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Sean realized that clenching his teeth so hard was making his head throb harder. He made an effort to relax his jaw. “OK. Let me phrase this differently,” he said. “Disappear, or I’ll rearrange your face.”
Miles looked unimpressed. “If I leave you alone and you get into trouble tonight, Davy, Con, and Seth will rip my head off and plant it on a stake. There’s only one of you. There’s three of them. Forget it.”
Sean started up the stairs to his condo. Each step was a hammer blow to his skull. “I won’t get in trouble. I don’t have the energy.”
“I’m not going to get in your face, either.” Miles followed him up the stairs. “Just pretend I don’t exist. I’m used to it. Look at my track record with the women. I’m, like, the Invisible Man.”
Sean shot Miles a critical glance as he unlocked his door. “Do not say stuff like that if you want to get lucky with women,” he lectured, out of habit. “Don’t even think it. It’s the kiss of death.”
“Yeah.” Miles rolled his eyes. “By the way. I need a favor.”
Sean slapped the door open. “It’s not a good day to ask favors.”
“You owe me,” Miles reminded, following him in. “Big-time.”
Sean spun around, planted his feet, and gave Miles a death look that knocked him back two paces. “What the fuck do you want, Miles?”
Miles gulped. “I want you to drive me up to Endicott Falls.”
Sean started to laugh at the irony of it. He breathed the shaking feeling down before it made him hurl all over his own kitchen. “Dream on, buddy. I hate that town, especially today, and it hates me worse.”
“I taught your Thursday kickboxing classes for the entire past month when you were in L.A.,” Miles reminded him. “I spent three days fixing your computer when it crashed, free of charge.”
“Aw, shut up. What do you want with that backward hole, anyhow?” A thought struck him. He shot Miles a darkly suspicious look. “Isn’t Cindy up there, doing band camp? Don’t tell me you’re still—”
“Absolutely not. I am totally over Cindy.” Miles’s tone was stony. “She’s up there, but I avoid her like the frigging plague.”
Sean was unconvinced. Miles had been pining for Cindy Riggs, Connor’s wife Erin’s seductive little sister, since before the McClouds had met him. He’d finally gotten a clue, after a spectacularly public episode last summer at Connor’s wedding, but it had not made him happier. On the contrary. He’d been in a funk ever since.
“I’m sound and light technician for the Howling Furballs at the Rock Bottom Roadhouse tonight,” Miles told him. “And tomorrow, I start assistant teaching karate at the Endicott Falls School of Martial Arts.”
Sean was startled. “No shit. You’ve got, what, a brown belt now?”
“Nope. Passed the test for my first dan black belt last month. Got an honorable mention for my kata, too.” The pride in Miles’s voice was palpable. “Davy gave my name to a guy who runs a dojo in Endicott Falls. They need someone to help with the class while the regular teacher recuperates from knee surgery, so…it’s no big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal,” Sean said. “It’s great. Good for you.”
“Plus, my folks just bought a car. They’re giving me their old Ford. This is the last time I’ll have to blackmail you into giving me a ride.”
“That’s reason enough in itself to drive you up,” Sean said sourly. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. An early two thousands sedan, right?”
Miles looked wary. “So? What of it?”
“Beige, right? I’ll bet you my left nut it’s vomit-tinted beige.”
Miles jerked his shoulders in a defensive shrug. “So what if it is?”
“Fogeymobile,” Sean said. “The Invisible Car, for the Invisible Man. You gotta drive something with testosterone, my friend.”
“It runs,” Miles grumbled. “It’s free. I know you think of motor vehicles as fashion accessories, but it’s sexier than taking the bus.”
“Barely,” Sean muttered. “I thought you were working on Con’s nerd killer project.”
“I will be. Cyber stuff. I’ll work from up there.”
Sean grunted, and yanked a couple beers out of the fridge. He handed one to Miles, chug-a-lugging half of his own. “God, I feel like shit.” The red light blinked insistently on his message machine. He stabbed the button to see what the outside world wanted from him.
The first two calls were work-related; one about an invoice he’d sent for a consulting job he’d done a few weeks before, another from an independent film director in L.A. who was shooting a movie about GIs in Afghanistan. Sean punched the fast forward button over both of them. He’d deal with them later, when his brain was back online.
