No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (29 page)

I scratched my head in my mind. If this had been money-related, how could Cisco’s captors gain dollars if no ransom had been placed? When I asked for Hector’s spin, his face went blank. He’d honestly given me all he had … except on the Ivanhoe part. He made clear—with a clenched and set jaw—that he’d rather wear a toe tag than dive into the world of Ivanhoe. There were no other options, except to find Lola.

19. A BROTHERHOOD OF LIES

A
LIE IS A DEVIATION FROM
the truth. Some believe that a little, white lie is innocent, but purists believe that anything—even the slightest omission of cold, hard fact—remains the same as the blackest of offenses. Right now, my brain lied to me. It was 1:33AM, Friday morning. The time suggested I should be sawing logs, but my mind couldn’t find the “off” switch.

“He’s asleep, Paddy,” I whispered.

“Aww, doll,” he apologized, “I keep forgettin’ you’re on East Coast time. I’m sorry to wake you. Just have Linc call me first thing.”

I pulled my ink pen from behind my ear, penciling a note on a nearby napkin.
Call the Irish, or your shamrock’s going to lose its happies
, it said. When I finished, I folded it into a tent and placed it on top of Lincoln’s glasses. Both of us had crashed on our respective couches, the sandman loving him and hating me like a bad case of eczema.

Guilt blasted my conscience when I remembered I owed Paddy an apology. “Hey … umm,” I stammered. “I’m—uh … well, you see …
uuuugh
.”

After several aborted attempts at an apology, I finally blurted out, “I’m sorry for tapping into Lincoln’s stuff.”

I felt like a total donkey.

A pause hovered in the air. “Listen, doll,” he eventually chuckled, “you’re a smart girl. A
very
smart girl. Just stay on this side of the law, and we won’t have any problems.”

There were all kinds of smart and all levels of dumb. Unfortunately, I happened to be familiar with each of them. “Technically I’m smart, Paddy,” I stated, “but so many other variables live in my brain that I can never settle down long enough for good things to gel. I’ve tried to conform, but from what I’m told, psychologists insist that might prove difficult. The best I can probably offer society is the promise to not reproduce.”

It felt like a knife stabbed me in the heart. I waited for it to happen … the judgment. It’s a universal law in Darcyville. You tell someone who you are—what really goes on between your ears—and then the unrelenting whispering follows.

There was another pause with Paddy finding his voice first. “Aww, doll, that would be the worst thing you ever did. The world needs more people like us. One day, I’ll tell you what I did pre-Lincoln. It wasn’t always on the up-and-up, but he’ll be the first to tell ya that some days it comes in handy.”

I’m not sure what the prerequisite was for working in vice crimes. Killing easily? Selective consciences? Disguises out the yin-yang?

“You’re 15, right?” he asked.

“Almost 16.”

“College in a few years?” Most of my efforts in life were self-imploding. College sounded like rubbing your nose in everyone else’s success.

“I already have a PhD in bull-crap detection, Paddy. I don’t see a need for another degree.”

Paddy chuckled then mumbled a surprised, “Hunh. Then you really need to think about your future.”

He had no idea that’s ALL I ever thought about. I was in high school. At least once a week some teacher told you that what you did today mattered. What grades you made, what choices you made, what friends you hung around with. They drilled into our heads that
everything
counted … even the things you didn’t want to count. Talk about pressure, it was practically crippling.

“Lincoln and I could use you,” he continued, “and you’ve given our colleagues something to rib Lincoln over. He’s one man who’s hard to fool.”

No, his heart beat like pure snow, and mine beat so black it was scary.

After Paddy and I cut the call, I cleaned and organized the house, then finally conked out only to be wakened when Howie’s head—escorted by my two dead crabs—crawled up my chest, hissing the name of his murderer. Scared senseless, I brewed a cup of coffee, and instead of it relaxing me, I became so jacked-up it left me in a state of suspended animation. Like always, my first instinct was to find Dylan. I slipped a white terry cloth robe over my black Angel-sleep T and stole off to his room, rubbing what I knew were bloodshot eyes.

Dylan gave me a drowsy smile as I knelt by his bed and caressed the hand lying outside the sheets. I painstakingly swallowed. He was brutally handsome and vexingly perfect. The kind of beauty that could make a girl commit hara-kiri because she’d lost her mind. “Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” I whispered back, dropping a kiss onto his hand, “I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I,” he lightly laughed.

“Can we talk for a minute?
Please
?” Although physically tired, when I looked in Dylan’s face, there existed a natural and satisfied serenity about our relationship. I highly doubted either of us would ever find that comfortable feeling with anyone else.

Easing quietly under the blankets, I disrupted him as little as possible before he had a chance to kick me out on my psychotic tail. Dylan rolled over to his side, tucking me into his chest, crooking his arm under my head as a pillow.

A small ray of moonlight, peeking free from the clouds and bouncing off the lake, illuminated his room. There had been a thunderstorm earlier, no stars were in sight, and the land of sunshine had become a gloomy shade of gray.

Like my mood.

“What’s bothering you?” he murmured. Dylan’s voice rumbled in a sleepy sort of way …
cute
… it sounded too stinking cute.

Oh, where to begin? “Everything, I guess. I’m worried about things I can’t control. I organized the refrigerator, alphabetized the spice collection, color-coded Sydney’s nail polish according to the spectrum of the rainbow.” He laughed. “I polished Lincoln’s gun, Jackal—”

“Oh, God … don’t tell him that,” he groaned. I didn’t plan on it. Another few moments elapsed with us both simply listening to our breathing. He finally asked, “What can’t you control?”

“School,” I answered. Cisco Medina, I omitted. Everything Hector told me. Did Fix It, Incorporated really exist? Where was Howie’s body and were there really aliens, blah, blah, and imbecilic blah. Not to mention, what the heck was Lincoln working on?

“
And?
” he tenderly pushed.

I blew out a sigh. “You’re going away someday while I stay home. I don’t ever want to be without you, D. I worry sometimes.”

And I need you to love on me.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “That’s crazy talk. I’ll never leave you, sweetheart, and I’ll never move somewhere that makes you uncomfortable. We’re a team.” Whoever wound up with Dylan would be one lucky girl; I had plans to kill her. But I knew the best friend creed demanded I love her as much as I loved him.

My chin quivered, and I hit the skids immediately. I didn’t want to cry, but Dylan could pull my emotions to the surface quicker than anyone. “Promise me,” I begged.

“Pinky promise,” he murmured into my shoulder. “Rest, Darc.”

“It’s just…”

Dylan chuckled in my ear. “You’re not ready to rest yet.”

“I always miss you,” I explained. Dylan and I didn’t say anything for a while, and it didn’t feel weird. We had a wonderful relationship. There was never any awkward silence or excruciating subtext … we could just
be
. I was the first to speak. “Why is talking in the dark just so…”

“Intimate?” he murmured.

I would’ve chosen “raw,” but intimate worked. “Yeah,” I agreed.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe because all you have are your thoughts. It’s just you and the other person’s—”

“Heart,” I now interrupted.

Dylan released a soft sigh, pulling me even tighter to his body. “My thoughts exactly,” he whispered. “The face draws you in; the heart makes you stay. And you have a warm and beautiful heart that I love very much.”

All I could think was ditto, ditto, ditto.

Dylan ripped me in two. Every. Single. Time.

“Do you think you’ll ever feel as close to anyone else as you do to me?” I asked quietly. A dozen heartbeats went by, and Dylan grew so quiet I feared he’d fallen asleep. “D?” I said. Nothing but nothing. “Are you awake?” I rolled over, tenderly touching his face with my fingertips. My hair tumbled and splayed across his chest, and for whatever part of his body had been asleep, Dylan now appeared wide awake.

A hush drew out between us, and a sense of urgency filled the air. Something else entered the room—something neither of us understood or was comfortable acknowledging. Finally, he murmured, “I’m not asleep, sweetheart, and no. I don’t think I’ll ever feel as close to anyone as I am to you. You’re amazing. The most beautiful thing in my world and the most intense, honest, and fulfilling relationship in my life.”

Honesty might currently be lacking, but I could wholeheartedly agree on the other adjectives. Trouble was, we said things you usually only claimed about your “significant other.” These weren’t the things you said to your best friend.

“I feel the same way,” I agreed anyway. “That’s why I don’t ever want it to go away.”

I got another beat of silence from Dylan as I stroked the hair at the base of his neck. Dylan claimed it relaxed him, but he suddenly seemed tense. He gently pushed his head into my hand, as though he couldn’t get enough of the feeling. With a deep breath, he murmured, “We don’t have anything to worry about. Close your eyes, sweetheart, and rest for a while. I’ll make sure we’ll always be together.”

All at once, sleep won its battle. Maybe those were the words my subconscious waited to hear. I crawled even closer to where there was barely any space between us, like I longed to connect with the one entity that would always complete me.

Sydney and I were lying poolside while I ran my finger around my diamond belly ring. It sparkled like a prism in the sunlight, and frankly, I felt so dang proud of the purchase I could barely contain myself. No, it didn’t go over well with the Taylors, and it went over even worse with Murphy … until he’d discovered I’d swindled a crook. Then he became so impressed, he hung up and bragged to his friends.

Murphy … Father of the Year.

While I watched Dylan flip burgers on the grill, an unexpected waft of entitlement filled the air, and without even turning my head, I sensed Yankee Knoblecker had slithered onto the premises. She wore a teensy-weensy pair of shorts with a poison-green belly shirt that showed off a six-pack stomach. Her smile was totally saccharine, and in my opinion, offensive to all powdered sugars of the world.

She marched by us like we were the hired help, eyes locked on Dylan’s—um, hamburgers—the entire way. Sydney and I stole a look at one another, and I had a sick feeling we were going to witness firsthand the tactics Yankee’d employ. As Dylan obliviously jammed away to Van Halen’s
Beautiful Girls
, Yankee turned him around, tiptoed up, grabbed his t-shirt in both her hands, and (gasp!) kissed him.

She kissed him
, I whispered to myself.

And it was swoon-worthy … slow and torturous and deep with intentions.

Dylan’s one arm hung limp, while the other still held the spatula. Bright side? At least he didn’t spank her with it. Yankee sidled even closer to where nothing lay between them but Dylan’s shirt and her lack of one. After what felt like forever (it was 24 point something seconds, people), Dylan briskly shook his head, shocked and tongue-tied.

But it wasn’t like he spit out her lipstick.

“You like?” she smiled up to him. “It’s what the shirt said to do.”

Seriously, some people have no shame!

I felt responsible. He wore a t-shirt that said “Kiss me, I’m Greek.” Colton strolled into breakfast wearing it, and Dylan whispered he wanted it. Times like these, I wish I had no skills because within minutes, that shirt was mine. It had been as simple as telling Colton he looked like a drooling Jabba the Hutt.

Dylan gave her a half a grin and a quick one-handed hug, mumbling something that was best I didn’t hear anyway. Yankee blushed, but kept her bony arm around his waist as he flipped over the burger I now didn’t want at all.

“Stupid shirt,” I mumbled.

“She bothers you?” Sydney stated as a question.

“
PUH-LLLLLEASE
!” I joked.

Sydney purred out a laugh. “Dead give away, Darcy. You always joke when things get uncomfortable.” No kidding, and seeing the clock strike midnight on this day couldn’t hurry up quick enough. I worried about Cisco, more convinced than ever that Lola was the key, and now had to watch my best friend lock lips with a hard-bodied munchkin. I needed to think of something to make this day profitable because it was only noon and already smelled like failure.

I chewed my pinky nail. “She doesn’t bother me,” I lied. “He just deserves better.”

“
You’re
better than her,” she rasped.
Maybe in a perfect world
, I thought. Sydney reached down beside her chair for a sip of the sweet tea she’d left there. “Do you want to talk about it?”