Driving Mr. Dead (13 page)

Was I finding my way back to the girl I was? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Sure, I’d had more fun before I settled down with Jason, but was I a good person? I had way too much time on my hands to be asking myself these sorts of questions. This mental pathway promised madness.

I turned on the “Jason Called” playlist, which included a crapload of Pink and Joan Jett. I hoped that Collin couldn’t be roused out of his daytime sleep by aggressive femmes, because it was about to get loud.

I drove a little faster, skipping my lunch break. I drank too much cheap coffee. I got a lot of attention from truckers, thanks to my hood decorations. And I was very glad that the windows were so heavily tinted.

By the time the sun set, I’d been driving for twelve hours straight, and I was exhausted. I’d gone through the “Mom Called” playlist, the “I Haven’t Seen a Starbucks in Three Hours” playlist, and the “My Ass Is Numb” playlist. I was planning to pull the car over at 6:04 as scheduled, but I heard the cubby door open with a squeak worthy of any Dracula movie.

“What are you doing?” I yelped, pulling to the side of the road
quickly. “I thought you didn’t want the door open unless the car was stopped!”

He climbed out of the cubby and into the passenger seat while I popped a packet of donor blood into the warmer. And somehow, despite recently sleeping and the fact that he’d just done seat gymnastics, his clothes were less wrinkled than mine.

“Hello, Miranda,” he purred, and the rumbling, rolling timber of his accent had me shivering. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“You know how I slept. You were watching,” I muttered. “And if you comment further, you will not get this nummy treat.” I made a sarcastic wave toward the warmer.

“I would hate to miss that. So where will our adventures lead us this evening?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “Perhaps you can pick a fight with a motorcycle gang.”

I gasped in mock incredulity. “Collin, are you having
fun
?”

“I simply enjoy trying to predict what you’ll do next. Force of habit.”

I assured Collin that I’d eaten before he rose, so we should just keep driving. He drank his warmed blood on the road. I had no idea how I was going to handle the hotel issue. Collin would be furious when he realized that I’d been lying to him. We would probably have to sleep in the car. And the farther I drove, the lamer the lie would seem.

“Are you all right?” he asked for the fifth time that night. “You seem very tense.”

“I just want to make as much progress as we can tonight, so tomorrow night isn’t such a haul.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stop for a soda or a bathroom break?” he said. “You haven’t rested since I rose.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

But I wasn’t fine. I was freaking exhausted. I blinked at the road, my eyelids and limbs heavy. I was so tired that holding my head up seemed to take a monumental effort. If I was alone, I would turn up the radio to obnoxious girl pop and sing along. I’d open the windows and drink enough caffeine to fire up a legion of skater kids. I didn’t think Collin would appreciate any of that, so I soldiered on.

I was quiet, mulling over the Jason issue and how I would approach him when I got back home. I dreaded seeing him. No matter what I said, I would be disappointing someone. If I ended it, Jason would be upset … in theory. If I got back together with him, I would be disappointing Lisa. And if I didn’t make a decision, I would be surprising no one. The odd thing was, I dreaded the prospect of dropping Collin off at Ophelia’s and saying good-bye so much more than having “the talk” with Jason.

The car was warm. The music was quiet and classical, heavy on lyrical piano. The pattern of yellow stripes marking the lanes created a mental rhythm, lulling me into a state of relaxation. My eyes grew heavy. I saw Collin in breeches and a waistcoat, shirt undone at the collar. He was standing in a field, emerald grass rolling like an ocean. The sun shone down on his skin, beautiful, ruddy, smooth skin glowing with health. He was walking toward me, his eyes twinkling with a special smile that meant that he was happy I’d returned at last. His arms wrapped around me, pressing me so close that my nose nestled against the hollow of his throat. He smelled like rosewood and fresh-mown hay. His hands slipped up my arms, shaking my shoulders. He pulled away, staring down at me with alarm.

“Miranda!” he cried. “Wake up!”

I gasped, bolting up in the seat. The car was veering right, my hands slack on the wheel.

“Miranda!” Collin yelled, shaking me awake.

“I’m awake!” I cried. “I’m awake! I’m sorry!”

The car was sliding off the shoulder into a rocky, unforgiving ditch. I yelped, jerking the wheel, praying that I wouldn’t overcorrect and end up in the opposite lane or flip the freaking car. I sucked in a huge lungful of air, willing the oxygen to recirculate through my brain and wake me the hell up.

“Are you all right?” he asked, brushing my hair away from my face.

I nodded, reaching into the cooler compartment to drag out a Coke and slug back most of it in one gulp. “I’m just a little tired.”

And my nose was burning, because some of the Coke bubbles went the wrong way.

“Tired, hell, Miranda. You’re exhausted. I can feel it rolling off you in waves. You’re making me sleepy, and it’s practically mid-morning by my internal clock.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, yawning widely. “We have a couple of hours to go yet before we reach our goal for the night. If we stop now, we won’t be able to make the Hollow on time tomorrow night. We’re too close, Collin. I can’t hold us up just because I’m a little sleepy.”

Also, I didn’t know how the hell we would pay for a hotel, I silently added, and sleeping at a truck stop didn’t really appeal to me.

“Pull over,” he said, opening his atlas and checking our route.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to drive.”

“You don’t have a license,” I protested.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive. I just didn’t want to be documented by the human government.”

“Were you afraid you would take a bad photo?” I asked, yawning again.

“Impossible. Look at my profile.”

“And modest, too.” I chuckled weakly. “Well, I would be happy to let you drive, but I’ve got enough to explain to Iris.”

“Meaning?”

“You ripped off my gas-tank door!” I exclaimed.

He huffed. “I’ve been secluded for decades. The last car I drove was wound by crank. There have been some changes in technology, but the principles are the same. Besides, the gas tank is nearly full. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “I appreciate it, Collin, really, but I can’t—”

“You can, and you will,” he insisted. “And imagine how much faster we will get to the Hollow tomorrow if we spend this evening driving instead of resting at a motel.”

“So … skip the motel and drive on through?” I asked.

This was the perfect solution to my having to tell Collin about our money problem. And we’d arrive in the Hollow early, which would impress Iris. If Collin didn’t veer into oncoming traffic and kill us both, which would be a down side.

“And if we arrive in town early and complete my business with Ophelia, perhaps we can spend some time together.”

“We’re spending time together now,” I reminded him, keeping my voice even, despite the excited fluttering in my belly.

“Yes, time restricted by deadlines, work policies, and your reluctance to get involved with a client. I would like to see if we enjoy each other’s company without those constraints.”

“You’re worried that you only like me because you have a chauffeur fetish?” I asked, tilting my head.

He frowned at me. “Miranda.”

“It’s the saucy little hats, isn’t it? Everybody loves a saucy hat.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I am reconsidering my previous statement.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “You don’t see anything bad happening?”

“No, but that’s no guarantee with you around.”

“If you have to stop for gas,
wake me up,
” I told him sternly as I pulled the car onto the shoulder.

“I will,” he promised.

I slipped into the passenger seat as he jogged around the car to the driver’s side. My photo journal was propped open in the console. Collin had shamelessly leafed through it again, despite my protests of privacy. I shoved it between the passenger seat and the console and told myself that it was rude to gripe about it when he’d been so complimentary about my photos. While I’d gassed up the car earlier in the evening, he’d subtly worked in questions about when I would be returning to photography. I’d told him I had no such plans and mentioned Jason’s suggestion of taking Christmas photos at Sears for the diapered set. He was suitably horrified and dropped the subject.

“This is surprisingly comfortable,” I told him, settling into the new front-seat perspective.

He clicked his seatbelt and slid his jacket over me. “Close your eyes and get some rest.”

I smiled, nuzzling my nose into the collar. “Talk to me,” I said. “Your voice helps me fall asleep.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

“It’s a compliment,” I assured him.

“OK, have you ever wanted to be turned?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I would do more damage as an immortal. I’m not afraid of dying … I just want some dignity when it happens. But I think we both know it’s probably going to involve a falling piano or an exotic tropical disease.”

“I think the world would be a lot less interesting without you in it,” he said. “I rather like having you around. Yes, it’s frustrating. But it’s also an incredible relief. The weight is off my shoulders. I don’t feel responsible for the safety of the people around me … except for you, of course. That’s enough to keep me busy, but it’s nice to have some focus.”

I smirked as Collin started describing his childhood in England, his mother, his brother, in a rolling baritone that had my eyelids drooping. My head sank back against the seat. My sleep was deep and untroubled.

I was standing in the middle of a crowded, smoky concert venue, one of those run-down old taverns that try to draw in the younger crowds with watered-down beer and concentrated bad ’80s rock. A mosh pit had formed around me like a sea storm of bodies, twitching and bashing against one another because the occupants were so bored with the band that being knocked unconscious seemed like a better entertainment alternative. I was battered by the waves of unwashed bodies, tempted to drop to my knees and crawl to the nearest fire exit. But that would mean touching the floor, and even in my dreams, I wasn’t going to do that.

A squeal of guitar feedback caught my attention. Collin was standing onstage, the veins and tendons standing stark under his pale skin as he sang, “ ’Cause I’m a LIAR!”

The sight of straight-laced, polished Collin, shirtless and sweaty—and with a pulse, if that angry red flush to his cheeks was any indication—was enough of a shock that I froze. And I was whacked in the face with a flying combat boot for my troubles. Still, it didn’t break the spell of Collin’s stage presence, especially when he looked right at me, blue eyes blazing, and screamed, “Yeah, I’m a LIAR!”

Jerking awake, I sat up slowly, my mouth dry and my head fuzzy. A bit of drool had dried against my cheek, and I swiped at it vigorously. “What the hell?”

My cell phone was blaring Jason’s ringtone from the center console. Fumbling for it, I pressed my thumb to what I thought was the “ignore” button. But my fingertip slid across the screen, and I hit “speakerphone.”

“Oh, shoot,” I hissed, cursing my ineffectual thumbs.

There was a weird thumping noise on the other end of the line and the tumbling crash of furniture being knocked over. I huffed, rolling my eyes. Jason must have ass-dialed me again. I’d almost hit “end” when I heard her.

“Jason!” a high-pitched female voice squealed from the phone. “No tickles! You promised!”

“I’m going to get you,” Jason sing-songed in the stupid voice he sometimes used as “Playful Sex Jason.”

My jaw dropped as I stared at the phone in my hand, transfixed by the source of the obscene giggling.

“No!” the woman squealed, clearly delighted with Playful Sex
Jason. More delighted than I can remember being in
months
. “No, Jason, not the knees!”

“Yes, the knees,” Jason insisted, and I could hear sloppy kissing noises smacking through the receiver. There was a weird muffled thumping sound and more squeals. Jason groaned, and the girl sighed happily. There was another clear, hard thump. And another … and another … and another.

I guessed the “emotional affair” had taken a turn for the naked.

“Lisa!” Jason moaned. “Oh, Lisa, baby, I love you so much.”

“What?” I yelled at my phone. “You son of a bitch!”

Collin snatched the device out of my hands and hit “end,” just as Lisa’s rapturous moans hit a crescendo.

“You didn’t need to hear more,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road.

Speechless, I stared at the phone as if I could reestablish the connection, reach through it, and throttle my
former
fiancé. Collin actually leaned away from me at the wheel as if he wanted to stay out of smacking range. I crossed my arms over my chest and seethed silently.

What in the actual fuck? How long had Jason been sleeping with Lisa? Had he been lying when he swore that he hadn’t touched her while we were engaged? Had he waited until I was out of town to jump into bed with her? Did it really matter?

I thought about all of the times Jason had apologized for what happened with Lisa, all of the gifts and tearful talks. And I just couldn’t wrap my head around why he bothered. What was his plan? To keep screwing Lisa until the wedding? For the rest of our lives? Why did he spend all that time asking me to come back to him if he loved his childhood friend? If he was in love with her, fine!
Why not just take my breaking off the engagement as some sort of sign that they were supposed to be together? Was it that he couldn’t bear being dumped by me? Did he want me back just so he could do the official dumping?