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Everyone wanted to drive the little roadster she’d bought with its powerful little motor, especially Billy. He’d rebuilt the motor and customized the interior for himself before he was forced to sell it the year before. He jumped at every chance he could get to drive it. Hell, he begged to drive it sometimes.
“You can’t speed in my car, Billy.” She was resigned to this. The few times she’d asked Billy to go anywhere with her, the price was always her car. “I’ll drive over to your place. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Gives me time to clean up nice for you,” he laughed. “See you in a bit.”
She still had to wait for him, but not as long as she had to wait last time.
“Zoey, you’re my favorite girl-buddy,” he laughed, sliding over the door instead of opening it and settling into the driver’s seat.
“Knowing that makes my day,” she snorted. “I’m meeting the buyer in Louisville, and then we’ll stop in Danville so I can deposit the check.”
“Sounds great.” Running his hands over the leather steering wheel as a sigh of pleasure passed his lips. “Aint she just so pretty. Damn, Zoey, letting this beauty go hurt.”
“So you keep telling me.” She shook her head though she couldn’t hold back her grin. There was a reason why she let him drive the little car. He might get a little fast in it, but she knew he’d never risk actually wrecking the car he put so much time and love into. “Good thing you like driving her I guess, you’ll be behind the wheel for a while today.”
“Awesome,” Billy sighed, sliding the car into gear and accelerating away from the curb. “Man, I am so glad everyone else was busy.”
With the top down, a hard rock station on the satellite radio, and Billy’s smile of pure delight as he drove the sleek, little black two-seater, Billy headed out of town. It usually took a while for him to get over the boyish giddiness at driving the car. He wasn’t much for chitchat during those times. But Zoey found she wasn’t much for it herself. The night before had been too damned unsettling.
Her brother had made it to the apartment before Jack left, his pale green eyes somber and intent when he pulled her into his arms for a hard hug. Doogan had made himself scarce, making calls, he’d told her, while Dawg was there. Dawg had been unusually quiet though, his expression heavy, concern for her or suspicion she wasn’t certain. When he’d left he’d made her promise to call him if she even thought she needed him.
“Let me help you, Zoey,” he’d whispered as he hugged her, his voice quiet at her ear. “I swear, we’d work things out however you need. Don’t hide from me, sweetie.”
She’d wanted to sob against his chest, wanted him to help her. The closer she’d come to doing so, the heavier the pressure had built in her head, though.
The pain made no sense. Almost as though it were a programmed response.
The pressure was there now, just behind her temples, threatening to develop into the agonizing strikes of sickening pain.
Programmed.
Rubbing at her temples Zoey fought to find a way around it. Natches and Chaya played a little game whenever they couldn’t tell each other something directly. They proposed a little story to the other. A “what-if,” their daughter Bliss had laughingly confided. Zoey understood imagery, imagination, painting words into pictures, but she couldn’t find an image to push past the pain to the truth. If she could, she’d sketch it, paint it, give a picture to the hell she knew waited beyond the pain, then she’d do just that. She could face it, if she knew for certain what the truth was. Was it blood and death? Or was it a voice whispering in her ear, painting memories into her brain that weren’t really memories?
The pain was building in her head, sapping her strength, her ability to think.
Pushing back that particular angle of the problem facing her she turned back to Doogan instead.
He was there because of an investigation, he’d told her. Top-secret stuff she’d thrown at him, irritated at the answer. Somber, filled with regret, his gaze had remained on hers as he nodded at the description. Then he’d pulled her into his arms and drew her to bed. Not for sex, though. How he’d known she’d needed him to just hold her, just protect her for a few hours while she slept, she didn’t delve into at the time. But he’d done just that. He’d held her, his arms wrapped around her, her head tucked against his shoulder as he sheltered her while she slept.
Her thoughts held her until Billy pulled into the parking lot behind the gallery and activated the retractable roof to slide into place.
Davis Caston was waiting for her, just as he promised, a check already made out to her when she turned over the paintings. He eyed a quiet, brooding Billy warily.
She had to give Billy credit, though. Every time she’d asked him to accompany her anywhere, he’d always played Mackay bodyguard perfectly. Just as he did this time. Albeit silently. Mackays rarely did so silently.
Thanking the gallery owner as well as the buyer, Zoey felt satisfaction fill her. It had been months since she’d made a really good sale. And this one rated there at the top. She might even be able to squirrel a little away.
“We did good then?” Billy flashed her a smile as he opened the car door for her.
“Yes, we did. I can now officially pay my bills next month,” she stated happily, sliding into the passenger seat of the little convertible.
“And your loss in the race.” He winked cheerfully, closing her door and striding to the driver’s side. Minutes later, the top down once again, they were heading out of town to the bank Zoey used. One outside Somerset, and she always hoped, her family’s nosiness.
Billy cleaned up good, she admitted. Black jeans and a dark gray cotton shirt buttoned conservatively, the cuffs rolled back only twice and neatly at that. Dark blond hair, a little long with the slightest wave. At twenty-three, he was considered one of Somerset’s newest bad boys. Zoey considered him a friend, except on race nights.
On race nights she didn’t let friendship interfere.
“I’m going to beat your ass next race,” Zoey promised, smothering a yawn.
