She wanted to laugh. Not at him; at herself. For thinking he was so perfect and pure and innocent. For believing he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands or his mouth, or his anything. Shivering in pleasure, Dara said, “One more ride down, then we’d better get back.”
“Okay.”
“If it’s all right with everybody, maybe we can go get pizza with Sofia tonight. It’s kind of awesome, I think you’ll like it.”
“Okay.”
Freer with his hands now, Cade threaded his fingers beneath her hair. His rough fingertips skimmed the nape of her neck. One finger curling, he stroked behind her ear, then trailed it against her ear.
Did he have any idea what he was doing to her? Her blush showed, impossible to hide. She wondered if he could hear her breath go shallow. If he noticed the prickles racing her skin. She tightened everywhere. It was a lush sensation and way too intimate for the middle of the mall.
Brushing his hand away, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder in vague apology. “You’re making me crazy.”
Cade shared a secretive smile with her. “You’ve been making me crazy since the first time I saw you.”
Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, Dara looped her arm in his. They stepped on to the escalator, drifting down to the main level. This was complicated, and possibly unfair. But it didn’t feel wrong, and she wanted to know. Pressing closer to him, she asked, “And when was that, exactly?”
“The day you put up the tent.”
Incredulous, Dara laughed. “No.”
“I was checking my traps, and I heard you singing. Your hair was . . .” He waved a hand, miming a ponytail in motion. “The sun came through the trees exactly the right way. You were like gold.”
Blush deepening, Dara led Cade toward the exit. The thick candy smells in the air had thinned some. Now it was a pleasant impression, and one she was almost reluctant to leave behind. She turned to look back, to the top of the stairs where everything changed. And then she frowned for no reason. She didn’t see anything unusual. It was just like the atmosphere changed, and she wasn’t sure how.
“What’s wrong?” Cade asked.
Shaking her head, Dara said, “Nothing. Just kind of gob-smacked. The first day we got there, huh?”
“You knew I was there.”
“What? No I didn’t. Not until you laughed at the river.”
Cade pressed his thumb gently against her back. He drew it down the curve of her spine, before letting his hand fall to rest on her hip. “Yes, you did. He talked you out of it, but you heard me. You were almost aware.”
“Almost, huh?”
It looked like Cade might lean in to kiss her again. Instead, he just looked at her. His thoughts flickered behind his eyes, mysterious to her. When he finally glanced away, his features softened. His mouth soft, his brows knitted just a little, he nodded. Squeezing her closer, he said, “I was always there. You needed to look up.”
Simple advice. Rules for tracking Cade in the wild. Amused, Dara steered him around the novelty shop that had unnerved him so much earlier. Peering into it, she tried to see it from his perspective. The masks on the walls hung unnaturally. A lot of lights, a lot of shrieking, beeping sounds.
When she pictured herself swallowed inside a box, nothing but strobes and sirens, she felt it. A quiver of uneasiness. It squirmed in her belly, and made her fold closer to Cade. Because she thought she knew why, she didn’t look up.
Instead, she let Cade hit the automatic doors first. He enjoyed stuff like that way too much. Putting on her sunglasses, she followed him outside. The shift from artificial light to the natural glare of the afternoon was abrupt. She blinked, her eyes watering. Cade was a shape in front of her for a moment.
Suddenly, his shoulders angled. He reached a hand back, grabbing for Dara. “The people with cameras are here.”
“Crap,” Dara said.
She squinted, and her head went a little dizzy. Cade wasn’t kidding, the reporters were there. And not just one of them. Not just that jerk Jim Albee. White vans filed into the parking lot and there were people already on the move. Heading for them. Right for them, a terrifying cloud.
“We can go back through,” she said decisively.
“Hey Dara,” a man said behind her.
Whipping around, she stared blankly at someone she’d never seen. By the rumpled polo and the eager expression he wore, she guessed he was with the press. “Sorry, that’s not me.”
The man didn’t back off. He kept looking just past them, cagey and abrupt. “Don’t be scared. We just want five minutes of your time. Yours too, Cade. We’ve been dying to talk to you. My name’s Mark—”
“No.” Dara cut him off. “Talk to my dad. Leave us alone.”
Slipping an arm around Dara’s shoulders, Cade tried to shield her with his body. It was a sweet gesture, but it didn’t make her feel safer. He had no idea how to get away from the mall. And honestly, neither did she.
“Hey,” Mark said. “Two minutes. An exclusive, and I can help you. Come with me right now, and I’ll help you ditch the rest of those jackals.”
They didn’t answer. Instead, they moved at once. Under Cade’s arm, Dara broke for the door. Her plan was simple. Get inside, get to the bathrooms. Block the doors and call her dad. Without an escape car, and half the reporters in Kentucky between them and the bus, it was the best they could do.
Edged with desperation, Mark grabbed for Dara. He fell short. His fingers ripped the bag from her arms. Suddenly, Dara felt like she was in the novelty box. Too loud. Too bright. Everything happening too fast. Her heart didn’t pound. It filled her chest, and shuddered to a stop.
The lens shattered when it hit the ground. The trapped chime of the glass didn’t start Dara’s heart. But it made her move. She scrambled for it. At the same time, Mark darted for it, too. Before either reached it, Cade snatched the bag from the ground. He was faster than both of them.
That’s when Mark made the mistake of reaching for Dara again. “Hey, I’m not trying to hurt you,” he insisted.
But he reached. He grabbed, and Cade lunged. Plowing into Mark’s chest, Cade knocked him off his feet. A pair of glasses flew off in a wide, glittering arc. Gabbling voices approached, high-pitched. Excited. The air sharpened with it, thin and electric.
In the rush, Cade grew. His shoulders spread, his back widened. His face, so soft just a few minutes before, had turned feral. Body rising and falling, he was terrifying. Opening his mouth, his teeth flashed. He roared.
The terrible sound echoed in the entrance alcove, off glass and steel. Caught by the microphones on the cameras rushing toward them.
“Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” Mark cried. He threw his arms up to protect his face.
At that, Dara grabbed Cade’s shirt and dragged him inside. Everything stretched at wrong angles. Their sneakers squeaked on the faux-granite floor, high-pitched screams that dogged their escape.
A wave rushed up behind them, a human one. Already, their narration rang out, breathlessly describing the scene. Shocking attack. Flurry of violence. There was a story now. They wouldn’t stop coming.
But Dara let adrenaline lead her. She had a plan. It wasn’t a good one, but she had it, they just had to run. Lock in. Call Dad. It was that easy.
They just had to stay ahead.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
THIRTY-EIGHT
Even though the police led Dara and Cade from a back entrance at the mall, they were surrounded.
Gritting his teeth, Cade kept his head down. Swarmed by bodies and microphones, he felt like he was coming out of his skin. Like one more touch from the wrong person, and he’d split and spill out of his own flesh.
“Back up,” Deputy Krause shouted.
It was his job to lead them through the parking lot. Two more deputies flanked them. They made a good shiel
d but it didn’t stop the reporters. Talking over each other, they pressed from all sides. Without touching, they still managed to invade. Shoving microphones toward them, they shouted questions.
“Can you tell us what you were thinking?”
“Did you feel like you were in danger?”
“Who are you really?”
“Dara, Dara! Cade!”
Though they had an escort, the police cruisers seemed so far away. Their lights doused, they were just blue shapes in the distance. Doors thrown open, waiting for them. They just need to let me go, Cade thought. He had enough adrenaline left to knock the rest of them down.
Beside him, Dara made a plaintive sound. He felt sharper when she did that. He tasted her fear, and it made him want to bare his teeth. In the tangled rush, he caught her hand and squeezed it.
Back home, he could have carried her home. Swung away, far above the danger on the ground. They could sit in the glow of his fire. Listen to the birds and the breeze. Here, he was helpless. Wound tight enough to snap, he glowered at the reporters.
“Dara! Hey, hey! Dara, over here!” one of them shouted, worming to the front of the pack. “Your father’s the sheriff. Do you think you’ll get special treatment?”
“Leave her alone,” Cade growled. He surged, but the deputies kept him caged between their bodies. Cameras snapped, loud as cicadas. Now, Dara tightened her hand in his. Pulling him closer she looked up with haunted eyes.
Her color drained out; she shook her head. It was subtle. More the connection of their gaze than an actual movement. But her lips parted, making the shape of words that got lost in the noise of the crowd. Her meaning was clear, though. Stop.
How could he stop? He didn’t want to. He had it in his bones and blood to knock them all down. But for Dara, he put his head down again. Black asphalt flashed between his feet. Soon, roughly, the deputies shoved them in the back of a police car.
The doors slammed closed. It muffled the mob, but it didn’t silence them. Huddled against an oily, plastic seat, Cade wrapped his arms around Dara. Tucking her head beneath his chin, he rounded his back to close over her. Casting black looks out the window, he clung to her. All he wanted was to protect her. He didn’t realize he was posing for pictures. Writing the next day’s stories. Selling papers, with every furious look.
Sheriff Porter’s station was chaos.
The phones wouldn’t stop ringing. The deputies had to keep backing people off the front walk. Not just the reporters this time.
Somebody had posted a grainy video clip online, The Primitive Boy goes nuts at Bear Creek Mall! It seemed like anybody who’d been halfway interested in the case had converged at once.
He put Duncan on phone tree duty, calling in a couple more bodies to help with the crowd. Krause and the other probies back on the phone. Deputy Lo had the producer from Channel 43 in the interrogation room, giving a statement.
There wasn’t a mark on the guy, but he was angling to turn pressed charges into an exclusive interview somehow. Since Dara was his daughter, and she was smack in the middle of all this mess, Sheriff Porter kept his distance.
Throwing open the conference room door, Sheriff Porter slammed it, too. He ignored the way both kids jumped. Slapping folders onto the table, he demanded, “What were you thinking?”
“He jumped us,” Dara said, already out of her chair. “He actually grabbed me.”
“I’d do it again,” Cade added.
“Just shut up, for god’s sake.”
Refusing to stay silent, Dara came around the table. “All we did was go to the mall. I told that guy to talk to you. I mean, I told him I wasn’t even me. We turned around to go back inside and he grabbed me.”
Sheriff Porter held up a hand. “I know exactly what happened. It’s on the internet, Dara! The Dalai Lama knows what happened, by now.”
“Then why are you yelling at us?”
“I am the sheriff,” he said, slapping one hand into his other. “No matter what I say, no matter what that video says, even if that jackass decides not to press charges, people are gonna talk. I cannot do my job when everybody in Kentucky is pulling stories out of thin air about me and this office.”
Cade bristled. He started to stand, but Dara dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“I’ll put you in handcuffs, son. Don’t think I’m lying.” Then he turned to Dara. Red splotches stained his face. They crept into his hair, and scalded the curves of his ears. This was a whole new kind of mad, one Dara had never seen. “And don’t you give me that look. I’m in here right now so I don’t beat him with a phone book for touching you.”
That frankness surprised everybody. But it had the intended effect. Cade sat down again, though he kept his fingers tangled in Dara’s. And Dara settled some. She threw her shoulders back, trying to shuck off the tension.
With everyone settled, Sheriff Porter glanced out the window in the door. “Branson Swayle’s on his way to sit with Cade until we get this straightened up. Dara, your mother’s going to fetch you shortly.”
“I want to stay,” she protested.
“That’s too bad.”
Though it sounded like it pained him to say it, Cade swore, “I’ll be okay.”
Turning back from the window, Sheriff Porter approached the table. Since the kid was already worked up, he might be too distracted to guard himself well. Talking to him was usually like talking to a wall. The sullen looks and long silences helped nobody, and Sheriff Porter wasn’t stupid. Even when they didn’t like to talk, agitated people could tell you a whole lot by the way they acted.
“Look,” Sheriff Porter said, leaning over the table. He met Cade, eye to eye, as he flipped open the folder. “I want you to understand something. I appreciate you trying to take care of my daughter.”
“Daddy, seriously,” Dara said.
He ignored her. “Seems to me like all along, that’s all you’ve wanted to do. Am I right?”
Suspicious, Cade hesitated. But slowly, he nodded.
“Well, now you’ve seen this mess, and you’ve got to know it’s because we still don’t know what we need to know about you.”
“Stop it!” Dara said.
Sliding a picture from the folder, Sheriff Porter laid it down in front of Cade. He didn’t slap it, or move sharply. His voice was buttery, soothing even. Though his daughter was currently losing her mind over it, he knew he had Cade’s attention. Tapping the picture, he looked the boy in the eye and asked, “Does this mean anything to you?”
Cade froze. Loosening his hand from Dara’s, he scrabbled his fingers across the picture. It took three tries for him to pick it up. When he did, he pushed his chair back. Holding the picture a little too close, he seemed like he was trying to retreat. Hide in a corner or something.
Excitement welling up, Sheriff Porter watched him, silently.
“What?” Dara asked. She tried to get closer. “What is it?”
Drawing his feet into the chair, Cade curled the picture against his chest. “This is mine.”
Sheriff Porter wanted to whoop. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded thoughtfully. “So it does mean something.”
“Yes,” Cade said flatly. “Where did you get it?”
Holding up a hand to stay Dara, Sheriff Porter asked, “You don’t know?”
“No. You made it bigger. It’s different.”
Sheriff Porter gestured at the far right side of the photo. Mirroring Cade’s posture, he didn’t move closer. He just kept his focus, looking right at him. Ignoring everything else around him. Including his daughter’s anxious murmuring. “Actually, that man right there, on the right side? He sent this to us. He knows you. He knows your mother. He knows your real name.”
A soft gasp filled the conference room. Arms wrapped tight around herself, Dara said, “Cade?”
“His name’s Jonathan Walsh,” Sheriff Porter told Dara. Not unkindly, he looked over both of them as he opened the co
nference room door. “He’s been missing since he was a year and a half old.”
Cade folded the photo against his chest and shook his head. “I wasn’t missing.”
“I think we have different definitions of missing, son,” Sheriff Porter said, and walked out.
Dara’s mouth felt full of ashes. They burned, drying out her throat, turning her voice into a croak. Everything had crashed around her, and Cade. God, poor Cade had been smashed. His expression was wrecked, eyes red-rimmed, and his jaw set so hard. He climbed further in the chair, until he sat on the back of it, his feet tucked into the seat.
Gingerly, Dara approached him. “Cade?”
He didn’t answer. He stared past her, a gargoyle in flesh. Rolling the picture ever tighter, his knuckles paled.
“Can I see it?” she asked.
That’s not what she wanted to ask. The better question was, Is it true? Have you been lying? What’s really real here? But she was afraid—not of him, but for him. Once, she’d lain on top of him, trying to hold his life in. She felt the ghostly sting of his blood on her hands. Maybe she always would. So she was gentle with him, and she waited for an answer.
After a moment, he let her take the photo. With hawkish eyes, he watched her smooth it out. She felt him following her gaze as she studied the faces in the snapshot.
It didn’t look super old. From the clothes, it obviously was a while ago. But the faces were bright and young. The woman in the picture didn’t look into the camera. Her gaze was shifted slightly, to take in the baby in her arms.
Swallowing hard, Dara looked over the top of the picture. “Who are these people?”
Cade looked to the door. It was still closed. Quietly, he said, “That’s my mom and my dad. And me. I don’t know who the other man is.”
Unexpected weight dragged Dara into a chair. “Well then, who’s Cade?”
“Me. It’s my middle name,” he said flatly. “They never called me Jonathan.”
Dara wasn’t sure where to start. Or to finish. All of her questions seemed to track across each other, none of them the right place to start. Studying the baby in the picture again, she saw Cade in the round face and shock of dark hair. “This is really you.”
Wild Page 27
