Love Spell (15 page)

In the middle of his call to Molly, some guy had tapped him on the shoulder, and asked for directions to Union Square. Clint thought nothing of it until another man immediately stepped up on his other side, gripped his arm and shoved something hard into his back. The second man had whispered in his ear that it was best not to struggle, and told him to smile and act normal. Clint complied halfheartedly as the toughs hustled him across the street, one of them gargling something unintelligible into his cell phone. This was probably some weird, daylight mugging. They’d take him to a dark alley, demand his valuables, probably rough him up, and then leave him lying in pain. Nothing to look forward to, but he was certain he’d survive.

Enter Jane, stage left. For a second time in a day, Clint’s life flashed before his eyes. He wasn’t sure he really liked some of the replay, but part of him wished he had it on DVD so he could select the better scenes; that one with him, Greg Holt and four cans of rotten tuna fish was still a gut buster.

Jane’s ability to track Clint without obvious ties was most worrisome. Almost supernatural. Facts were facts, and the next fact he faced was her lips trying to shove his through his gums while her tongue simultaneously assaulted his clenched teeth. As expected, she reacted the same way she had every other time she’d succumbed to the Touch, each instance seeming to compound upon the first; she’d already left the deep end
way
behind.

And then the cavalry had arrived in a beat up Corolla. Who’d have thought?

Thankfully, the cavalry hadn’t turned around and killed him anyway. No, it had metaphorically tied him up, thrown him on the back of a horse, and silently galloped off into the sunset. Looking at Sullivan, Clint wondered just how deeply impacted she had been. Her driving was rigid, but he wasn’t sure whether that was normal for her. Despite her nervous face, she appeared to be hyper-focused on driving safely at the moment; Clint checked that worry from his list. He only wished she would talk to him a little and give him at least some sign of intelligent life lurking beneath the magical rage of Fey’s curse—some glimmer of hope that Clint would live to see the next sunrise, and be free to walk the streets instead of being chained in some dark basement awaiting Sullivan’s evil designs. But there was still nothing. He sighed heavily, and with a wide yawn turned to look back out his window. Might as well count the rivets in the side panels of that moving truck.

When his stomach bellowed its hunger, he jerked upright, startled to find he’d fallen asleep. A rush of panic enveloped him at the realization that he’d been unconscious next to romance’s equivalent of a psychopathic killer. A quick once-over revealed he was still dressed, was not bound or gagged, and (as best he could tell) not drugged. Sullivan looked the same as she had before he’d drifted off, and took no apparent notice of his return to consciousness. For reassurance, he took a deep breath, reveling in the Corolla’s familiar scent—as well as Sullivan’s perfume. Come to think about it, it was actually quite nice. He breathed deeply again for the effect, and then listened to the whir of the engine for a while. Yep. Sounded fine for freeway speeds. Feeling safe for the moment, Clint yawned and stretched. He hadn’t realized how drained the morning had left him; he vaguely recalled tallying fifteen rivets on the truck before the world fast-forwarded to the moment of his waking.

Blinking in the early afternoon sunlight, he gazed out his window to see if he could get his bearings. Outside, a row of roadside trees gave way to a vine-covered sound wall, and then resumed their sentry positions at the other end of the wall before being shaped into man-made, freeway landscaping. Eventually, even that fell behind them, allowing a view of wide fields crawling toward the eastern horizon. A fading section of suburbia sat calmly to his left, a gas station its last hurrah before it relinquished its hold on the terrain to agriculture’s caress. As an exit ramp became a memory, Clint spotted an interstate sign that read “North 5.”

He turned to Sullivan. “We’re on the Five? Geez, how long was I out?”

More silence. At least she was consistent. Consistent was becoming annoying. It was time to bring out the heavy guns.

“You know this is all your fault. Right, Self?”

The next instant, his seat belt was strangling him to the tune of screaming brakes. And then they were headed back up to sixty-five miles per hour.

“
See what you made me do?
” she screamed. “What if there had been someone behind us? Huh? We would have been rear-ended, and that would have ended your little joyride
real
fast!”

Clint blinked, and smirked. That was more like it. “Yeah, about this joyride. Can we put it on pause and grab a bite?”

“No!”

He blinked. “Where are we?”

“Driving to Seattle!”

“Duh.”

“What is your
problem
?”

He shrugged, and gestured at a large grain silo in the middle distance. “We’re headed north on the Five. Through farmland. How long was I out?”

“Don’t try to change the subject!”

“I already did. Twice. Right after you did your little brake test maneuver.”

“
We could have been killed!
”

He spread his hands. “Kind of the running theme for today. Did you miss the memo?”

She harrumphed. “You are so immature!”

That was worth an open laugh. “I haven’t heard that phrase since high school. Or in that tone of voice either. Remind me how old you are?”

He noticed her freeze at the mention of high school, and squinted, hoping to catch some clue. She gave none.

“And just why, exactly, is this
my
fault?” she shot back.

“Which part?”

“You know which part!
You
were the one who accused me in the first place!”

“You really don’t have to yell, Self. I’m not even three feet—”

Her backhand was surprisingly fast. Clint’s head rebounded off the headrest, and tiny fireflies danced before his eyes.

“Do
not
call me
Self
!”

“Ah, man, Sully. That’s
twice
now you’ve gone and touched me. See?
That
is why it’s your fault.”

Though he knew he was goading her for the fun of it, the fury in her eyes, the white in her knuckles as they knotted around the steering wheel, the way her whole body trembled even while she sat statue-still in her seat actually made him wonder whether he’d taken things too far. If nothing else, fears of her condition getting increasingly worse with the second Touch—the way it had with every other girl—were valid. Still, he was right—she
was
cute when agitated.

Her voice started to a throaty growl, and sharpened as she spoke. “I’ll
keep
hitting you until you quit
screwing
around and tell me
why
it’s
my
fault that my car is smoking ruins, I’m now a criminal, you seriously upset my mother, and why we are now
fleeing
the state for our
lives
.”

He sighed and chewed on his lip. “Look, we already handled that back in town.” Then, softer he added, “I was talking about the way you feel about me.”

“The way I
feel
about you?” She gasped. “How do you
think
I feel about you? You think you’re some stud who can waltz into a girl’s life and she’ll go ga-ga over you? Are you seriously
that
arrogant to think that girls just melt at your touch,” and she feigned swooning, “and that you’re God’s gift to women? If you think—”

“Let me ask you this,” he interjected. “What did you feel when you hit me? Or even the time earlier, when you grabbed my shoulder?”

Sullivan came up short. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t a very complicated question. Use your P.I. skills. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You want me.”

“You’re imagining things,” she huffed, glancing to the left. “The only thing between us is a strictly professional relationship. To even begin to suggest that I would have any sort of romantic feelings—or even friendship—is simply naïve and unfounded, and—”

“You’re lying.”

“
What?
How
dare
you accuse me of that. If anyone is an authority on my emotions, it’s
me
. What makes you think you have any idea of how I feel or—”

“It’s in your eyes,” he said. “Look, Sullivan, I
know
you felt something. You really don’t think I saw how you reacted? I’ve been dealing with this for
four freaking months
now. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Clint sighed and slumped back in his chair. “This is why I need to find Fey,” he said quietly, “and why I actively avoided touching you all those times. It’s not because you’re repulsive or anything. In fact, you’re quite the opposite.”

Confusion and frustration shadowed her face. “Clint, I really don’t think we should be having this kind of a discussion right—”

“You’re sharp, amusing, and you seem to have your head on straight. You had the guts to go into business for yourself—that, among other things, suggests you’re not a wimp. Oh, and you’re good at yelling. That little aggressive streak is kind of cute, actually.”

He half shrugged. “Take it for what it’s worth, but under normal circumstances I would have asked you out already. Right now, though, things are too… complicated.”

Sullivan sneered ever so slightly. “You’re making up excuses.”

“Excuses for what?”

“Forget it.”

Clint cocked an eyebrow over a squint. “Wait a second. You
wanted
me to ask you out?” He sat back and his mouth stretched into a grin. “Sully, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since we met.”

She gasped. “I do
not
want you to ask me out, thank you very much.”

He leaned in, and she froze again. “Then why would you care about whether I was making up reasons
not
to ask you out?” he asked quietly.

She said nothing.

“See? I was right?” Clint leaned back and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Sully, Sully, Sully. You really are something. It almost makes me wish I weren’t in this predicament. It would be fun to badger you to the point of loving me.”

Her face flushed, but she continued to hold her tongue.

“That said, having women in my life right now doesn’t seem to be a good idea in general. Believe me, I’d
love
to have one, too. But the way things have gone lately… yeah. Michelle, then Cassie—for a weekend—and then… Never mind, I shouldn’t get started.” He shook his head. “And now Jane. She’s the latest in a long-and-growing list. Well—take that back—you’re the latest in a long-and-growing list, followed by those women from the bus. But they don’t count. You do.”

He looked out the window for a while, admiring the calm green of the fields. If he had to choose a color from his pallet to paint the scene, it would be a blend of forest green with a bit of sea foam, touched up with some pale yellow, all under a happy sky blue canopy. If only life could be as simple as painting.

“I’m taking a serious chance on my life,” he resumed, “just by being in the same car with you. I won’t lie—I’m a tiny bit nervous about this,” and he gestured to himself, then her, and then the car around them. “Who knows how long until you run us into some ditch, knock me out, and drag me away bound and gagged?”

For an instant it looked as though she may respond, but she disappointed him again.

“That said, no one has been
quite
as lethal-crazy as Jane, so maybe riding with you won’t be so bad for my health. Look, I’ll play along with your little, ‘I don’t lust for Clint’ charade as long as you refrain from touching me further. Deal?”

Sullivan muttered something.

“Come again?”

She muttered a second time, but even straining to hear, Clint could only make out the word “think.”

“Okay, let’s try that one more—”

“
Do you think she’s pretty?
”

Clint jumped back in his seat. “Who? Jane?”

“Yes, Jane,” she whispered, a note of bitterness tugging at the edge of her words.

“Jane’s one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen, yeah. I’ve thought that since probably the fourth grade. She’s one of my sister’s best friends—that’s how I met her. I never had the guts to ask her out in high school, though. Kinda wish I had.

“I actually haven’t seen Jane in about four, five, years really. We all went our separate ways after graduation, but she came back to visit Holly for the first few years of college. That stopped for a while, and I guess my twin sister, Holly, missed those get-togethers. She set up another little reunion for her and the girls the other night—slumber party. Jane, of course, was there.” He exhaled wistfully.

“It was just like old times, really. Holly, Molly, Becca and Jane. And let me tell you—all three of Holly’s friends
really
have grown up since then, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Sully. If she noticed, she didn’t indicate it. Clint shrugged and went on.

“Jane was dressed to kill, and super flirty that night. Long story short, I ended up giving in to the urge to hold her. I guessed it might be a monumentally stupid move, but I thought that for someone like Jane it might be worth the risk. I wish I’d known the magnitude of that stupidity in advance. Oddly enough, I tripped over Molly in the process of getting to Jane, but that didn’t cause a problem.”

He shook his head and looked at her. “Yeah. Jane’s cute. It’s a shame she’s also borderline homicidal. I guess it’s better I found out now instead of three months from now like I did with my ex.

“Anyway, why do you ask?”

Sullivan crawled back into her stoic reverie; this was beginning to get annoying. He left her to it for a while, but found the silence strangely uncomfortable.

“Sully?”

Nothing.

“I, uh, guess I really should thank you for saving my tail back there, even if your arrival was strangely coincidental. How’d you do that anyway?”