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“Do you have a pair of boots around?” I asked. I showed him my flip-flops. “These aren’t my style.”
He grinned and then found me another pair of boots. They were too big for my feet, but I could clomp around in them with the laces tied tight enough. I skipped on trying to wear a pair of his jeans, but put on the sweatshirt.
Once he was done, he headed back into the garage, looking at the range of motorcycles. I followed.
“I think we should...” he said. “I don’t know...”
“Let’s go talk to Doyle.”
“Doyle?” he asked. “Are you sure we’re not asking for trouble? He is friends with Blake Coaltar after all.”
“Doyle’s got access to phones,” I said. “I was trying to tell Axel and Marc we should… it was Axel’s next move after the aquarium.” Again, a lie, but couldn’t be helped now.
“I don’t have another idea right now,” he said. “I don’t like it, but if Axel thought it was okay.”
I smothered the urge to grimace. “Yup. That was our next move, all right.”
“Think you can find him again?” he asked. “Do you remember the way?”
I nodded. I didn’t exactly recall the address, but I remembered the directions. I’d recognize it driving up, especially since it was still daylight. I pointed to his bike in the case. “Why not take the flame one?” I asked.
“We need something quieter. We’re doing the spy thing, remember?”
“You just said the spy word,” I quipped. “We’re not supposed to say it.”
He smirked. “You’re the worst spy ever.”
“You just said it again.”
He selected a black bike, a newer model with very clean lines. It looked like a toy compared to the more Harley-looking motorcycles nearby.
He passed me a full face helmet from one of the shelves. It was brand new, and still had the plastic on it. He grabbed another one hanging on a hook. Must have been his as it was worn and had different etched drawings on it like tattoos in a mish-mash.
Within minutes he had the bike ready to go. I climbed onto the back and he took off.
The bike was quieter than any motorcycle I’d ever heard before. Spy bike.
When we were on the road, I instantly regretted not taking a pair of jeans. My legs froze. The only heat I had was from the bike, or Brandon, and I couldn’t put my legs as close as I wanted to his.
My arms wrapped around his stomach, hanging on.
When he had to stop at a red light, he let go of the handlebar and cover my hand with his. He’d squeeze it, reassuring.
And I knew that the moment we’d solved this thing and our lives weren’t being threatened, he’d be on me about a relationship update. He would be eager to figure this out as soon as possible.
And the only thing that scared me was that I didn’t have an answer for him.
LISTENER
Picking our way through Hannahan on the back of his bike was more complicated than I had thought it would be. It was hard to see around him and the scenery kept flying by at the speed he was going. He kept having to stop when we got to the old country roads and I was trying to remember the directions.
“We could just call Coaltar,” Brandon said.
“Do we really want him to know what’s going on?” I asked. “Besides, after I wrecked his car, he’s probably pissed. He hasn’t talked to me since then.”
“I can’t believe I even suggested it. I don’t know anymore,” he said and then yawned. The circles under his eyes told me he was dragging as much as I was. “Tell me Doyle drinks coffee.”
It took another half hour of riding on the bike, stopping to check where we were, before I found the street that would lead us to Doyle’s place.
Once we were there, it was unmistakably his place. There were satellite dishes in the yard, although it seemed there were a few new ones added. I wondered how no one noticed this. From the main road, it was hard to find, but I was sure if a helicopter or plane went over it, they’d see it.
Did planes go over this bit of Hannahan?
Brandon parked the bike a distance from the front door. He fixed his Henshaw Customs T-shirt as it was stuck into his body. I got off the bike, ripping off the helmet. It was stuffy. My hair fell around my shoulders and I combed my fingers through it, finding windblown tangles at the ends.
Brandon’s hair was stiff against his head when he took his helmet off. One stroke of his hand through his hair, and it was fixed. I was jealous. I wasn’t really concerned about my looks, but I knew tackling my hair with a brush later would be a painful experience. Maybe I needed to chop it off.
We started slowly up the path to the house. I was eyeballing the satellites, trying to count them. Brandon inspected our surroundings, looking awestruck at the museum of satellite dishes. Before we could make it to the front door, a loud gunshot cracked through the air.
Brandon immediately jumped on me, pushing me down to the ground. I got a mouthful of grass. I fought against him to spit it back out.
“If you know what’s be
st for you, you’ll get off my fucking lawn,” shouted a voice, a hint of Irish behind the bellowing.
“Doyle!” I cried out. “It’s Kayli!”
“I don’t know a Kayli!”
I pushed Brandon off of me, crawling up on my knees. Doyle was on the porch, with a shotgun pointed up and out toward a tree. I imagined that was what he’d shot at as warning to go away.
Doyle’s thin face looked almost white under the natural light. His dimpled chin jutted out and his eyes were buggy under his mop of unruly hair. “Go away,” he said. He wore rumpled jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, the white writing on it faded so much it was unreadable. “Get!” he cried out at us, like chasing off a cat.
“I’m the friend of Blake’s. Remember?”
He squinted at me. “Blake who? I don’t know a Blake. I don’t know anything. I don’t know words, even. What are words?”
“This is useless,” Brandon said. “Let’s get out of here before we get shot.”
I put my hands out and stood up slowly. Doyle pointed the gun toward me, without really aiming it at me. He made a face. “Whatever you want, I don’t have it,” he said.
“I just need help,” I said. “I need to know...”
“Nope!” he said. He took one hand off the gun and stuck a finger in his ear. “I don’t care. I don’t want to know. The only thing you could possibly need me for is something I don’t need to know. When I helped Blake last week, I got more than I bargained for.”
What did Blake do last week? “You don’t have to look up anything,” I said, lying. I wanted him to hear me out. I came closer, taking it one step at a time. I had a feeling he was all bluff. He was too lazy to bury two bodies so he wouldn’t bother to shoot us.
“Kayli,” Brandon hissed behind me.
Doyle fumbled with his gun. “Don’t you do it,” he said.
“Do you know about Murdock’s Core?” I spit out quickly.
Doyle made a face and twisted his features. “God...damn...shit...” He snarled and twisted away, pulling the gun around and holding it in his arms sideways. “Why the hell did you have to ask about that?”
