He placed his big, warm hands gently over her knees. The soothing warmth felt good, over the stings and scrapes and booboos.
So, at last. Here it was. The question that had been burning in her mind for six weeks. The one she’d almost given up hope of asking.
“Do you have any information?” she asked. “Any insights?”
He met her eyes. Her heart tumbled, thudded, three stories down.
“Babe, I haven’t got a fucking clue,” he said.
She shivered and tugged the robe tighter. “But I . . . didn’t you—”
“It was exactly like I told you,” he said. “I didn’t misrepresent what happened at all. My mamma was killed. It was a banal incident of domestic violence. She had really bad taste in men. She didn’t give me instructions to lock anything. She didn’t give me anything, or tell me anything. She put me on a bus to Portland one night to keep me from getting killed. That’s all there is to that story.”
Lily nodded. Her throat was too tight to speak.
Bruno went on. “The only big question is why she didn’t climb on that bus with me. That’s what I will never understand.”
She brightened. “Well, maybe that’s it. Maybe this is the answer to that question. If we could figure out what she was—”
“No.” His voice cut her off. “Don’t do it, Lily.”
“Do what? I’m just speculating—”
“Don’t speculate,” he said. “Don’t try and lay your crazy agenda over what happened to my mamma. It won’t hold the weight.”
Oh, shit. She’d hit a nerve. She backpedaled, nervously. “Bruno, I’m only trying to—”
“There is no mystery to solve. I faced that, a long time ago. It was bad enough the first time. I’m not going back to do it again.”
She twisted her hands in the damp terrycloth and tried to face it.
“So, looks like you tracked me down and lured me into your honeyed trap for nothing,” he said, after a while. “I’m sorry I don’t have any better recompense to offer you for all that effort.”
She bristled. “What do you mean by that?”
He shrugged, without meeting her eyes. “Just wondering if you regret having gone through with it.”
“With what?” she asked, apprehensively.
“Fucking me,” he said. “You know, now that you’ve discovered that the cupboard is bare. Does that kill the buzz?”
Oh, ouch. She got up and backed away from him. “Is it necessary to make me feel like a whore?”
“You said the word, not me.”
She tried to marshal her argument, but it kept slipping apart in her head like a wet paper bag. To her own ears, her story now sounded preposterous, ridiculous. A pack of overheated, disconnected lies.
“But what about what Howard said?” she asked. “Why would he mention you and your mother if there wasn’t a connection?”
“I’ve never heard of a guy named Howard Parr,” Bruno said.
“But why would they kill him, right after telling me if he—”
“Because they didn’t,” Bruno said. “By your own account, your father had severe mental health problems. Don’t ask me to rip my life apart based on the ramblings of a suicidal heroin junkie who’d been confined to a locked ward for, what, how many years now?”
“Almost six, when I add them all up,” she said. “But you don’t understand. I know he was murdered.”
He shook his head. She wanted to scream at him. To slap that sad, sad look off his face. “Face it, Lily,” he said quietly. “Get real.”
“Goddamnit, it is real! I knew him! He was terrified of blood! He would never have cut himself, not in a million years!”
“Depends on how much pain he was in,” Bruno said. “Maybe you can’t even imagine how bad it was. It might have been worth it to him to face his fear. He saw his opportunity, gritted his teeth, and took it.”
“No, it’s not possible. Not him.” She hid her face. It hurt, so bad, that he didn’t believe her. Even though she’d never really hoped that he would. She still felt so betrayed. Hurt to the depths of her being.
“Nobody knows better than me how much it hurts to swallow this down,” he said. “But sometimes stupid, random, bad things just happen. They have no meaning. There’s no mystery, no explanation. Just shit luck. I’ve accepted mine. I’m not going to redo the work I did.”
Lily kept shaking her head. She couldn’t stop shaking it.
“I’m very sorry about what happened to you,” he said. “It’s awful. Terrible. But it’s not connected to my mamma. Or to me.”
“Then how did they find me? They found me because they were watching you. Why would they if there’s no connection?”
“They found you because they found you.” His voice was harsher now. “You slipped up. It’s that shit luck again. You’ve had a stinking big dose of it. I understand your desire for company, but don’t pin your shit luck on me. I’ve already had my share.”
“Then why?” she yelled. “What the hell do they want with me?”
He just gazed at her, looking miserable and uncomfortable.
A horrible realization began to unfold. “Oh, my God.” Her belly clenched. She regretted having eaten so much. “You think I’m a liar?”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment. Trying to read her mind. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t think that. God help me, but I don’t.”
She pressed both arms against her belly. “Well, that’s good, at least. But then how do you justify . . .” Her voice trailed off, as it slowly, painfully sank in. “Ah. I see. So you think I’m crazy, right?”
His mouth was a flat, unhappy line. “I think you’re confused, and scared, and sleep deprived. And stressed to the fucking max.”
It was the truth, but his gentle tone and careful word choice were still offensive to her. “I see,” she said, bitterly. “So, I’m a couple cans short of a six-pack, right?”
Bruno dropped his face into his hands, shoulders slumped. “Fuck if I know,” he muttered. “But those killers are real.”
The silence was unbearably heavy. Lily straightened her shoulders. Time to suck it up and move on. “Fortunately for you, it’s no longer your problem.” She sidled past him to the bed, where he’d piled the shopping bags. “I apologize for wasting your time. And I’ll just, ah, get the hell out of your way now.”
“You can’t do that now, Lily,” he said.
“I’ll need the stuff you boughtumped clothes onto the bed, pawed through them. “I’ll reimburse you. What did Aaro say? Four hundred?” She rifled through the panties, picked out the least offensive of the lot. Peach lace. She pulled them on. Struggled into the jeans.
“I don’t give a shit about the money,” he said.
“I don’t really care what you give a shit about. How much did you spend on gas? You’ll have to let me know whatever Aaro bills you, too.”
“How about my legal bills, when somebody gets around to charging me with murder two?”
That was way too big a bite to chomp down on right then. “Let’s stick with simple stuff for now.” She pulled out the T-shirt, the sweater. She couldn’t put them on without getting naked, and she hesitated to do that in front of a guy who thought she was a lying opportunist. But he’d seen it all, so what the hell. Off with the robe.
She wrenched on the tee. The sweater was huge, sleeves flopping sadly off her shoulders. She sat on the bed and got to work on socks, shoes. She felt so stupid. Embarrassed to exist. She shrugged on the coat. The clothes were comforting in their stiff bulk. Like armor.
“I’ll just hike down to civilization now,” she said. “This stuff should keep me plenty warm. Thanks for everything.”
“It would take a day to walk down from here, even if you knew the terrain and could take shortcuts, which you don’t. Don’t be stupid.”
“It’s crazy, not stupid, buddy. Crazy has a better ring to it. And like I said, no longer your problem. Please forget I ever bothered you.”
&nb
sp; “No,” he said. “You’re in danger.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Let me out of here before I die of embarrassment.” At the moment, death by exposure or being eaten by a cougar was preferable to having Bruno look so sorry for her.
She wasn’t even to the door before he grabbed her from behind. He pulled her against his body, which reminded her of a lot of things she would rather forget right now.
“Sunset is two hours away,” he said roughly. “Please, Lily. Don’t be both crazy and stupid. Just don’t.”
“You can’t stop me.” She immediately wished she hadn’t said it. Because of course, he could. Easily.
To his credit, he didn’t say it. She was very glad she was facing away from him. He didn’t have to watch the crazy girl start to snivel.
So damn stupid. After all those dire warnings to herself, all her stern pep talks, she’d suckered herself into the fantasy of Lily and Bruno, the intrepid team. Lily and Bruno together, pitted against ultimate evil, had been a way different vibe than Loser Lily, pitted against it all by herself.
Bruno released her cautiously, like he was afraid she was going to bolt. “Let’s hike up to the bluff, since you’ve got your coat on already,” he said brusquely. “I have to make those calls.”
She shook her head. “You’ve established my status as a lunatic. So cut me loose! Focus on your own problems!”
“I still have to figure out what to do with you. Just because your bad guys aren’t connected to me doesn’t mean they’re not deadly.”
“Oh, no!” She shook a frantic finger. “No, you don’t have to ‘do’ anything with me. I can take care of myself.”
He pulled his jacket on, ignoring her. It pissed her off to the point of screaming. “Look, I’m mentally ill, right? Cut me loose! Simplify your life! If I get killed, it’s not your fault! You don’t even have to feel guilty! I release you from all responsibility! I’ll sign a fucking waiver!”
“I need you as a witness, for what happened outside the diner.”
It was a good try, and a convincing argument, but she didn’t buy it for one second. “It’s because you had sex with me, isn’t it?”
Hah. She’d nailed it. She could see it, all over his face.
“Shut up, Lily,” he muttered.
“Ah, yes! I get it! You feel guilty, right? So sorry for the stressed-out crazy girl who can’t keep straight why people are trying to kill her? You feel bad, for taking advantage of a vulnerable, deeply disturbed person in her hour of need? You feel like bottom-feeding slime for abusing the handicapped? Well, fuck you, Bruno Ranieri. Fuck you.”
He shoved her grimly toward the door. “Shut up and walk.”
12
U nfair, Miles reflected glumly as he tailed Zia Rosa through the baby supplies store. The crapola errands always fell to him. Got scut work? Something mind numbing, time consuming? Call good old Miles.
He stared at the rectangular block of Zia Rosa’s back draped in a leopard-print tent of a blouse, gold chain link necklaces jingling cheerfully over it all, a tiger-striped plastic purse. Cruising down the aisle with her broad, stumpy gait like she owned the place.
He’d asked her four times if she’d gotten everything on her list, and if not, could he please, please just run and fetch it for her, but she had to run her eye over every last damn product in the aisles to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. He felt like a yipping Chihuahua, dragged behind her on a leash. She gave about that much attention to anything he said. Zia Rosa had very selective comprehension.
Had to be today that she had to get the bouncy seat for little Eamon and the foam wedgies for the crib of tiny Helena, Davy and Margot’s newest addition. Today, when Cindy’s band’s recording session had been canceled due to tech problems in the studio. Which would have led to her being home all afternoon. With him. Naked, going at it like a couple of crazed bunnies. But not today, because of a mysterious phone call from Aaro. It seemed Kev’s prickly, problematic adopted brother Bruno had gotten himself into some sort of bizarre trouble. And whiz-bang, the McCloud clan went to red alert. That meant everybody was grounded until the situation was clarified. But explain that to Zia Rosa. Even the McClouds, with their combined testosterone, could not intimidate that woman out of doing whatever the fuck she wanted. The McClouds had met their match. It would’ve been funny, if they hadn’t been using Miles to solve their problem.
Nothing had been the same since Zia had showed up, a package deal along with Kev McCloud’s triumphal return. She’d proceeded to camp out all over the McCloud clan’s lives, or at least, those that were reproducing, which was most of them, at this point. She’d earned Liv’s and Margot’s and Erin’s undying devotion for her help with the babies. The kids adored her. Tam was terrified of her. That said it all.
And there was the food. God-kissed, orgasmic Italian food in industrial quantities. Everybody got themselves invited to dinner when Aunt Rosa was cooking, and then went around surreptitiously pinching their gut afterward, resolving to put in a few more hours in the gym to burn off the baked ziti or the cream cutard pinoli tart, or whatever.
Miles had been bitching about the latest Zia Rosa lecture, something along the lines of “have those babies while you’re young or you’ll be sorry,” while Davy changed the oil in his truck. He’d wondered out loud to Davy why they didn’t just tell her to get gone, so everyone could breathe easy again. Davy stood up, frowning up into the sky, wiping oil off his hands, and explained things with his usual brevity.
“You have a mom,” he said. “You can afford to be fussy. When you have kids, they’ll have a grandma. We don’t. Here’s a turbocharged super-grandma, readymade and available for use. So what the hell. We’ll take her. In a heartbeat. We’d be stupid not to.”
That had reduced him to an abashed silence. It was true. Not many grandparents in the McCloud milieu, besides Erin’s mom. Liv’s scary mother definitely did not count, and Raine’s mom gave everyone hives, particularly Raine’s husband, Seth, so just as well she spent most of her time in London. No benevolent, diaper-changing, ziti-baking grandma energy from that direction. So since then, he’d held his tongue, kept his Zia Rosa bitching between himself and himself.
He was jerked out of his reverie when he almost ran into Zia Rosa’s back. She’d braked to coo over twin toddlers in a tandem stroller and was gurgling Italian endearments. “Dio mio,” she murmured. “Uguali. Ugualissimi. Incredibile.”
She looked up at Miles, eyes spilling over, clearly expecting some sort of a comment, but he didn’t speak Italian, except for food names. They were all learning food names now.
“What?” he asked. “Huh?”
She sniffed, her jowls quivering. “The bimbi,” she said. “Pazzesco. The girl is just like my niece Magdalena when she was little, angeletto mio, may she rest in santa pace. And the little boy, he’s Bruno. Exactly like my Bruno. Mi fa brividi.” She crossed herself and then dug into her purse, fishing a couple battered photos out of her wallet.
The mom of the toddlers was a good sport about it. She was young and pretty, and she got all gooey and did the requisite oh, my God, you’re right, that’s, like, incredible, they really do look just alike, that’s so totally wild when she looked at Aunt Rosa’s photos. Her eyes got misty, her voice got froggy, and then, oh horrors, she said the words Miles had been dreading. “Would you like to hold them?”
Oh, fuck him. He tried not to clap his brow and curse the day.
Of course, Zia Rosa’s reply was along the lines of is a bean green, does the pope shit in the woods, yada yada. She cooed and tickled and pinched, and told the mom her convoluted story of why she’d concluded that Eamon needed the bouncy chair and Helena needed the foam wedgies, which sparked off the mom’s story of how she needed mesh crib covers to keep the twins in their cribs at night. That sparked tales of Bruno’s adventuresome babyhood, which was a well with no bottom.
The young mom’s husband exchanged can-you-believe-thisshit glances with Miles a
s the minutes ticked by, and then wandered off, clearly bored out of his mind, leaving Miles to his solitary fate. Thanks, dude. He appreciated the solidarity. Zia Rosa and the mom ranged over a broad array of baby-themed topics and had settled enthusiastically into the benefits of pure lanolin for cracked nipples, ooh, tasty, when the little girl started to squawk. Which necessitated pulling out yogurt, Goldfish crackers, a binkie, in their efforts to comfort her. Meanwhile, the other twin, released from his bonds, wandered off to wreak mayhem in the baby food aisle. After some ominous crashing, Zia Rosa fluttered her hand at him. “Miles, go watch over that bimbo,” she commanded.
So off he went, chasing the little monster through the formula aisle. Trying to explain that the lactose-free baby formula was not meant to be used for a soccer ball. The kid laughed in his face. A store employee came along just as the box burst open and released its cloud of white dust. The woman started shrilly lecturing Miles, like he was the dad, and where the fuck had the kid’s real dad disappeared to? Hello? Anyone? In the meantime, Zia Rosa and the mom discovered that the little girl’s problem was a poopy diaper. Evidently a two-woman job.
Jesus, he was glad Cindy was in no rush to procreate. He loved the little McCloud hellions, every last one of them, but he also loved getting into his truck and driving away, stereo blasting. Free at last.
Finally the mom came to rescue her son. She turned to Zia Rosa to start the “great to chat with you” part of the conversation, and “thanks for the tip about the amazing flushable swippie wippie soggy-wipes for poopy butts,” or whatever they were gabbing on about. At last, they broke free and headed for the checkout line. Yes. Heavenly choruses swelled. Light broke through the cloud-choked sky.
Miles shoved the loaded cart doggedly through the parking lot. Zia Rosa was fiercely supervising the loading of her baby booty into the back when a shout rang out. “Hey! Excuse me!”
Blood and Fire Page 16
