Call Out (10 page)

“So where does that put us?” London
asked.

I zoomed out and in again, trying to figure
out a good midpoint. “Um. The mall I think.”

“Cool,” London said. He reached around me to
push the lid down on the laptop. “One less thing to worry
about.”

I took that as my cue, and we both went back
to bed. I felt more hopeful now that we had a plan. Armed with that
hope, sleep was a lot easier to find.

Chapter Ten

The incessant chirping of someone’s cell
phone alarm dragged me out of sleep. Brian fumbled on the bedside
table until he came up with the phone and shut off the alarm. The
room was still dark, the sun not yet up. I was beginning to suspect
Brian of being a morning person. As I drifted back to sleep, I
wondered how Dylan would deal with that. Both of us tended to stay
up late and sleep in when work and school weren’t getting in the
way.

The next time I woke, I was alone in the bed.
The sun was up now, the first thin light of dawn creeping in around
the thick curtains. Brian and London were huddled around the
laptop, talking in low voices. I listened to them long enough to
know they were mapping out a route for our search circle, and then
I dragged myself out of bed to get dressed. The sooner we started
looking, the sooner we’d find Dylan and this whole nightmare would
come to an end.

The boys gathered up phones, key cards, and
wallets while I pulled on my shoes, and we headed for the car. No
one had much to say on the walk to the parking lot. London looked
like he enjoyed mornings about as much as I do.

At the car, London opened the rear
driver’s-side door and motioned me inside. Definitely not a morning
person. I climbed in and turned to reach for the belt, but London
stopped me with a word: “Scoot.” I scooted, and he squeezed in
beside me.

“Contact,” he said. “Easiest way to reach
both of you.” He fished his iPod and a long cord out of his pocket.
Talk about being prepared. And I thought I had the packing thing
down to a fine art. He plugged one end of the cord into the music
player and leaned between the front seats to plug the other end
into the auxiliary port on the car stereo.

“You’re in charge of this,” London said,
firing up the iPod and handing it to me. He fastened his seat belt
just as Brian started backing the car out of the parking space and
then slumped against the window, eyes closed.

I fiddled with the iPod as we followed the
loop around the resort area and then turned onto Buena Vista Drive
to head away from Disney. London had an eclectic mix of music, even
according to my standards, and I didn’t recognize half the bands. I
found a lot of my favorites, too, though – even some of my more
obscure favorites - and after a minute or two of scrolling I chose
Elvis Monroe’s “Comin’ Around,” a song that both Dylan and I
loved.

Looking up from the iPod, I noticed that
Brian had a GPS map pulled up on his phone that he glanced at now
and again as he drove.

“You don’t really need the GPS,” I told him.
“We’re going straight up I-4.”

“Coffee first,” London explained.

“Awesome. Wait...did you program that thing
for the nearest Crackbucks? Because that’s probably a bad
idea.”

“Why’s that?” Brian asked, glancing at me in
the rearview mirror.

“I remember trying that once, when I lived
here. Bob...um...my GPS took me to the Outlet Mall food court. We
don’t wanna do that.”

London cracked an eyelid to look at me. “You
named your GPS?”

“Yeah. Bob. Don’t ask.”

London smiled and shook his head, closing his
eyes again. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I could see Brian
smirking. Fine. Whatever. Let them be amused.

“Anyway,” I said, “There’s a Starbucks by the
mall.”

Brian found his way to I-4, and we made good
time heading north. We grabbed a quick breakfast at Mickey D’s,
taking a few minutes to sit and eat. Then we piled back into the
car, grabbed coffee in the Starbucks drive-through, and began our
search.

Hollywood portrays search and rescue
operations as dramatic, pulse-pounding events. This one, at least,
was the polar opposite: boring and tedious, except for the minor
amusement afforded by Brian swearing at and flipping off the crappy
Orlando drivers. London had the worst of it, of course; not only
did he have to concentrate on trying to find Dylan, he also had to
ride leaning forward so that he could rest his fingertips against
Brian’s neck. He couldn’t even brace himself with his other hand,
since it was firmly gripped in mine.

We took a few breaks to let London stretch
out and to give Brian some relief from traffic. We hadn’t taken the
congestion of the tourist areas into account, and our search circle
wasn’t expanding as fast as we had hoped it would. By lunchtime, we
all had a little black storm cloud hanging over our heads. We kept
at it, though, until nearly dark.

And through it all, London never felt so much
as a spark.

We headed back to the hotel with our hearts a
little heavier than they had been. Before the door had even closed
behind him, London made a beeline for the closet. He pressed
Dylan’s dress against his cheek, and then he laughed.

“She’s okay,” he told us. “I mean, Brian and
I checked on her this morning, but.... Anyway, she’s pissed, but
she’s also feeling smug about something. That’s gotta be a good
thing, right?”

“Definitely,” I said. “Maybe she kicked her
kidnapper in the dangly bits.” I paused, staring at him. “You
didn’t need us this time. To connect to Dylan.”

London looked a little surprised, like he
hadn’t realized it himself until I pointed it out. He let go of the
dress, smoothing it. “That’s gotta be a good thing, too, right?” He
didn’t sound so sure this time.

Brian gave London’s shoulder a brief squeeze.
“Anything that helps us find Dylan’s a good thing. We’ll sort the
rest out later.”

London gave him a tired smile and a nod. He
ran through some stretches while we all decided what to order from
room service, and then he lay down flat on his back on the floor.
Brian picked up the phone to call in the order, and I moved away to
stand over London, looking down at him. There were dark circles
under his eyes and tension seemed to have taken up permanent
residence in the muscles of his forehead and neck.

I nudged him with my foot, and waited for him
to open his eyes before I spoke. “A hot shower will help more than
a hard floor.”

“Probably.”

“Come on,” I said, offering him a hand
up.

He smiled and reached for my hand. His eyes
fluttered a little when we touched, and for some reason it made my
pulse speed up just a touch. Stupid hormones.

Either London didn’t notice – he was
exhausted after all – or he chose not to comment. He just hauled
himself to his feet, and somehow managing to avoid pulling me off
mine in the process. As the bathroom door shut behind him, I
grabbed my purse.

“Going down to the gift shop,” I told Brian.
“I’ll be right back.”

Brian insisted on going with me, but we
didn’t see any sign of trouble. I gathered up a few necessities,
including the razor I had wanted the night before, and paid up, and
we were back in the room before London even knew we had gone. He
emerged from the shower a few minutes later, his t-shirt and pajama
pants sticking to him from the damp, and curled up on the bed where
Brian sat flicking through TV channels.

Brian settled on some action adventure movie
on HBO, the volume turned low. I don’t like to come into a movie
halfway through, but in this case it didn’t matter. We only watched
it to kill time while we waited for dinner not because we gave a
damn about the plot.

After dinner, Brian headed for the shower,
leaving London and I alone. London lay stretched out on the bed,
reading Ashe’s notes. I sat at the desk, going through Dylan’s
email and social networking accounts again and turning up
nothing.

“Hey,” London said from behind me. “Remember
last night when I said we’d talk later?”

I remembered. “Nothing to talk about.”

London chuckled. “Think about who you’re
lying to.”

I did think about it. This empathy thing
could be damned annoying. “No, really. There’s nothing to talk
about.”

The sheets rustled, and when London spoke
again his voice came from somewhere nearer. “Why does it bother
you?”

I looked back over my shoulder to find him
sitting on the foot of the bed.

“Is it because of Dylan?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I...I don’t want to
talk about this with you.”

London laid his hand on my shoulder. “I
didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

I wanted to deny being embarrassed, but I
couldn’t. Stupid superpowers. I sighed. “It’s okay.” I took a
breath. “See, the thing is, I don’t even know why the Brian thing
bothers me. I’ve always thought he’s gorgeous, since the first time
I laid eyes on him. Had no idea who he was at the time. I just knew
he didn’t look like he belonged on a cruise ship full of frat boys
and old people. But it’s never been...it’s always been just an
appreciation, you know? Like admiring a painting or something. It’s
not like I want what Dylan’s got with him.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, I could tell.”

“So I don’t know why it suddenly seems
wrong.” But even as I said it, I knew why it felt wrong. Admiring
Brian made me feel disloyal to London – an idea so ludicrous it
should make me want to laugh. “Maybe it’s just the situation,” I
said. “It doesn’t seem right to be ogling Brian – or anyone else –
right now.”

I wasn’t sure if London could tell that I was
lying, but if he knew, he let it go. I turned back to the computer
and pulled up Dylan’s bank account. I scrolled through the
charges...and let out a strangled yip.

“What, what is it?” London asked. He leaned
against the back of the chair, and I pointed at the screen. “Oh,
wow.”

I heard the bathroom door open, but I
couldn’t pull my eyes away from the screen. I couldn’t find my
voice, either, so it was London who shared the news with Brian.

“Someone’s using Dylan’s debit card,” he
said.

“What? Where?” Brian asked. A second later,
he, too, hovered over me and the laptop.

“Here. In Orlando,” London told him. “Fast
food, supermarket, gas station....”

“The charges are all from yesterday,” I
added, regaining my ability to speak. “While we were in Key West,
someone was using Dylan’s money for a shopping spree.”

“Are that a store number?” Brian asked,
pointing to string of digits listed beside the name of one of the
fast food places.

“I dunno.” I did a web search using the name
and number, but came up blank. Similar searches on the other
entries gave us nothing, either.

The easy path obliterated, we went with plan
B. I opened my computer notepad and jotted down the names of the
stores where the card had been used. London grabbed his laptop, and
we made lists of locations for each of the stores. Comparing the
lists, we found that the three stores were grouped together in only
a couple of places in Orlando.

Ten minutes later the boys were dressed and
we were out the door again.

Two hours later, Brian pulled the car into a
deserted parking lot, shut off the engine, and got out. He paced,
swearing and dragging his hands through his hair.

“Stay here,” London said as he hopped out of
the car.

He laid his hands on Brian’s shoulders, but
Brian jerked back and pushed him away. London said something I
couldn’t hear, and Brian shoved him. London shoved back, and Brian
threw a punch. London brought a hand up to block the punch, and the
boys grappled for a minute. I was out of my seatbelt and had the
car door open before I realized that the fight was over. I watched
Brian sink to his knees, his head in his hands. London knelt beside
him, blocking my view, and I realized why he’d told me to stay
behind. Brian wouldn’t want me seeing this. He wouldn’t want anyone
seeing him like this. I closed the door as quietly as I could and
stared hard out the opposite window.

I had no way of knowing how much time passed
before they came back to the car. It seemed like years. No one said
a word about Brian’s breakdown, but when we got back to the hotel,
London strong-armed him into taking some kind of prescription
sleeping pill. It worked fast, and he was out cold by the time I
got out of the shower.

“Got a couple more of those?” I asked
London.

He turned away from the window. “A
couple?”

I pointed at myself and said, “One,” and then
at London and said “two.”

He shook his head. “Be my guest, but I won’t
need it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”

“Then why aren’t you asleep?”

London shrugged. “Got caught up in thinking
about what to do next. And...I kind of wanted to wait for you.”

I didn’t know what to say. London had that
effect on me more than I was comfortable with. I just nodded and
starting shutting off lights. London met me at the desk, offering
me the bottle of sleeping tablets. I considered for a moment, and
then shook my head.

“Antihistamines make me loopy enough. That
stuff might put me in a coma. I’m good.”

London smiled. He set the bottle on the desk
and shut off the lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, the
only light coming in through the window. I crawled under the duvet
as he pulled the curtain almost closed and then curled up with my
back to him. A moment later, he climbed into bed and curled up
around me.

“This okay?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything, but I laid my arm on
top of his. I figured that was answer enough. I guess it was,
because he snuggled in a little closer.

I lay awake long after London fell asleep,
the last holdout. I should have taken the damned sleeping pill. It
was too late now, though. I didn’t want to get out of bed and risk
waking London. After all, he was the key to this whole thing. He
was the one who needed to be well-rested. I could afford to lose a
little more sleep. London’s well-being was the reason I refused to
get out of bed and grab one of those damned tablets. It wasn’t
because I couldn’t bear the thought of sliding out of his embrace.
Not at all. Honest.