INK: Fine Lines (Book 1) (17 page)

“Not funny.” McNab continues walking without turning around.

Shay

McNab always insists on sitting the furthest back in any restaurant, but he has to be able to see the door. He nixed three tables before deciding this one was acceptable. We sit and he takes a napkin from the dispenser and wipes the table.

Settling in, he scans the room twice before leaning in from across the table. “I saw the news. You’re all over it. I’ll assume you had another dream.”

I nod and start fidgeting with my napkin. “Yeah, I had another dream, but I 
saw
 the Specter this time.”

“That’s a problem. You shouldn’t be able to see it.” He scans the room again. His eyes rest on two guys at the counter staring at me. “We may have company.”

I turn my face away, hoping they don’t recognize me from the news. “How about hearing it?”

“You can hear him. You can hear his voice? Can you hear it now?” He asks looking at me like he’s trying to see 
into
 me.

“No, I can’t hear him now.” 
Duh
. I shake my head. “I have heard him, I heard him in the dream and– ”

We are interrupted by the waitress. “Welcome to Lenny’s. I’m Irene. Can I get you something to drink?”

I look up at her and smile. McNab keeps staring straight at me. “Coffee, Black. Steak, bloody. Hash browns, burnt. Vegetable medley, steamed.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

The waitress is taken aback by his demeanor. “Okay.” She turns to me. “And you, ma’am?”

“Turkey club with fries please, and a Coke.” I smile, trying to apologize for McNab’s weirdness.

“Okay, I’ll have your drinks in a minute. If you need anything let me know.” She pauses for a minute, her eyes lingering on me. “Have you been in here before?”

I open my mouth to answer but McNab cuts me off. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Are you sure, because you look so familiar…” She chews on her pen.

McNab shifts in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth. He turns to look straight at her with incredible intensity. “No, you don’t know her, you’ve never seen her before, and you live to serve me hot black coffee.”

She tilts her head and smiles absently. “Your coffee will be a minute. I’m going to make a fresh pot.” She walks off gleefully.

“McNab, she is totally going to spit in our food. 
Thanks
.” I grimace.

“No she won’t. Weak mind; she’ll do what I say.” He doesn’t blink. I wonder if he ever blinks. “Now back to the voice.”

“Okay, so here’s the thing. In my dream it passed through me–” He cuts me off.

“Whoa, what? It passed through you?” He leans back in the booth as if to create distance between us. He digs in his backpack for something. He holds up a finger, not looking at me. “One minute.” He glances up at me. “Can you not look at me for a second?”

I look around everywhere except toward him. Something makes a clinking sound on the table. “All right, that’s better. You can look now.”

There on the table is a strange pewter statue that looks like a cross between Pan and a unicorn. He’s so weird. “You okay now?”

“So you could actually see it, and it passed through you, then it talked to you? Where’s your pendant?” His tone grows more urgent with each word.

I roll my eyes a little. “Yes, yes, and yes. My pendant is right here.” I pull the jeweled pendant out of my shirt.

The waitress appears with our drinks. Setting them on the table, she smiles at McNab. “Good and hot. Can I get you anything else?”

“No thank you.” He waves his hand to shoo her away.

She flutters her eyelashes at him and says, “Well if you need anything at all, you just give me a holler.”

“Thanks, Irene,” he says dismissively. She quivers when he says her name, and she leaves the table with a bounce in her step and then turns back, giving a little giggle.

I think she’s actually flirting with McNab. I am rather amused by this. I’m not sure why I find it so funny. I’ve never thought of him that way. He has the whole ‘no touching’ thing, and he’s just really strange, which says a lot coming from me. Besides, he’s a good friend to me and he’s never once tried to hump my leg, a quality I find quite endearing in a man.

I take a moment to study his features. He is rather handsome. I can see why he has his own TV show. Intense green eyes, not a blond hair out of place, and he has the most perfect five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen. I usually don’t like beards, but his is special, like his power lies within it.

“Jesus McNab, you are the Mac-Daddy,” I joke.

He looks at me, deadpan. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the waitress; she’s totally got the hots for you.” Some investigator.

“Are you jealous?” McNab ticks up an eyebrow.

“Terribly jealous. I may have to scratch her eyes out for even looking at you.” I barely get it out without laughing. “Of course I’m not jealous, doofus. If you can get a little lovin,’ more power to you.”

“Speaking of jealous, who’s the side of beef that’s been guarding you?” He sips his coffee.

“Side of beef?” Perplexed, I raise my eyebrows.

“Yeah, the guy with the hair?” he questions.

“Oh, yeah.” I realize he’s talking about Aiden. “You’re the investigator, you figure it out.” Weird, that’s the second time today I’ve heard Aiden referred to as USDA prime. He really is.

“Okay, fine. When did Aiden get back?” He rolls his eyes.

I’m disappointed; I like it when I know something he doesn’t. “I’m not sure, but he came over on my birthday when the world fell all to shit.”

“The night of the murders—he came back the night of the murders and he was with you?” His thought process has sucked him into another dimension, and it’s as though he isn’t really talking to me.

“Yeah, you would think it would serve as an alibi that he was there, but because I was out in the studio they still think I did it.” I shake my head, playing with the straw in my Coke.

“Really? He was with you all night?” he asked.

“Yeah. Are you jealous now?” I give him a playful look.

“Shay, you’re a sweet kid and all but you really aren’t my type.” He speaks as though I’ve insulted him with the idea of him being attracted to me.

“Wow, you don’t have to be so offended. I was only kidding.” I think for a moment. Hey, wait a minute… “What 
is
 your type?”

“My type?” he asks as if stalling. “My type typically doesn’t have the people they care about dropping like flies around them.”

Ouch, that stings. I nod. “Okay, I’ll give you that.” I pause for a moment, doing a mental roll call of the recently deceased in my life. It does seem to be quite a list.

McNab breaks the silence and masterfully avoids the question. “So it can touch you and speak to you.” He taps the spoon on the table, lost in thought, then snaps his gaze back to me. “When did that happen for the first time?”

“My birthday,” I answer. “You know they were my neighbors, right? And I had lunch with them that day, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He breathes an irritated sigh. “What changed? What was different about that night? Did you have the pendant on then?”

“Yes, I never take it off, just like you told me.” I search my memory for something that was different, “The only thing that was different was that Aiden was back.”

McNab nods his head. “Perhaps Aiden’s arrival is the key to this. Do you know where he’s been?”

“You think this has to do with Aiden?” I ask and then realize what he’s saying. “McNab, are you actually suggesting that my imaginary villain murdered my neighbors?”

“Yes and yes.” A concerned look spreads across his face. He’s been watching the guys at the counter since we got here. They’re still looking and pointing.

“Okay, this is just getting freaky, it’s not possible.” I was only humoring McNab before. I really didn’t think there was actually something to all that he was saying. The pendant is pretty in a weird sort of way; right up my alley. But now this is getting 
too
 weird.

He snaps his attention back to me with a burning intensity. “Shay, I make my living on the ‘not possible.’ I say it’s possible and I think Aiden has something to do with it.”

“Aiden didn’t have anything to do with it. Shit, he thinks 
I
 did it!” My head hangs with shame and sadness.

“Aiden’s an idiot. Don’t listen to him. I don’t know what you’re dealing with. I’ve been doing some research, but it seems there’s something subtle missing to prove any one theory.” He sits straight up in the booth. “Get your stuff together; we have to go.”

I rarely question McNab. When he tells me I need to do something, I usually listen. The two guys leave the counter and head straight for our table. McNab looks directly at the taller guy of the two leading the way toward us as if to ward him off. It doesn’t work.

“Hey there, you’re the one on TV.” The taller one says with a thick country accent.

McNab answers. “Yes, I’m on every Sunday at midnight eastern.”

“Not you, pretty boy, her.” He tilts his head in my direction. “She’s that psycho goin’ around killin’ old folks. They say she drinks the blood.” He guffaws, nudging his friend.

I should be upset at this, but I’m really just astounded at the level of stupid I’m witnessing. McNab is stiffer than normal. He put away his charms, herb poultice, and holy water without me even noticing.

“Gentlemen, it would be in your best interest to move along.” McNab glowers.

“Or what, pansy TV boy, you gonna put a voodoo hex on us?” The hillbilly mock shivers. I guess he does watch McNab’s show.

“Let’s go, Shay.” McNab tries to slide out of the booth, but he’s blocked in. “Excuse me.” His voice drops an octave.

“We’re not done talkin’ to ya yet.” The man that had lagged behind has grown bolder.

“Oh, but you are.” McNab’s eyes focus on the one blocking him in.

I try to slide out of my side of the booth, hoping to initiate our escape. The man in front puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down.

McNab clenches his fists with his eyes squeezed shut. He springs into action at inhuman speed, putting both men on their knees. When the scene comes to rest he has both of them begging for him to stop. He’s holding each of them with their hands bent back to where their fingertips are nearly touching their arms. “Apologize for touching the lady.” He says it coldly and unfeelingly.

They both beg for him to stop, as though they didn’t hear what he said. McNab leans in closer and quieter, dripping with contempt, and says it again slowly. “Apologize to the lady for touching her.”

They both apologize. McNab releases them, but not before he gives them a word of advice. “Never lay an unwelcome hand on a lady again.” He pauses while boring into them with his scowl. “Ever.”

They agree and he lets them go. They look at McNab in terror. His eyes were a dark storm that even had me unsettled. He turns and tosses two twenties on the table. “Irene, maybe another time. That should cover dinner.” McNab ushers me out the restaurant.

He’s rushing me along like I’m five and throwing a temper tantrum out to dinner with Mom and Dad. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“We just need to get out of here.” He opens the door.

Getting into the car, I replay what happened in the restaurant. I knew that McNab was a tough guy, but I had no idea that he really could put two men down like that. He moved so fast. 
He
 didn’t forget all he learned in martial arts. He finishes rubbing hand sanitizer on his hands before starting the car.

“Sorry dinner was a bust.” My stomach punctuates my sentiment with a loud growl.

“Fast food rides a pale horse, but I think it’s better to keep you away from people right now.” He stares ahead at the road until he spies a burger joint.

***

At a little park across from my hotel we find a table and begin our feast on what I have now dubbed the Big McNab and fries. His harsh facial expressions have softened since the restaurant incident. I can tell he’s contemplating something.

“Let’s get back to the Specter,” he says, wiping his mouth. “You said you hear it.”

I tell him everything. It feels good to talk with someone who understands. He at least doesn’t think I’m crazy, or doesn’t let on if he does.

He puts both hands on the table in front of him. “You’ve done something different. You have somehow incited him to escalate, at the same time allowing him to get through to you now. This is very serious.”

“McNab, listen to me. This is all some crazy coincidence.” I pause, feeling heavy with my next confession. “If it’s not, that means I had something to do with Gary and Alice’s murder. I can’t bear that thought.”

“It’s not your fault. We have to figure out what the connection is and sever it.” His gaze is stern.

“But I’ve been having these dreams for years–” I’m cut off.

“Yes, and for some reason over the past year they’ve all been coming true.” He glowers at me.

“No, that’s not true. They haven’t all come true.” I get lost in a thought about Gabriel and how it would be nice if some of those dreams could come true. “Besides, what you’re saying is that I’m making this happen. Isn’t it more likely that I’m just predicting these things?” I half-plead with him, then start to rationalize before he can speak again. “Sometimes you just know what’s going to happen before it does. I mean it’s different from the dreams, but I’m rarely surprised in life. Well, not lately. It feels like everything is a big surprise. Like my intuition has taken a leave of absence.”