Barbie & The Beast (21 page)

As she stripped, the scratching on the door ceased, replaced by a steady thumping, as if Bachelor One was seeking a weak spot
in the wood.

Ugh!

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the guy said in a truly Bates Motel manner.

Again, Barbie eyed the window. She eyed her hips, which were not excessive, but certainly bigger than eight-by-eight inches.
If she made it out of here, she vowed, she’d have her brothers sue the country club for not crossing sociopaths off their
eligibility list. For divulging her name beforehand. For having the damn game in the first place!

The door bulged. Barbie’s eyes did the same. She had to
get up to that window and out, no matter how painful! She gathered herself for a first try at that running jump.

An unexpected crashing sound drove her off course and against the pedestal sink. A sound followed of something splintering.

A muffled oath followed the crash, an oath that hadn’t come from Barbie. More noises ensued, rising in volume. Growling, snarling,
scuffling, banging. . .and something else breaking. Rolling-around sounds. Another oath. A long, drawn-out, batlike screech.
Then silence, sudden and deafening.

Barbie opened her eyes one at a time. The bathroom door was intact. She glanced at herself.
She
was intact—and shaking. She was alone. And, enough was enough. Members of the Bradley family didn’t take easily or kindly
to people trying to scare them, she reminded herself. All the Bradley siblings had been raised to be strong and in de pen
dent.

To be a teacher in a Miami high school, one had to be impervious to mental meltdowns and pushy personalities. Plus, didn’t
she have a full arsenal of help to draw inspiration from? All those other Barbies? Already she could feel the rise of Rambo
Barbie inside of her. The guy out there would dare to have a temper tantrum in her apartment?

Straightening her legs, waiting a few seconds more while her alter ego took a full grip, she at last reached for the knob
and yanked. No jerks lounged in the hallway. Gathering more resolve, she tiptoed around the corner, came up short, stifled
a shout of dismay. Her living room looked like a battle zone. A broken lamp dangled by its cord. The coffee table had been
halved and lay in pieces. Couch cushions were strewn everywhere, the fabric slashed. Foam was scattered all over the place.
Feathers floated through the air. The rug was bunched. The sofa sat perpendicular to the kitchen
wall. Several thin aluminum pieces of her window blinds were bent at odd angles. The front door gaped wide open.

To her relief, the scene, bad as it was, did not seem to be further complicated by any pissy bachelors with date rage. Not
a single one. But as she surveyed the mess, Barbie felt her hackles rise. Who was going to take care of this? Who was going
to pay for the damage? Who was going to clean up the mess?

Jaw clenched, pan ties again in a knot, Barbie launched herself through the open doorway. Ultimately this was Darin’s fault.
Rambo Barbie was going to make him pay.

Since she hadn’t ordered a cab and didn’t have her purse to pay for one, Barbie figured it was the perfect time to start a
jogging routine. Luckily, she’d changed into appropriate clothes. Off like a shot, she mentally went over her plan: Darin
would likely go back to the graveyard. She would go there, too, and confront him. She would find Darin, give him a piece of
her mind, and demand answers so that she could once again breathe properly, eat regularly, and sleep through a night without
nightmares of Darin and the blonde. It was called closure. Even if closure might break her heart.

The full moon that shone brightly above her head would make things easy, she hoped. She probably didn’t have to worry about
anyone other than Darin on the cemetery grounds. What person in his or her right mind would be there at night?

She jogged the four miles to Forest Lawn, stopping twenty times to gasp for air. When she arrived, not a single car was parked
beneath the solitary light pole in the lot. This was just as she’d expected.

Over the curb and under the trees she ran, breathing like a puffer fish, certain Dog would hear, if Dog was on duty. The moon
continued to illuminate everything. Barbie could see quite clearly the outlines and shadings of all she sprinted
past, and decided that whoever had invented running shoes should be enfolded in a big bear hug.

The graveyard, at first seemingly quiet, was actually alive with sounds. Crickets trilled. Frogs croaked. Night birds called
distantly from branches moving in the breeze. The markers and gravestones radiated heat they’d stored from the day, warming
up the already-humid air.

This was the right thing, Barbie told herself. She was doing the right thing.

Deeper beneath the trees she went, without slowing her pace. As she inhaled the evergreen scent, she slowly became aware of
movement on the periphery. Something running alongside?

Unexpectedly, all sound ceased—no more crickets, frogs, or birds, and only the rasping of her strained breath. She stopped,
whispered a terrible thought. “Things that go bump in the night?”

From her place behind a tall gravestone, Barbie stared into the dark, listening to the silence beyond her pumping heart. She
was rewarded by a faint sound. Seconds later, it came again. Barbie saw movement, a kind of sliding shadow beneath the trees.

Waiting several more pounding heartbeats, Barbie walked stealthily toward those shadows. A rustling from behind made her turn.
She felt, rather than saw, the presence that glided past. Then she noted movement again to her right.

More rustling noises from her left. She whirled. No one emerged from those shadows beneath the trees. Nothing stood out. Not
one single soul, Stephen King–like or otherwise, presented itself to her.

“Well,” she said aloud, hands firmly on her hips. “Where are you?”

No response came at first, and then a low and almost fierce noise like a growl floated her way.

“Dog?” Barbie called, goose bumps sprouting. “Here, doggie.”

The fact that Dog, if it was Dog, did not heel, gave Barbie pause.

A snapping of a twig caused her to spin again. “Darin?”

Silence. Still no crickets, no Dog, no Darin. So, what could that be beneath the trees?

Steeling herself, chanting inwardly, There’s no such things as ghosts, Barbie headed forward, only to see the slinking shadow
drift farther away. She trotted after it.

The shadow moved faster. Barbie moved faster. Building up speed, she dodged obstacles, hurdled small grave markers, scrambled
through bushes, and cleared a hedge to land miraculously on both feet. Able to make out a dark patch not twenty feet in front
of her, she continued to give chase until she slipped on a patch of dampness and nearly went down.

The dark thing she’d been chasing halted as well. Barbie righted herself, thinking of Peter’s elusive shadow in J. M. Barrie’s
Peter Pan.
Gritting her teeth, she resumed the chase. The dark blob also took off.

“Stop!” she shouted. The blob did no such thing. It continued on through the darkness at a medium pace, seeming simply to
match her strides while keeping close to the trees, never quite outdistancing her.

They must have circled back; Barbie couldn’t be sure. She had run out of breath, and slowed beside another tall, gray marker.
The blob had disappeared. She saw in a full-on wash of moonlight that she stood very near to the avenue of crypts.

Hesitantly, and with a screwed-up expression, she took a step toward the buildings. Mid-second step, she was jerked backward
and almost off of her feet. Strong arms had her from behind before she could say boo.

“Women,” the raspy voice behind her swore, and a hand
quickly covered her mouth. It was déjà vu all over again. Barbie couldn’t talk or move.

“How can I help your friend if you shout?” Darin whispered in her ear. “Really, women nowadays are too much. Stop wiggling,
Barbie!”

Barbie stopped wiggling. Her heart pumped faster.

“Relax,” Darin told her. “It’s me. Do you and Angie have some kind of fixation
with this place?”

Fixation? Breathing in Darin’s oh-so-manly scent, feeling her body quiver over his nearness in a way that was absolutely not
part of the plan, Barbie closed her eyes briefly to get her priorities in order.

“I went to your apartment to make sure you were all right,” Darin told her. “Are you?”

Huh? He’d gone to her apartment?

She nodded, tentative.

“I warned you about James. He is quite the suitor. Actually, if truth be told, he’s more like a leech. Thank God he didn’t
get his hands on you. Or his teeth. He was supposed to lose that damned game. Stupid bloodsucker! I’d never have allowed him
close to you. He wasn’t to get anywhere near you. That bathroom door wouldn’t have held him back for long.”

Even if it made sense, Barbie would have been unable to contribute to this conversation with a hand over her mouth, so she
went momentarily limp. Darin had gone to her apartment to. . .rescue her? From a bachelor run amok? Darin had fought a giant
leech over her? Were those the sounds she had heard? The reason for the mess? She really couldn’t breathe. She wriggled again.
Was held fast.

“I made him see reason,” Darin said.

So, Barbie told herself, though her mind was spinning, maybe Darin was holding her like this because he wanted to get a few
words in? The thing was, his flesh on her flesh—in
this case, the palm of his hand on her lips—brought back all her latent sexual feelings. The thought of his big rescue didn’t
do any harm, either.

“In the meantime, right after you headed out of your apartment, your friend Angie stopped by. Not finding you there, she came
this way. Fast. In her little red car. I followed, wondering why she’d think you’d be here.
Now
look at us,” Darin groused. “And if you stop to demand explanations this time, you may never share little chocolate cookies
with your best friend again.”

Barbie twisted in his grasp. Speaking her mind seemed of the utmost importance, but being physically stronger, Darin kept
the upper hand.

When no further explanation came for such a serious statement about Angie, she gave a violent heave. Bionic, even. Darin didn’t
budge. Barbie figured that any further struggling would be a waste of time and energy.

“I’ll take my hand away if you’ll listen to me,” Darin told her. “If you promise to behave, I’ll let you go.”

The word
behave
rang in Barbie’s ears. What was she— ten years old? Sadly, however, she couldn’t manage much outrage. Darin’s touch felt
too good. He had rescued her. She didn’t want him to let her go, really. Surrounded by Darin’s arms was exactly where she
wanted to be.

“I usually
cart
, remember? Sack of potatoes?” Darin said. “I can do that again if you refuse to cooperate.”

“How could I forget carting?”

Wow! Barbie heard that. Darin’s hand had dropped away. She spoke rapidly in case he changed his mind. “You’re saying that
Angie is out here, too?”

“Yes.” Darin’s fingers pressed to her lips, suggesting discretion in volume.

Barbie whispered, “Angie has no reason to be out here. Her car wasn’t in the lot.”

“She must have parked on the adjacent street. I’m sure she was looking for you.”

“Why would Angie be looking for me out here?” Barbie asked.

“Maybe she knows you better than you know yourself.” Darin shrugged. “Enough to figure you’d quickly take James’s measure
and end up here.”

“Of all the pompous, egotistical. . .” Barbie couldn’t even form the thoughts necessary to finish that statement.

“She is your best friend, isn’t she?” Darin said, reminding Barbie that Angie did indeed know her about as well as anyone
could. But, geez, was she so predictable?

Darin still hadn’t allowed her to turn around. “This is sort of like musical chairs,” he said. “You, me, Angie. Something
always interrupts us from actually getting down to matters at hand.”

“No time like the present,” Barbie declared.

“Spoken like a true best friend.”

Crap. Did he have to be right about that? “Where would Angie be, exactly?” Barbie demanded impatiently. “What was all that
about never eating cookies with her again?”

Darin waved. “She’s in one of these, probably.”

“These?”
The word hissed out. Did Darin mean one of the crypts? Had he suggested that Angie might be in one?

“If she was outside, I would have found her. It’s likely one of them has her,” Darin elaborated unhelpfully.

“Them?” Barbie’s heart flopped. The conversation had taken on the connotations of a science-fiction thriller. “Who is
Them
?”

No answer.

Barbie turned to look at her incredibly mystifying protector. There he was: in the dark, his hunky outline shadowed by the
trees, his face—what she could see of it—achingly handsome in the muted moonlight. He was dressed in the
slacks he’d worn at the country club, minus the jacket. His shirt was open at the neck, showing off a triangle of muscled
chest that seemed to strain at the buttons. Oh, how she’d fantasized about that chest. She very nearly moaned.

Now that she was checking him over, she hadn’t recalled his shoulders being quite so wide. They had stretched his jacket at
the Gypsy place, sure, yet one more bit of stretching now and he’d have to go up a shirt size.

Another quick peek at Darin’s face showed his flesh white around the edges of his tan, and growing whiter by the minute. His
hair hung like a lush curtain over his ears and part of his cheeks in contrast. The darkness hid most of his expression.

No true moonlight reached them beneath this old tree canopy, Barbie realized. Only the faintest of silver streams dappled
the ground nearby.

“Who has Angie?” Barbie repeated, hands clenched to keep from running her fingers over Darin’s exposed chest. “Where’s Dog?”

“I’ve corralled Dog due to his inability to keep quiet. I’m about to do the same thing to you.”

Barbie drew back. Didn’t guys know anything about women? About female behavior? If her best friend was out here somewhere,
and someone called
Them
had her, was this a time for quiet reflection? Don’t think so.

Darin pulled her closer, so that Barbie had to tilt her head back to see his face. She’d had to do this before, of course,
at the restaurant, but at that time Darin had only seemed several inches taller. Here, he loomed like a giant. Did her being
in sneakers make the difference?

What hadn’t changed was the effect Darin had on her. A totally out-of-place and unwarranted buzz ricocheted through Barbie’s
abdomen as it touched his. Actually, the buzz came from a bit lower than her abdomen, centered right
between her not-so-charming, sweatpants-covered thighs. It didn’t turn out to be any old buzz, either, but more like a call
to action of female hormones—the hormones unregulated by common sense. The ones urging her to lip-lock this guy. The ones
stimulated by hair-raising situations like this. Face it, she was an adrenaline junkie.

“Once again,” Darin said, his breath stirring the hair on top of her head in such a way as to stir up quite a few other body
parts as well. “I’d have to go into long explanations as to who this might be. Do you want to take the time for that?”