Larger Than Life Page 6

  Meaning she couldn't just spray him down from a distance. Ugh. "What about the display cases I'm supposed to be cleaning? I'm not finished with that."

  "You can do those later." Candy grabbed the dolly stacked with boxes, tilted it back, and headed around the Barn to the side entrance into her studio, stopping once to glance back when she realized Liberty hadn't moved. "What're you waiting for? A gold-plated invitation? Get going."

  Rolling her eyes, Liberty tugged on the leash, glad the dog actually got to his feet and didn't make her drag him around. She was even more glad he didn't growl and attack. She wasn't exactly scared of dogs; she just didn't know anything about them. Her parents had never let her have a pet.

  "C'mon, dog." She walked him down the long side of the huge barn that was really more a ruddy red than brown, passing the decorative rock garden and cactus beds as she made her way to the back.

  Once there, however, she wasn't sure about tying him up to keep him from running off while she bathed him. He really didn't look like he had a whole lot of energy and looked kinda sad, in fact. Like maybe he was missing his family and hated being alone.

  She wasn't too thrilled about being alone herself, but she didn't really miss anyone but Jase. Then again, that wasn't exactly true, she admitted, setting the bag on the empty crate leaning against the barn wall and looping the end of the leash over the spigot before attaching the hose.

  She didn't really miss him, but she had been thinking about him a lot since she'd been here. She was afraid something really bad had happened to him and that she might not ever find out what.

  But she'd also realized dating him hadn't really been about loving him. It had been about him understanding how unhappy she was at home and offering her a way out. Now she was just thankful they hadn't ended up stuck in Mexico. What would they have done down there?

  It was bad enough that she was being treated like a slave by Neva and Candy. Whoever it was saying this place helped people didn't know what they were talking about. Yeah, they fed her and gave her clothes and a bed. But if she'd wanted a job making minimum wage, she could've gotten one checking groceries at the Safeway in Earnestine.

  Of course, it wasn't like she'd told anyone the truth of what had happened. She couldn't. Not when all she could t hink about was the guy with the dreadlocks telling her he'd kill her if she talked.

  Bending to check the dog's stitches, she had to be honest about the fact that if she were still in Earnestine, she'd have to be going to church with her parents, and every time she went it seemed like all the men stared at her like a piece of meat. It was just too creepy to deal with.

  "Guess we're both on our own," she said to the dog, who really looked weird with the side of his face shaved around the stitches. "Ouch. That must've really hurt, huh?" When his tongue came out and he licked at her face, she laughed. But then she started to cry. She sat down on the concrete pad beside him, wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed into his stinky fur.

  She hated being pathetic, but that's how she felt. Like no one was on her side. Like she was stuck in some bad movie or nightmare and any door she opened to find her way out would lead her in a big fat circle right back into the same room. She was never going to get out. Or else she was going to get killed for something she hadn't even done.

  That night last week when Jase had said he had something important to tell her, she thought it would be about taking her away—not about running away. And she sure didn't think it would be about him stealing money from people who would kill him if they found out. Now she couldn't help but wonder how many of the bad guys knew she'd been with him that night.

  "So tell me, dog. What am I going to do with my life?" She pulled away to look him in the face. He cocked his head to one side. His ears flopped forward. His big brown eyes stared into hers. "You really do need a bath, you know," she said, and he licked her again.

  "Okay, okay. You win. We'll just sit here a few more minutes first. See if we can figure out the secrets of the universe. And a good name for you." When he laid his head in her lap, she stroked his back, her heart swelling with the way he wanted to stay close. Like he really needed her. "Something like Freckles. Or Buster."

  She wondered if she could keep him if no one showed up, or if his owner never was found. Having an animal of her own, one who loved her, one she could talk to, would make being on her own a lot easier. Two against the world and all that. A girl and her dog. The thought made her smile.

  At least until she looked up and into Candy's scowling face. "I don't see any water being used back here."

  Liberty sighed, slid out from under Buster, and stood to dust off the seat of the blue jeans they'd found for her to wear. "I'm doing it, okay? I was just making sure he knew I wasn't going to hurt him or anything."

  She grabbed the end of the hose, the bottle of shampoo, and turned on the water, drowning out whatever else Candy had to say. Now that she had Buster on her side, Liberty wasn't going to let anyone else get to her.

  No matter how much she wished she could go back in time and choose someone besides Jase to help her find a better life.

  Mick slept away the biggest part of the day in the clinic, unsure when he finally woke how much time had passed since his rescue. He wasn't even sure how long he'd lain out on the side of the road before Neva had stopped and hauled him into her truck. A day, he thought, at the most.

  One thing he did know was that he needed to fetch FM from wherever the vet was keeping him and get the data from the flash cards in the dog's collar to SG-5's ops center ASAP. The longer it took him to feed his intel back to the Smithson Group, the more money Spectra would launder. And the harder it would become to tie the crime syndicate to any of the funds.

  He also knew that for the next few days he'd feel like he'd been beaten to bloody hell. His shoulder and his bum were the worst. The dislocation and reduction left him aching and sore, but he hadn't lost any feeling or the use of his arm. No nerve damage. No broken bones. Amazing, when he should be pushing up daisies considering the ass-over-tits ride that had gotten him here.

  Here, looking up into the bright lights of the small room into which Dr. Hill had moved him once Neva had left. The doc hadn't seemed too thrilled to finish up with FM and return to find Neva, along with most of Mick's clothing, gone. Mick hadn't said a word. He'd enjoyed watching the physician stew about the woman he wanted who obviously didn't want him. It upped Mick's intrigue factor about Neva Case.

  He levered himself up onto his good elbow then swung his legs over the table's side, hissing as he put more weight on his bruised backside. The sheet covering him settled around his waist. Water, food, clothes, and a plan. He'd take them in whatever order he could get them. Though, he decided wryly as the sheet slid lower in his lap, he'd do good to start with pants.

  He'd just fastened the sheet toga style—not particularly easy with one arm in a sling—when a knock sounded on the door. "Yeah, I'm up. Come in."

  Dr. Hill pushed open the door and did just that, Mick's boots in hand along with socks, boxers, jeans, and a white T-shirt. He dropped the load into the room's one-piece black plastic chair, signaling for Mick to hop back onto the very same table from which he'd just managed to make his way down.

  "Let's check your vitals again before you go." The doc readied his stethoscope, reached for the blood pressure cuff on the wall at the head of the table. "The clothes might be a tight fit, but they should do you until you can change them out for your own."

  "I appreciate it, mate." Mick tried not to cringe and bawl like a baby when he settled down to sit, or when the tape of the bandages pulled hair in all the wrong places. "I'll get them back to you soon as I can."

  The doctor didn't respond until he'd finished taking Mick's pulse. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing I can't spare."

  Ed was all business now doing his thing, and Mick let him, submitting to the thermometer, the light up his nose, the poking and prodding of what felt like kidneys and liver and spleen, not to mention e
very bruised rib and patch of scraped skin along the way. He gritted his teeth, sucked back a sharp breath or two, until Jekyll finished his mad torture.

  "You're good to go," the other man said, releasing the air from the blood pressure cuff, "but check in with your own doctor for a complete physical when you get home. Which, by the way, better be soon." His level gaze held the unmistakable warning that he didn't like breaking rules or appreciate the insistence that he take shortcuts.

  Mick nodded. He would leave, but not to seek more medical treatment. After his last stint in the Middle East, he was well aware that his body could stand more punishment than this and heal. His mental state, now that was another story. The exhaustion was catching up and bloody well serious about taking its toll.

  A man could only hunt down and kill so many others before blowing a fuse or two dozen.

  "Listen, mate. I don't suppose you could take a lunch break and give me a lift out to see if my ride's where I left it? The cash I had with me might still be stashed away under the hood. I'd like to pay you for your services before I check out of town."

  "It's a little late for lunch. In fact, I was just heading home for supper." At Mick's obvious confusion, the doctor ndded, "You've been sleeping for about six hours. It was ten or so when Neva brought you in this morning. And by the way, she took your dog home with her."

  That would've been damn inconvenient except for the fact that she already had his gun. He prayed like hell she hadn't managed to lose F's collar. Or that she hadn't replaced it with something she thought more fashionably chic from out of those boxes she'd been hauling. "Hope she didn't lock him in a kennel. Even if he's too banged up to run, he would hate being cooped up."

  "Something he gets from his owner?" the doc asked while washing and drying his hands.

  "It might be, sure." Gingerly, Mick climbed down from the table for the second time, dropped the sheet, and reached for the boxers. He stepped into them before speaking again. "What makes you ask?"

  The doc turned then and tossed another bundle toward the chair. Tucked inside Mick's hat, his sunglasses, ankle holster, and knife still in its sheath landed on top of the clothes. "That's military gear. Maybe mercenary. Call me psychic, but I'm guessing you and cages don't get along."

  Mick stared for a minute, then shook off the déjà vu and reached for the T-shirt, losing the sling long enough to pull the shirt over his head and down, grimacing as the cotton hit raw patches of skin. "If you can just get me to my ride so I can get my dog, you won't have to worry about seeing me or my gear again."

  "Just making sure we're on the same page." The doctor hesitated, scrubbing a hand back over his short-cropped silvered hair and finally adding, "Especially when it comes to Nevada Case."

  Mick wasn't about to be lured into a pissing match, to make any sort of ominous or menacing impression that would have anyone looking for him once he was gone. So he transferred his things to the table and sat to pull on the socks, to strap on his knife and empty holster, leaving the doc standing taller, looming larger, hovering above.

  A tactical move. "I'm not after your woman, mate. I only want my dog."

  "She's not my woman," the doctor said, deflating as he did so, emphasizing Mick's suspicion that that particular truth didn't sit well with the other man. "I just want to make sure no more trouble ends up out her way. She's had a rough patch since moving here."

  What kind of rough patch? Mick opened and closed his mouth. He abso-bloody-lutely would not ask. "I told you, Doc. I don't plan to do anything more than—"

  "—get your dog and go. So you said." This time the doc let a smile through to his face. "How 'bout a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes before we hit the road?"

  Jeans on, but not without a whole lot of gritting and grinding of teeth, Mick sat again to lace up his boots. He was just about ready to go naked; the clothes he was wearing hurt him that bad. "You cooking?"

  "Oh, hell no." The doc laughed. "Patsy Cline does the cooking. And, no. She's not related. She owns the only decent restaurant for miles is all."

  Food and water wouldn't hurt now that he had the clothes part taken care of. All that was left was the plan and to pick up his gun and his dog. "Since the last thing I ate was an energy bar, I could go for a plate, sure."

  "I'll lock up. Unless you want to use the phone in the office first?" Dr. Hill gestured behind him. "Let anyone looking for you know you're up and around?"

  Mick needed to call Hank or the ops center but he wasn't going to do it from this man's phone. The SG-5 emergency locator line was only to be used should an operative need to be lifted from an escalation, or have help brought in.

  This situation required neither. As had been the case for so much of his life, he was on his own. He got to his feet slowly, wincing nonetheless. "No one to phone, mate. I'm good to go."

  Jeanne Munroe liberally sprinkled Comet powder over her kitchen sink, which she'd already spent ten minutes scrubbing. Cooking and cleaning, the only things that seemed to define her these days, also served as panaceas.

  When she couldn't get Yancey to talk. When she couldn't get Yancey to listen. When she couldn't get him to leave well enough alone, she cooked and she cleaned.

  Fortunately, she had a growing son perfectly capable of eating her out of house and home and then some. Nothing ever went to waste with Spencer around. About that, at least, she couldn't complain. A good thing since she had plenty of other complaints.

  Enough that were she to spread them like a thin Asiago cheese and spinach mixture over phyllo dough and layer them in her hygienic sink, she'd fill it to the brim and need another. Not that she could get phyllo dough in Pit Stop, Texas. Or that anyone living here would even know what it was.

  Except, perhaps, for Neva Case.

  Ooh, but if Yancey went out there to the Barn and caused more trouble . . . Jeanne rubbed harder at the scoured surface. She swore if he did, this time she was going to carry through with her threat and kick him out of her—their bed— no matter how much she'd miss having him there.

  He just couldn't try to run their son's life. Spencer was near enough to being a man to be making his own decisions about the girls he dated. And, quite frankly, she'd never had a problem with her son seeing Candy Roman.

  The girl was black, yes, in a town filled with necks of the red variety, or Latino brown. That alone made her unconventional. But she reinforced it with the way she dressed. The way—and colors—she wore her hair. Still, she was a good girl with a real head on her shoulders. She was creative. She was smart and charming, and quite beautiful in a young Whitney Houston or Gladys Knight sort of way.

  Plus, she was here without being from here. She knew there was a lot more to the world than what could be found or experienced in Pit Stop. Pit Stop. A P.S. at the end of the road. Spencer could do a lot worse. At least seeing Candy romantically would give him more reason to come home than seeing his fuddy-duddy parents.

  Ugh. Jeanne stripped off her rubber gloves. When had she gotten so old, thinking of herself as fuddy-duddy? She was only forty-two. Supposedly in her prime. Then again, she'd canceled her subscriptions to Redbook, Cosmopolitan, and Oprah's magazine when the stove needed replacing and every penny counted. For all she knew, as out of touch as she was, she was over that dreadfully painful hill and sliding down fast.

  From the front of the house came the sound of a truck on the drive, followed a minute later by the screen on the mud-room door banging against the frame. The mesh was already torn, and at this rate they'd be needing to change out the hinges and the springs, too. Then again, Spencer would be off to Lubbock in another month, and no one else ever let the door slam.

  "Hey, Mom," her son called as he entered the kitchen. "I wanted to stop and let you know I'm not going to be around tonight for supper."

  Jeanne blew her nose into the paper towels she'd used to dry her hands. She sniffed as quietly as she could before turning. "Then I guess it's a good thing I was only planning soup and sandwiches, isn't it?"


  "Dad working late?" Spencer grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and opened the refrigerator door to graze.

  Her son. Tall like his father, yet built like the star wide receiver he was. And such a typical teen. Full of life and hormones. Not to mention being a bottomless pit.

  "Are you sure you don't want soup and a sandwich now?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back against the sink to watch him rummage.

  "Nah. Me and Joe and Mike are heading over toward E.T." Earnestine Township. The kids in the area used the acronym as a joke, Earnestine being a place alien to everything they knew. "This kid, Jase Bremmer, who played football over there, him and his girlfriend are both missing. His dad's always been at all our games, so we thought we'd go hang out and make sure he's doing okay."

  Jeanne felt a tight gripping pain in her side. What was that Yancey had said earlier? About Holden Wagner searching for a missing girl? This was not anything she wanted Spencer involved in. It was bad enough knowing where Yancey was going tonight. What he was doing. With whom.

  "Okay, but why don't I grill all of y'all some burgers? You boys check in with your friend's father, and I'll get everything ready." She glanced up at the wall clock, which resembled a peach. "Say, be back here at seven?"

  Spencer closed the refrigerator, bit off another chunk of apple then into the square of cheddar cheese he'd pilfered. "I don't know, Mom. I'm pretty sure there'll be a ton of food at the Bremmers'. And after I drop off the guys, .I'll probably head out to see Candy. Dad working late and all, the timing's pretty good."

  Jeanne shook her head slowly. "Except the call your dad's seeing to tonight is out at the Barn. And it may have to do with your missing friend's girl."

  She didn't know why she was telling Spencer anything. Yancey was good not to bring his work home, to keep what he could of his cases confidential, even when the Pit Stop phone lines would be burning up with the news.