Edge of Midnight (8 page)

Now he was alarmed. Davy usually had to be pried away from his bride Margot’s side with the use of a crowbar and a pair of oversized bolt cutters. When the McClouds fell in love, they fell hard.

“Breathing room is a piss-poor idea,” Sean said. “Awful things happen when women have too much breathing room.”

“What the hell do you know about it?” Davy demanded. “You’ve never been married, you snot-nosed punk.”

Sean didn’t bother responding to that. “So is she pissed at you?”

Davy threw up his hands. “Sure, she’s pissed at me.”

“Why? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just call Margot and ask her.”

“Oh, Jesus. No. Please don’t do that,” Davy said fervently.

“So out with it. Go on. Spit it out.”

Davy struggled, helplessly. “I just…well, we’re not…she’s just angry at me because I can’t, um…” His voice trailed off, miserably.

Sean squinted at his brother, perplexed. “Can’t what?”

Davy dropped into the chair again, evidently unable to speak.

Sean gazed at him with dawning horror. “Holy shit. Are you talking about sex? You can’t have sex? With Margot the walking wet dream? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you seriously ill?”

“No,” Davy spat out the word. “It’s just that…she’s, ah, late.”

Sean gazed at his older brother’s slumped form, unable to make out his expression in the dimness. “Late?” he echoed. “Late for what?”

“Use the tiny brain God gave you and figure it out,” Davy snarled.

Sean cogitated for a second, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh! Oh, shit! You mean, like, that kind of late?”

Davy’s sigh was jerky and labored. “Yeah. She can’t be sure yet. Her cycle isn’t regular. But she’s never been this late before.”

“Oh, man, that’s too much information for me. I’m not sure I can handle the intimate details of my sister-in-law’s reproductive cycle—”

“Grow up and deal with it, jerk-off,” Davy snarled. “You asked.”

“True, true,” Sean soothed. “Sorry. So can’t she just, you know, do a test, or something? Put you out of your misery?”

“Not yet.” Davy’s voice was clipped. “There’s some complicated reason why you have to wait a certain number of days before a test is valid. She explained it to me. I don’t remember the details.”

“Oh.” Sean pondered this news. “Uh, well? So? Shouldn’t I be crossing my fingers? Isn’t this a good thing? A cousin for Kevvie. Cool. They can tumble around on the rug like a couple of puppies.”

Davy shook his head. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Sure, it’s a good thing. It’s a great thing. Fantastic. Yeah. But I can’t—I can’t—”

“You can’t have sex with your wife because you think she may or may not be pregnant? That’s pretty medieval.”

“Yeah, that’s what Margot thinks.” Davy stared down at his fists, clenched before him on the table as if he were trying to hang onto something invisible.

“It’s not going to be like it was with Mom,” Sean said cautiously. “Living out here with Dad was like living in another century. Margot’ll have third millennium medical care, from a major medical center—”

“I know that.” Davy’s voice was taut. “I fucking know that.”

Davy’s eyes were shut, but Sean knew what his brother saw. Their mother, bleeding to death from an ectopic pregnancy, while the truck tires spun out in three feet of snow. His father, trying to stanch the blood. Ten-year-old Davy had been driving, or trying to.

Sean, Kev, and Connor had stayed behind in the snow shrouded house. He’d been four. Old enough to know that something terrible was happening. It was one of his earliest memories. Maybe not the earliest, because he remembered Mom, like a glow in the back of his mind. Or rather, he remembered remembering her. He shook the poignant feeling away. “Statistics are on your side. Women these days—”

“I know the statistics,” Davy said. “I’ve informed myself, Margot’s informed me. I’ve been lectured, scolded, screamed at.”

“Ah. I see,” Sean murmured.

“When she told me…Christ.” He rubbed his eyes. “She thought I’d be happy. Hell, I thought I’d be happy. But I almost lost my lunch.”

“Whoa,” Sean murmured. “Drag.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Ever since then it’s like I can’t breathe.” He swallowed, audibly. “I close my eyes, and I see blood.”

Sean whistled. “Ouch. I can see as how that might put a crimp in a guy’s boner.”

“This is not a joke,” Davy growled.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Sean touched his brother’s shoulder. It was rigid as steel cable, vibrating with a charge that was approaching lethal. The guy had to chill, before he hurt himself.

Or worse, wrecked something irreplaceable.

It had been such a relief, to see his tight-assed brother finally loosen up and get happy. He was so in love with Margot, he was goofy with it. He was having fun for the first time in his more or less grim life.

No way in hell was he going to let Davy fuck that up.

He folded his arms over his chest, considering his options.

“I don’t know why it threw me.” Davy sounded lost. “Considering how much we get it on, it’s amazing it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Got it on, that is,” Sean corrected. “Past tense. That’s all over for you, buddy. Kiss your dick goodbye. You’re never having sex again.”

Davy glared at his brother, slit-eyed. “Do not fuck with me, Sean.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he assured his brother. “Neither will Margot. Nobody will, being as how Mr. Big-n-Friendly’s gone south, leaving your bride to shrivel alone, sexually unfulfilled. What a waste. Poor Margot.”

“Keep your trash mouth away from Margot, punk.”

“What an asshole, letting that sexy lady sleep alone,” Sean mused. “But she’ll land on her feet. Just looking at Margot makes a guy want to procreate. Being as how you’re giving her all this breathing room, it shouldn’t take her long to find someone capable of—nngh!”

Bam, he was clamped to the wall, Davy’s forearm pressing his trachea. Good. He struggled to breathe. It worked. He’d goaded the grizzly out of its cave. Now all he had to do was not get killed.

“You know what your problem is?” Davy spat. “You never know when to shut up. You’re going to learn. So shut…the fuck…up.”

Sean gave him a big, unrepentant grin. “Make me, meathead,” he wheezed. “Let’s take it outside. I don’t want to trash the kitchen any more than you already have.”

Davy jerked his hand away. Sean’s feet hit the floor.

He massaged his throat as he followed Davy out, and barely got into guard before Davy’s boot swooshed past his face, displacing air.

Woo-hah. Yes. Savage joy jolted through him. A no-rules fight with somebody as dangerous as he was, damn. Better than sex.

Maybe. He’d withhold judgment on that, since he’d never done the wild thing with the princess. Davy came at him like a Mack truck. His mind retreated while he ducked, punched, parried. Davy was a berserker, face contracted into a furious grimace. He didn’t seem to feel the blows Sean landed. He drove Davy backwards with a series of flying kicks, and his brother stumbled into the irrigation ditch their father had dug decades ago to feed the garden, and that split second while Davy fought for balance left him wide open for a kick to the groin.

Sean pulled it, not wanting to rupture his brother’s balls.

Davy hooked his legs and jerked him to the ground. “What the fuck was that?” Davy snarled. “You arrogant little shit! You choke on another one of your kicks, and I’ll cave in your skull.”

“And maim the golden gonads?” Sean dug an elbow into Davy’s ribs. “Castrate the great Inseminator? I couldn’t do that to Margot.”

Davy snarled like a wild animal, and they were at it again, grappling and flailing. Davy wrenched him into a hammerlock, gaining ascendancy by dint of sheer muscle mass. Sean had plenty of muscle, but Davy had him beat by twenty pounds. Goddamn buffalo.

Sean struggled for breath, face shoved into the dusty grass. “I mean, the woman was born to breed.” He gasped as Davy yanked his arms higher. “Look up the word fertile in the dictionary, and you’ll find her picture. Just look at her, for Christ’s sake. She’s a walking advertisement for the joys of procreation. Those pillowy tits, those wide hips. Yum. Make way for the next generation.”

Yank. Oh, fuck, that hurt. “I told you to shut up,” Davy said.

“Can’t,” Sean said, spitting out grass and dirt. “It’s not in my nature. Hey, what if she’s pregnant with twins? Doesn’t it run in the family?”

Yank. Agony. He tried not to shriek.

“Bite your tongue, jerkwad,” Davy growled. “Monozygotic twins are a random freak of nature. No hereditary component whatsoever.”

“Huh,” Sean grunted, coughing. “So you can have the other kind of twins. That would keep you too busy to pitch stupid-ass fits like this.”

Davy’s body started to vibrate, racked by silent, helpless shudders. Sean held his breath, and slowly relaxed. The worst was over.

Davy’s grip slackened. Sean wrenched his arms free, and with a heave and a grunt, shoved Davy’s weight off of himself.

Davy rolled over onto his back, covering his face with his hand. Sean discreetly turned his back and waited. God forbid that he inhibit his super-macho idiot brother from working out his bad ju-ju.

When Davy finally sat up, he still wouldn’t look Sean in the face. He just sat there, breathing hard, big shoulders slumped. “Gotta hand it to him,” he muttered. “Can you believe the sheer balls of the guy?”

Sean was baffled. “What guy? Who are you talking about?”

“Dad.” Davy’s voice was barely audible. “Delivering all of Mom’s babies, up here, in the middle of nowhere. All alone. Shitty roads. No phone. Twins, too.” He shuddered. “Just imagine. Sweet holy Jesus.”

Sean made a noncommittal sound as he brushed dirt and grass off his filthy shirt. “Given the choice, I’d rather not imagine it at all.”

Davy mopped sweat off his forehead and stared at the dark mass of mountains, his face stark. “I’d rather have every bone in my body broken one by one than take on that kind of responsibility.”

Sean got up, stretching and rolling his neck around, searching for the sore spots to rub. “Remember two things. One, Dad was nuts. He thought he was protecting Mom from the evil establishment. Two, he was an arrogant prick. He thought he could handle anything.”

“He was wrong,” Davy said bleakly.

“Yeah, he was. But you aren’t nuts. You aren’t an arrogant prick, either. At least, not all the time. And furthermore, Margot can look out for herself. You think the whole world is on your shoulders. It’s not. OK?”

Davy nodded, struggling up onto his feet. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Sean reached over and touched Davy’s shoulder. His brother was hot as a coal, soaked with sweat, and still shaking, but that deadly lethal, thrumming electric charge was gone. “So?” Sean demanded.

Davy shot him a wary glance. “So what?”

“So can you breathe now?”

Davy’s head jerked, in a curt nod.

“Good.” Sean gave his brother a hard shove that made him stumble. “Then go home and fuck your wife. Dickless pussy.”

Davy’s leg swept Sean’s feet out from under him, dumping him on his ass. “We’ll see how well you deal when your turn comes.”

He turned back before climbing into his truck, and gave Sean a steely, squint-eyed look. “If you get in trouble tonight, I’m going to rip off one of your arms and beat the shit out of you with it,” he warned.

Sean grinned. “I love you too, man,” he replied. “Drive carefully.”

He watched his brother’s taillights winding down the switch-backs that led up to the house. We’ll see how well you deal when your turn comes. The thought gave him a tug, around the center of his chest.

Right. Like he was ever going to found a dynasty. With who? A dance club fuckbunny? Someone like Stacey or Kendra?

Besides, Davy and Con were always on his case about his short attention span. The way they talked, he’d be liable to forget his own kid in a basket on the top of the car and drive off onto the express-way. He ought to do his hypothetical kids a favor. Give fatherhood a wide miss.

His two brothers had the preservation of the species well under control. He should probably just go to the doctor and snippity snip himself right out of the gene pool. Make it a non-issue, forever.

For some reason, the idea depressed the living shit out of him.

He still marveled that he could dick around in cyberspace and actually get paid for it. He was racking up the billable hours as a cyber-consultant in Con’s Geek Eater investigation, pimping his various fantasy personas in chat rooms where nerds and geeks hung out.

Mina, aka witchywoman Bware, was his most succesful lure so far. She got lots of attention. He was hoping for a hit from Mindmeld tonight. He’d been the only one who’d wheedled Mina into a private u2u room and asked about her childhood, under the guise of wanting to know her better. Miles had spoon fed him Mina’s hard luck story in a self-deprecating tone that he was proud of; junkie mom, deadbeat dad, raised by grandma, but Gran was dead, sniff sniff…going to college because of Gran’s inheritance…etc, etc. He might actually turn out to be good at this social engineering stuff. And Mindmeld, who had confessed that his name was Jared, seemed to have a hidden agenda.

Miles could smell it. Like a fart in a car.

He turned away from the monitors, with their soothing blue glow. It was oddly depressing, being in his basement lair again. The McCloud brothers had kicked his ass until he rented a place in Seattle, just a room over someone’s garage, but it was good to be independent. Still, it made no sense to rent another room in Endicott Falls for two months while his folks’ basement stood empty. He didn’t have money to burn.

The problem was, the place reminded him way too much of his longtime crush on she-who-must-not-be-named. He’d spent years in this hole, listening to tapes of her playing her sax. Watching video montages of her. Wanking off to wishful, erotic scenarios where Cindy had an epiphany from God, and started seeing him as something other than a convenient adjunct brain. An external hard drive she could program to do her coursework while she went out partying with other guys. And he shouldn’t even go there. God knows, enough guys had already been there before him. A path had been blazed, by God.

A flash on the screen. A response to his query. He shot across the room on the rattling swivel chair. Excellent. Mindmeld himself.

R U still there witchywoman Bware

He dove for the keyboard, typed. Yes hi how R U

Good tnx did U like my abstract

Jared had sent Mina an abstract he’d written on using roex filters to represent the magnitude response of auditory filters. Miles intuited that it was either a love offering or a sort of test, so he’d ripped the sucker apart. He grabbed his notes, and began to type. Yesbut I have problems wt roex filters—fits 2 notched-noise masking data R unstable unless filter is reduced 2 a physically unrealizable form & there’s no time domain version of roex (p,w,t,) 2 support…

His hands clattered away. His reasoning was that if Jared was a garden variety boy dweeb trolling for sex and validation, he would be scared away by a girl who showed him up, and Miles wouldn’t waste any more time on him. But if Jared was the Geek Eater, he would lick his slobbering lips and make another move. And Miles might start earning the money Connor was paying him. He wanted some results.

It was embarrassing, but he felt a constant need to prove himself to those McCloud guys. They were so good at every freaking thing they did. Hanging out with them was a sure recipe for a bitching inferiority complex. He gritted his teeth and coped, partly because he wanted to learn the crazy stuff they knew. Mostly because he really liked them.

Still. Every one of those guys, Seth included, was a super-solvent, successful sex god and ninja maniac. Fucking unreal. It would give him a lot of satisfaction to make a contribution to Con’s investigation. Helping nail the Geek Eater would be a coup. A big self-esteem fluffer.

“Hi, Miles.”

The soft voice from behind him made him levitate about five inches out of his chair. He spun around, heart pounding. Geek Eater, Jared, Mina, McClouds, utterly wiped out of his mind in an instant.

“Fuck,” he gasped out. “Cindy? What are you doing here?”

Cindy stood there, smiling uncertainly, backlit by the light that spilled down the stairs from the kitchen, front lit by the eerie blue glow of the computers. She was wearing a lace-up red thing that clearly demonstrated that the wearer had no need for a bra.

“Your mom told me you were down here,” she said. “Erin told me about the car bomb, and the cops, and Sean, all that stuff. Totally wild.”

“Yeah.” His voice was thick. He coughed. “It was, uh, intense.”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Those McCloud guys can’t do the simplest thing without it turning into a life or death drama.”

Miles let out a noncommittal grunt.

Cindy perched her taut ass on the edge of his worktable. Faded jeans showed off her smooth, tanned belly. A silver ring gleamed in her navel. If she turned around, the waistband would be just low enough to show off the Celtic knotwork tattoo. It pointed at the crack of those pert buttocks. As if any more attention needed to be drawn to them. He shifted in his chair. Crossed his legs, to hide his inevitable reaction.

“You lost the specs,” she commented. “Are you using contacts?”

“Nah. Got laser surgery a few months ago.”

“Oh. Wow.” Cindy twisted her hands together, at a loss. She looked different. Her face was spattered with freckles, hair yanked into a ponytail. Her eyes looked shadowed. Too much partying, probably. No makeup. She was ten times cuter without all that crap on her face.

“So?” she said brightly, throwing up her hands. “What’s up? What are you doing up here? I thought you were sick of this town.”

“I thought you already knew everything worth knowing.”

“Oh, come on, Miles,” she said softly. “Don’t.”

He shrugged, with bad grace. “I’m teaching a karate class at the dojo up near the Arts Center,” he said.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened, impressed. “That’s cool!”

“And I’m doing some sound gigs. Got one tonight for the Howling Furballs, up at the Rock Bottom,” he went on grimly.

“Yeah? I know those guys. Maybe I’ll come. And oh. The Rumors have a gig next week, and our sound guy just bagged. Could you—”

“No,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to do sound for the Rumors.”

He’d done free sound for years for the Vicious Rumors, the band in which Cindy played sax. Just to stare at her, to be near her. Chump.

Cindy wrapped her arms across her belly, a thing she did when she was tense. “OK. Uh…maybe I’d better not see if I can make it to the Furballs’s gig tonight, then.”

She waited for him to tell her to please, please come. He sat like a lump, and let her wait. Let her see how it felt. He’d waited for years.

“OK,” she said. “I have a good imagination. I’ll just pretend that we’re having a polite conversation, being as how we’ve been friends for years. Let’s see. You would start with, hey, Cin, great to see you, how’s life? Oh, yeah, Miles. Same old same old. Band camp is crazy, plus I’m working at the Coffee Shack in my free time, so if you get the urge for a Mexican Iced Mocha, come on down, and I’ll frappé one up for free. For sure, Cin, you bet I’ll be there for that iced mocha, with bells on. Great, Miles, I’ll be waiting for ya. Other than that, just gigs with the Rumors, pick-up bands, weddings. And I’m getting my own place, in September.”

“Yeah?” He broke his own vow of silence. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Cindy touched her tongue to her upper lip, a trick that drove him crazy with lust. “Um…there’s no guy. I’m not seeing anybody.”

“Wow, sounds like a state of emergency,” he muttered sourly.

“It’s a group house. With Melissa and Trish. In Greenwood.”

“And your mom can manage her mortgage plus your rent?”

Cindy looked hurt. “Nobody’s going to pay my rent. What do you think I’m doing, busting my ass with three million jobs? Jeez, Miles.”

“I just figured you’d hook up with some guy with a Maserati and a baggie full of coke, and be his happy little concubine,” Miles said.

Splotches of color bloomed on Cindy’s face. “Ouch,” she whispered. “That was really cold and nasty.”

That was Miles Davenport. Cold as an iceberg. Nasty as a pile of fresh dogshit. He sat there, glaring, and didn’t take it back.

“You’re still mad about what happened at Erin’s wedding?” Cindy’s voice was tight. “It’s been a whole year! Forgive me already!”

“I’m not mad,” Miles lied. “I’m just not particularly interested. And if you don’t mind, I’m working down here, not just dicking around.”

She brushed angry tears out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, and turned to go. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fuck you, too, Miles.”

He felt like shit for making her cry. “Cin,” he called out. “Stop.”

She stopped at the door. “What?” Her voice was small and hurt.

“What do you want?” he asked wearily. “Do you need to pass an exam? Do you need somebody to help you move? What the hell is it?”

She sniffed. “I don’t want any favors. I just miss shooting the shit. Watching Battlestar Galactica with you. Can’t we just be friends again?”

Miles swallowed. Yeah, sure, she missed being adored by her panting, drooling personal slave. Of course she missed it. So did he.

But he couldn’t afford to adore Cindy. It tore him to pieces.

“I’ll burn you some copies of my DVDs. I’m too busy to lie around watching the tube, Cin. I have a life.” He rummaged through the disc tower. “Battlestar Galactica? You want Firefly, too? I have the movie.”

Cindy’s face contracted. “That’s not the point. You stupid dork.”

Miles threw up his hands. “Then I don’t know how to help you.” She was so fucking pretty, her eyelashes glittering with tears.

She blinked at the screen. “Who are you chatting with?”

“Oh, that.” He turned to look, and grimaced in dismay. guess ur busy, bye 4 now, Jared had written.

“Oh, shit,” he moaned. “I lost him. Damn!”

“Lost who?” Cindy’s wet eyes brightened with curiosity.

“It’s a work thing. For Connor. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Aw, shut up.” Cindy peered at the monitor. “The gain and asymmetry of a parallel compressive gammachirp filter is comparable to…jeez, Miles, what does Con have to do with this techno stuff?”

“Nothing. There’s this predator who’s killing science geeks,” he admitted. “I’m creating characters with profiles similar to his victims. Then I put them out there in cyberspace, and hope he’ll hit on me.”

“Brr.” She squinted as she read the screen. “WitchywomanBware? You mean, you’re a girl? Oh, Miles. That’s, like, kinky.”

His face got hot. “It’s just the way I work. This guy Jared really likes Mina. I was hoping he’d make a move, but he’s wandered off.”

“Sorry.” Cindy shot him a sidewise glance, and read. “Chatter personal profile: Mina. Where’d you come up with that?”

“Dracula. We’re hunting a vampire. Not the sexy TV kind. The kind who sucks out your blood and kicks your corpse out of its way.”

Cindy shuddered. “Creepy. That is so negative.”

“Dealing with serial murderers will do that to you,” Miles said loftily. “Get out of my dungeon, if I’m too creepy for you.”

Cindy leaned closer to read the box headed Physical Description. “Height, five feet, four inches,” she murmured. “110—115 pounds. Eyes, dark brown. Hair, long, dark. Bra cup size?” Miles had duly filled in B-cup. Under Distinguishing Characteristics, he’d typed, pierced navel.”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “So, um…basically, you told this guy that you were me.”

Miles’s rolling chair shot back and hit the table behind him with a crash. Cindy jumped back, eyes big. “That’s the thing about you that bugs the shit out of me, Cin,” he snarled. “You think it’s all about you. It’s not, OK? So take your perky tattooed ass and get it out of my face.”

Cindy squeaked, and fled.

Miles dropped his head onto the keyboard and swore, the most vicious, horrible epithets he could come up with.

It didn’t help worth dick.

“Change your name? Run away? You’re out of your mind! You’re giving in already? Where is your backbone? Where is your pride?”

Her mother’s ringing tone made Liv’s head throb. Reasoning with Amelia Endicott was difficult under the best of circumstances, and these were far from the best. “Pride isn’t the issue,” she said. “I just—”

“An Endicott does not hide and cower and skulk! You should be proud! Grateful for the sacrifices your family has made so that you could have all these privileges! Go look at the statue of Augustus Endicott in front of the library, and reflect upon all that he did for you!”

Yeah, giving T-Rex a perfect opportunity to blow her head off with a sniper rifle, at his leisure. Liv squeezed her reddened eyes shut to block out her mother’s outraged countenance. Right now, cowering and skulking sounded very good to her. Very calm and restful.

“Sure I’m proud of being an Endicott, Mother,” she said wearily. “But this guy is trying to kill me. I don’t want to be dead. That’s all.”

“Stop being overdramatic,” Amelia Endicott snapped. “Are you insinuating that I don’t care about your safety? I’ve tried your whole life to help you make all the right choices, and have you ever listened?”