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“Jesus, Miles.” Sean struggled up from his slumped position, rubbing his forehead. “You practically gave me a heart attack.”
“You told me to meet you here,” Miles said. “You begged me, bullied me, guilt-tripped me. Told me it was a matter of life and death.”
Sean rubbed the bump on his forehead, willed the blood in his groin to redirect itself into his brain. Just enough for minimal, baseline function. “Still is,” he growled. “It’s just your timing that sucks.”
Miles’s grin came and went swiftly. “The next time I bust my ass at five AM to do you an incredibly difficult and inconvenient favor, I’ll try not to interrupt the sex.” He peered in, and gave Liv a shy smile. “Hi.” He shot Sean an uncertain glance. “So, uh, that’s her?”
“That’s her,” Sean said. “She was abducted this morning. I followed a beacon in her shoe, up to Orem Lake. Got there just in time.”
“I’m real glad that the trauma didn’t put any dents in your libido.”
Sean made an impatient growling sound. “Shut up, Miles. It’s not about that. I was just creating a pretext for her to be half-naked.”
“Convincing,” Miles commented dryly. “Did you waste the guy?”
Sean winced. “He got away. Or we’re the ones who got away. I’m not sure who racked up more points this round. Hey, Miles. Be a real man. Give the lady your shirt. Do I have to tell you everything?”
Miles looked down at his flapping, oversized gray shirt. “Oh. Uh, sure.” He unbuttoned it quickly, revealing a tight black T-shirt beneath, and passed it through the window to Liv. “It stinks like smoke,” he said apologetically. “I was doing sound for an acid punk band. Those degenerates were sucking on blunts all night long between sets. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Thanks so much.” Liv wrapped it around herself.
Miles held up a big pink plastic paddle with a key dangling from it. “You guys want to see your room?”
“God, yes,” Sean said. He scanned the parking lot. Big Belly and his pal had climbed into their rigs and taken off, and the parking lot was empty and clear. He jumped out of the Wrangler and leaned into the backseat, shoving T-Rex’s Beretta into his kit bag, and loading up everything that could conceivably be useful while on the run.
He and Liv followed Miles to the room at the end of the long, low building. Miles opened the door, and gestured them in with a flourish.
The room was small and stale, smelling of dust and damp and old cigarettes. He had a pang of regret that he hadn’t thought of someplace nicer. He suppressed the niggling doubt, closed the hotel room door, locked it, threw the bolt. This was just a hole to huddle in, to lick their wounds. And maybe some other sweet tender bits, if he got lucky.
Miles pulled a set of car keys, and flung them to him. “Here you go. Your reasoning being that nobody on earth would ever believe Sean McCloud would drive such a pussy car?”
“Something like that,” Sean said. “And you’re not telling anybody. I threw my beacon away. I’m off the grid. Get it?”
Miles’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t ask me to lie to Con or Seth or Davy. Those bastards are mind readers.”
“I’ll contact them soon,” Sean assured Miles.
“The trick will be thinking of something to tell my parents,” Miles said glumly. “They just gave me the damn car ten hours ago.”
“Say you lent it to a cute girl,” Sean suggested. “It’s pathetic, but credible. And literally true.” He glanced at Liv. “I’m doing this for her.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know. The desire to get laid is the fuel that powers the universe. The Sean McCloud credo.”
A crack like that usually slid right off his back, but today it stung.
Sean shot Liv a nervous glance. She was carefully not looking at him, perched on the bed, her body virtually tied in a knot, her hair draped like a curtain around her face. Her mouth tight. Not good.
“Don’t bust my balls,” he growled. “It’s been a shitty morning.”
“I’ve been up all night myself,” Miles replied. “Plus, I’ve got a two hour walk ahead of me, mostly uphill, to get back to Endicott Falls. You are one high-maintenance friend, you know that?”
“High maintenance equals high performance,” Sean reminded him. “Think Ferrari. Think priceless racehorse. Think fighter jet.”
“Yeah. Great,” Miles said sourly. “I’m on foot, bozo. Don’t torture me with images of super-fast modes of transport.”
“Oh, cheer up,” Sean snapped. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. If I get killed, you get my Wrangler. Fair enough?” His gaze flashed over Miles’s shabby jeans and grayish athletic shoes. “My wardrobe, too.”
Miles looked pained. “Don’t say shit like that! Is it that bad?”
