision of him puttering around in the kitchen on his day off. I was less interested in what I was supposed to focus on (my prey) and more interested in what he was wearing. I tried to concentrate. “Where does she work?”

  He rattled off an address that gave me a vague idea of where I was supposed to be going. “You need me to repeat?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I hope you’re not writing this down while you’re driving.”

  “You worried about me?”

  “Hardly.”

  His dry tone made me smile, and I realized it was the first time I’d done that today. I couldn’t hold back my curiosity a second longer. “So what are you doing?”

  He paused but answered gamely. “Putting my coffee mug in the sink. Exciting stuff, huh?”

  “It’s no high-speed car chase, but whatever.”

  The sound of his laughter made my girly insides quiver a little. I could think of no further reason to hold him on the phone, and I concluded the conversation reluctantly. “I’ll be able to e-mail you the uploaded video and a report of what I found. Or I can deliver it if you don’t want the information electronically.”

  “I’d rather you deliver it,” he said quickly.

  My eyebrows shot up, and I smiled. He was probably blushing at how that sounded. I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel. I’d found the perfect guy—smart, funny, adorable, and on a side note, good-looking—and he didn’t play for my team. God, I wanted to know what could happen if Jordan would relax and let things happen. But I couldn’t begrudge him his preference. How would I feel if someone told me to relax and let things happen with a woman? Uh-uh, girlfriend.

  “I probably don’t even have anything to worry about.” He stopped short and started again. “Everything’s still okay, right?”

  I gunned it onto the main road, tires squealing a little. The Beemer made a quick U-turn, and I groaned. U-turns were never good. U-turns meant a change in pattern, a change from the normal routine. Excepting poorly designed roads, no one scheduled regular U-turns into her daily routine. She was coming toward me, but all I could see through her tinted windows was a pair of huge dark shades perched on what I assumed was her pale face.

  “Perfect,” I said and winced. “I gotta run.” I didn’t wait for a response, but tossed the phone in the cup holder and made a sharp U-turn.

  Bessie groaned.

  I made it around the next bend just in time to see the tail end of the BMW fishtail onto I-95. I kept my eye fixed on her car while trying to navigate traffic, sliding neatly into her lane behind two smaller cars. They were big enough for a distraction between us but not too tall for me to lose her. She suddenly whipped into the HOV lane, and I glanced at my watch. The lane was restricted for another two hours, and I shook my head as she surged ahead. The highway crested into a high curve, and I watched her pull away with regret.

  I wasn’t the police anymore, and I wasn’t looking to be stopped by them either. Nor was I going to get killed trying to see where this woman was headed. But it damn sure wasn’t to work. Coral Gables was the other way. It didn’t look good for Jordan, and I felt horrible that my first thought was pleasure. He would be devastated. And then you’ll move in for the kill.

  “For God’s sakes,” I snapped at my wreckage of a conscience. But no matter how much I scolded myself, I couldn’t deny that I wanted Rachel to be a fucking dirty cheater.

  I pulled off the next exit and coasted to a stop in a gas station parking lot. I bought a Coke Zero and a bag of Fritos and wrote my report in my truck, muttering under my breath the entire time. I was a professional, and I didn’t like to lose my prey. But the woman drove like a fucking stunt driver. Not to mention all the illegal turns and breaking the speed limit on every street and interstate she’d been on. I’d hand off the next shift to Drew—the Mazda would do a better job keeping up with her than my poor old girl.

  I started up Bessie to coughing and sputtering. “No, no, no.” I groaned as I tried to crank it up again. “Don’t do this now.”

  In response, she coughed and died.

  Chapter 8

  “YOU WANT to tell me again why we’re going to a pub again?” I groused, shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my stonewashed Rocco jeans. The heat was out full force even though the sun had gone down long ago. “Or why you parked on the moon?”

  My brother was one of those freaks who parked in the last spot on the lot to get every crumb of exercise possible. His flat stomach and fit physique really put a cramp in my cop and donut cracks.

  “We’re going to the pub because Darcy is Irish. Don’t give me crap, Apple. Today was the second time I had to pick you up this week.”

  “Can I help it that Bessie needed a break?”

  “Don’t even get me started on that stupid heap. I’m still not sure why I invited you,” he grumbled.

  To be honest, I wasn’t either. I wasn’t even sure why I accepted. Robert and I were typical siblings—we loved hard, teased mercilessly, and kicked the shit out of anyone who messed with the other. Even given all that, we rarely hung out. For starters, he was a pesky little brother and thusly should go where all pesky little brothers should go—Deep Space Nine. I’d settle for a black hole, a big one, one with no phone service or Internet to contact me. Growing up, he’d always been two years younger and light-years more talented. He’d seemed determined to do everything I did, only he did it better.

  When I played football, my butt warmed the bench more than the heat of the sun. When my little brother finally hit ninth grade, what sport did he try out for? The little punk was the first freshman in our high school’s history to make varsity. I’d been ridiculously proud of him and annoyed at the same time. I’d doggedly kept after it, playing my hardest and running my fastest, because at least when my dad came to Robert’s football games, he saw me too. I’d given it up after I fumbled the winning catch in our homecoming game. At least they’d called it a fumble on the ride home with an ice pack pressed to my nose. I’d called it getting hit in the face with four seconds left on the clock.

  For another, our groups of friends are different. Well, he has a group of friends, anyway. I think counting Asher and Drew as a group is taking liberties. Besides, that would mean I’ve slept with exactly fifty percent of my friends, and I don’t like those odds. Robert’s group of friends was younger, wilder, and rowdier. And no, I don’t remember the moment I turned eighty. A good time to his crew usually involved football, yelling, fighting, and a lot of alcohol.

  Simply put, we just had nothing in common. Other than his lifetime supply of Xerox on my life, that is. The only thing worse than someone copying you is someone doing it better. I graduated fourth in my class from the Academy—he finished second. By the time I’d retired with three commendations, he’d just hit his tenth year with four. I retired because of a bullshit injury and Robert was still out there saving the world. He’d given our father his first (and only) grandchild, and I’d announced I was gay. Maybe it sounds like I resent my brother. I don’t. But if he comes home with the perfect man and announces he’s gay, I’m going to kill him. That’s after my dad does, of course.

  No, going to a pub with a group of Robert’s friends was not my idea of a good time. But he’d sworn to me up and down that it would just be Tao, and Darcy, his old buddy from high school. Not John, Michael, Bobby, or Trace. Not Steve, who’d never met a chick he didn’t like, or Travis, who’d never met a drink he didn’t like. Even a
hermit like me could handle four or five people.

  The pub was a hub of activity, even on such a busy street. A pennant-shaped sign with old scripted writing declared it “Dubhlainn’s,” an Irish pub established since 1934. I tried to mouth the Gaelic words underneath, but the symbols and slashes finally got the best of me and I shrugged. The interior of the pub was much as I’d expected—tables and chairs in various shades of dark green with a green tartan floor. The bar was the focal point of the room, with high-backed chairs all around. I looked at the various pieces of Irish paraphernalia littering the walls and beams while Robert scanned the crowd.

  “There.” He suddenly pointed and waved before wading through the crowd.

  I had no choice but to follow or be left by the chalkboard sign declaring it three dollar Guinness night. I hurried so I wouldn’t lose sight of him in the dark atmosphere, and we headed toward the high tables in the back.

  I waved at Drew, Tao, and Asher before shaking the hand of the red-haired guy sitting next to them. His grip was strong, but then again so was he. He had to be at least six foot two and looked like he could bench press me. He held my hand too long, and I pretended not to notice, sliding into a seat next to Drew. I scanned my brain quickly to see if Robert had mentioned this being a setup of some kind. God knew I didn’t always listen when he was rambling on.

  “Hey, lover,” Asher said flippantly, giving me a flirty wave.

  I ignored him, but the flush on my face apparently spoke volumes. “Hey, Tao. Drew.”

  Drew narrowed his eyes at us both before rolling them. “Good God. Not again.”

  “Not again, what?” my brother asked, sitting on the chair with it facing backward. He looked at my face and then scrunched his own. “Could we not talk about you and your sex at the table?”

  “I didn’t bring it up,” I pointed out, wishing my face would cool off.

  “What can I say?” Asher shrugged. “I can’t get enough of Mac’s sweet—”

  “Jay-sus!” Robert exclaimed, plugging his ears.

  Drew pointed a finger at me. “Mac, I still have some flea dip from last time.”

  Asher threatened to dip his pinky in Drew’s drink, which earned him a good hand twisting that I watched with a smirk. Good, I thought as he grabbed his hand and glared at Drew. The fool had to take out a billboard every time we had casual sex.

  “God, I almost hesitate to introduce you to the zoo,” Robert said to Big Red, who chuckled.

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Everyone, this is Darcy.” He pointed at the other side of the table. “This is Drew and my partner, Tao.” They both nodded as Robert glared at the two of us. “Ho number one here is Asher. And ho number two over here is my brother, Mackenzie.”

  “Tao?” I asked sweetly. “Can I borrow your service revolver?”

  Tao continued to sip his beer calmly, the sanguine look never leaving his face. He always got that look when his wife let him out of the house. Usually his nights involved baby diapering/feeding/bathing/rocking duty with their newborn. That is unless he and my brother worked the night shift, in which case his mornings were consumed with the same. Suffice to say, his wife was a woman who fully believed in an equal partnership. In layman’s terms, a lot of diaper duty. At this point, Tao wouldn’t mind if we did the electric slide on his squad car. He was going to enjoy his night off.

  “Rounds are on me,” Darcy offered. “We’re having Guinness, but I can get something else if you like.”

  It was odd, but it seemed like he was talking only to me.

  “Guinness is fine,” I answered for both of us, and he grinned.

  When he disappeared toward the bar, I hit my brother in the arm. “What the hell?”

  “What?” he asked defensively. “You’re gay. He’s gay. I figured—”

  “That we should start a club? Jeez, Robby, I’m not looking for a setup. I told you that.”

  “I thought it would help. I’m tired of seeing you mope over this Trevor asshole.” He glanced around as if looking out for Darcy’s return and continued in a lowered voice. “It’s not like I set you up with a bum. He’s a firefighter down at firehouse 144. He’s the resident cook, and I hear he makes a mean lasagna.”

  I looked at him with an open mouth even as that asshole Asher started laughing. “Who are you, freaking Chuck Woollery?”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “That host on Love Connection,” Asher managed.

  “Mac, I don’t have time for your obscure game-show trivia. He’ll be coming back in a minute,” Robert hissed. “Now look, their boys and our boys went out for drinks after the PD/FD baseball tournament, and he might have mentioned he just got out of a relationship. Someone mentioned how he likes pretty boys, and your name came up.” He eyeballed me critically. “I don’t see it, but whatever.”

  I wanted to sock him good. “Glad to know a lot of thought went into this. But you can tell Big Red that I’m not interested.” Someone with his face and build ought to spend the whole night working that one out. I pictured him looking dumbly in the mirror. Someone’s not attracted to… me? What?

  “God, you’re such a prick.”

  I ignored this and tacked on, “And I don’t mope,” for good measure.

  “That’s all you do! Moping and moaning over someone who got over you as easily as wiping shit off his shoe. It’s pathetic.”

  “You’re pathetic,” I shot back. “Why don’t you get your own life? God, I’m just lucky you’re not gay. You’d probably steal my boyfriend!”

  “First you’d have to get one,” he snapped.

  “That’s harsh.”

  “What you said wasn’t?”

  “You can’t rush me out of my feelings,” I snapped. “I’m sorry that you’re tired of me being sad. Maybe we should see less of each other.”

  “Is that even possible?” he muttered, and I looked at him sharply.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a smart guy, Mac,” he said. “You figure it out.”

  A brief silence descended upon the table. I folded my arms and let the awkward moment extend. I saw no reason to break it.

  “This is why guys don’t talk,” Drew sighed.

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. In his own iron-fisted, heavy-handed way, he was trying to help. “Robby. I’m trying my best to get over Trevor in my own way. I’m sorry if that doesn’t align with your master plan.”

  He shrugged. “You call sleeping with Asher exorcising your demons?”

  “That’s none of your business. I don’t ask you about any of the hoes that walk in and out your revolving fucking door.” It was on my tongue to say that’s why Case is so messed up, but even I found that appalling and unforgiveable. My nephew’s issues were his own to work out, not something to be used to win an argument.

  “You’re such a selfish jerk. Always have been. Probably why Trevor never—”

  I slammed my hands against the table. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare lay the blame for that piece-of-shit relationship at my door.”

  “Why not?” Robert shrugged. “You left him, didn’t you? Just like everyone else. I’m just surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

  “Enough!” Tao snapped. “You two are ruining my buzz.”

  “For real,” Asher piped in. Unhelpful as usual. “Mac, you damn sure dish it, so you’d better be prepared to take it. Rob, you shouldn’t have set him up, and you know it. And blaming him for Trevor’s shit? Low blow, dude.”

  “Apologize,” Tao said. When we didn’t leap to his bidding, he snapped, “Now.”

  So we did.

  Darcy came back to a table of absolute silence, but luckily he was the type of guy who would need OnStar to find a clue. He sat down, passing out drinks and limes, and told us a joke the shockingly Irish bartender had told him. Even when it met with halfhearted laughter, he followed it up with a hilarious story from high school. I glared at Robert even more, if possible. He w
as funny, cute, and available? And gay, I added to my fertile mind. Although that didn’t seem to be too important to me lately.

  Before long, Darcy’s warm stories and funny nature had us all laughing. They kept the beer flowing, and before long, I realized that, damn, I’d had a good time. Damn that Robert.

  Tao was the first to break up the party. “It’s getting late, guys, and I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

  “Buzzkill,” I said, inciting the rest of the table to boo him. But he was right, as I glanced down at my phone. It was close to 2:00 a.m. It was all well and good to party like a rock star as long as one remembered that rock stars didn’t have jobs.

  “I’m Audi too,” Drew said, pushing back the bowl of nuts he’d refused to share. I didn’t know how many times he would say that as his exit line before he believed me that it wasn’t cool.

  “Me too, meesh too,” Asher slurred. “Gots to go. Gimme keys, Tao.”

  Tao gave him a look. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “I’ll take back rudds. Rudds.” He swallowed twice and tried again. “Rudds!”

  “Well, then that’s settled.” Tao clapped his hands. “Now. Who’s going to warn all the people on the back roads?”

  “And I’ll drive slooowsh.” He looked lost for a minute. “Slooowsh. Such an odd word.”

  “Fool. That’s because it’s not a word.” I slapped the back of his head fondly. “You went out drinking with two cops and a fireman. If you try to drive that car, you won’t be just DUI, you’ll be D-U-M-B.”

  “Gimmee,” he said, lunging for his keys and grabbing them from Tao.

  “Nice try,” Drew said, plucking the keys out of his hand. “Come on, lush, I already called a cab for both of us. Mac, meeting at ten?”

  “I’m going to be working on my truck. For now, our morning appointments are on you.”

  Drew glowered at me.

  “I know cars,” Darcy offered, and I gave him a blank look. “And trucks. Well, I suppose trucks are cars, but….”

  “Thank you for your offer,” I said before the poor man stuttered himself into the next century. “But I’m pretty handy myself.”