You Can't Escape (11 page)

The Saldanos aren’t your family. They don’t care about you. They maybe aren’t even your friends.

Dance’s mouth compressed into a thin line and he closed his eyes tightly. He was going to hang out with Jordanna while he got his strength back, but then he was going to face Max and find out where the hell he’d been during the bombing.

And you’d better have a good story, friend,
he thought.
A really damn good one.

In the darkness, Boo’s eyes shot open and he strained to see. There
was
a playground. He knew where it was, and it didn’t matter what Buddy said, it was there.

But it was a long way away. Could he make it there? By walking?

Carefully, he pulled on the worn jeans that he’d dropped over the side of the bed and cinched his belt. Then he ran a hand over his curly hair and grabbed up the shirt he’d wadded and thrown into the corner of the bedroom. It wasn’t really clean. He’d worn it for two days and Buddy sure wanted things clean, but then so did Boo. Still, he didn’t think he could risk opening a drawer and finding something new, so he put the shirt on and padded as silently as he could to the back door and the line of coats and shoes that were there.

He slipped his arms through the jacket sleeves, then hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek in fear. He had to get outside and the door to the carport was pretty creaky. Buddy had asked Boo to put the WD-40 on it, but Boo had forgotten. And he couldn’t put his boots on yet; that’d be for after he got outside . . . but how . . . ?

Boo searched his mind for a plan, but came up empty. That was the problem. Buddy always told him his brain was a bunch of worthless goo, but he said it kind of nice like and rubbed Boo’s head.

Then he remembered the window down in the cellar that was pretty easy to open, though kinda high to get to. If he climbed on a box or two, though, he could get outside and then leave the window open for his return.

It took a long time, but he managed to squeeze out the small window. Buddy would have a lot of trouble doing it, but Boo was lots smaller. When he was clear of the house and out in the night, he looked around. Dark forever and ever. He lifted his nose and sniffed and thought they were in for some rain. Boo was good at forecasting the weather. He was hardly ever wrong.

Which meant he needed to zip up the jacket tight and hold the collar close. Shoulda brought a hat, but he didn’t really mind rain.

Glancing around, he decided to take the little-used track behind the barn and head toward the mountains. There was a way up, but it was hard. He’d been with Buddy to the shelf of land that looked over the valley and across the river to the town with its lights. “Looks like a necklace,” Buddy had said, staring down, and Boo had seen the way the lights curved in at both sides, ’cause that’s how the river ran. The falls were on one end, but you couldn’t really hear them. Too far away. Couldn’t hear the bars where the sinners drank and smoked and fucked. Buddy had told him about that, too, and it had made the hair on Boo’s arms lift and given him an embarrassing flagpole that had made Buddy snicker a little.

Boo really wanted to go up on the shelf now and look down at the town, but it was in the opposite direction of the playground, so he went south and walked and walked, across open fields and over fences toward the trees at the edge of the mountains, and walked some more, until he started crying.

He shouldn’t have come. Buddy was right. There was no playground.

Boo sank down on a stone and put his face in his hands and sobbed. He’d made a mistake again. Just like last time.

But then he heard Buddy’s voice in his ear. “You can’t keep coming back here.”

Boo shot to his feet, electrified. “Buddy!”

When there was no answer, he crashed through the deepening woods, half running, half stumbling upward until he was almost at a level with the shelf but much farther away from town. And suddenly, there it was—the playground—and Buddy was lying on the ground, next to the teeter-totter.

“Knew you couldn’t stay away,” he said sadly.

“I just want to be here.”

“Why?” Buddy asked.

Boo said, “It’s good here.”

“You came a damn long way,” Buddy said, and Boo shrank back a little, ’cause Buddy didn’t swear much.

“Am I in trouble?” Boo asked tearfully.

“Look around.”

Buddy had gotten to his feet and now he gazed across the playground, which wasn’t really all that good in the dark. Boo needed to be here in the daylight. “I’ll come back in the sun.”

“You can’t come back, Boo. You know you can’t come back.”

“Why not?”

“LOOK.”

So, Boo tore his gaze from Buddy’s stern face and gazed across his beloved playground. Except . . .

“What do you see?” Buddy demanded.

“Uh . . .”

“WHAT DO YOU SEE?”

“It’s not my playground,” he said in a small voice, fighting back another surge of tears.

“It’s a cemetery,” Buddy told him harshly.

“But we played in the playground . . .”

“It’s a cemetery, meathead. It’s where I have to put them. They’re not your friends. They’re not here waiting for you to play with them. You understand?”

Boo saw the faintly rounded mounds of dirt. Buddy had been lying beside one of them. A new one. “They’re dead?”

Buddy laid a hand on his shoulder and said in a sad voice, “I know you’ll forget again, but you have to try to remember. They’ve been cursed. Had to give ’em the devil’s mark.”

Boo fought hard not to reach a finger to where he knew his own mark was. “They’re like me,” he said.

“Not like you,” Buddy said sternly.

“They’re my friends.”

“They’re aberrations. Abominations. You stay away from them. You’re better than they are. You’ve been cured.”

Boo stared up at Buddy as a blast of rain poured down, half-blinding him. He wanted to believe him, he really did. But he knew deep in his soul that he was no better, and cold fear gripped him that Buddy would someday have to put him here, too.

Chapter Seven

Jordanna awoke early and checked her phone. 6:00
AM
. She was cold. The blanket she’d thrown over herself hadn’t been able to completely dissipate the chill. Her bare feet hit the wood floor and a cold frisson ran up her leg. She was going to have to get the electricity back on one way or another.

She went upstairs to the bathroom and sluiced her face with cold water, then she fumbled for the hand towel she’d put up yesterday and buried her face in it. After that, she went into her old bedroom, the one she’d shared with Kara, and dug in her bag for a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Faint morning light was piercing the gloom.

Returning to the first floor, she went into the living room and stirred up the embers in the woodstove. She then added more kindling and chunks of fir and oak and worked to get the fire going. Once satisfied it was going to stay lit, she filled a kettle with water, then placed it on the stovetop. She’d brought some instant coffee and tea bags with her, and there was a little bit of cream left in the carton she’d put into a bucket with ice. She was half-proud of herself for bringing in the supplies she had, but she also knew she had to get into Rock Springs and replenish.

And face her father.

She grimaced as she held her hands over the stove, willing its heat to enter her frozen bones. It wasn’t that cold, but she couldn’t seem to scare up any body heat. Guilt? Fear? Dread?

“You always act too rashly,” her father had declared on more than one occasion, long before she’d actually taken out the .22 and proved him right in a spectacular way. “One day, you may pay a heavy price. I don’t want that for you.”

She snorted. Dayton Winters had never given a damn about any of his three daughters, nor had he cared about his wife. He was only interested in Dr. Dayton Winters, pillar of the community, healer to the sick and ailing, father to three undeserving girls. His marriage to one of the Treadwell women, whose genetic line was impure, had been either a moment of pure insanity, or just proof of his inherent goodness and need to care and help those who truly needed him . . . depending on whom you spoke to.

Jordanna believed her father had married her mother purely because she was so downright beautiful. Maybe he hadn’t believed the townspeople’s claims that Treadwells were “fucking crazy,” or maybe he’d just been young and horny enough to not care. From what Jordanna knew of her Treadwell grandparents, which wasn’t much, as they’d both died young, her grandfather had been pretty handy with a gun and had possibly caught young Dayton Winters in the backseat of a Camaro and said it was marriage or the family jewels. Jordanna didn’t have the whole truth of that; however, what she did know was that her father had never lacked for female companionship. Marrying Jennie Markum, the chief of police’s daughter and an RN who worked at the clinic her father had founded, had been a political move, but Jennie was, well, just what the doctor ordered: young, attractive, uncomplicated. And in one fell swoop, he’d ensured there would be no further speculation or investigation by the police about his certain proclivities.

Kara had apparently attended the wedding, but had again left for parts unknown shortly afterward; therefore Jordanna’s information about her father and Rock Springs always tended to be old news.

She dropped a spoonful of coffee crystals into a mug, then poured the tepid water over the top. Couldn’t get it to boiling. Had to get that electricity on, even if they were only here a few days. Of course, the bill would be sent to her father, she supposed, unless she could work out a way to pay online.

She tentatively sipped, making a face at the lukewarm coffee, then heard thumping coming from Dance’s bedroom. Setting the cup down on a side table, she walked down the short hall to the bedroom, surprised when the door banged open and Dance stood braced in the doorway, most of his weight on his right leg.

“I need crutches,” he said.

“Pharmacy is top of my list.”

“Do I smell coffee?”

“Sort of. Instant and not exactly hot.”

“Close enough,” he said.

Jordanna poured him a cup and was going to help him to the couch, but he managed to limp his way to it before sinking down into the cushions. He looked at the neat pile of blankets.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“How’d you?”

Wiggling her hand in a so-so motion, she said, “I’m going to head into town and pick up everything we’re missing.” She pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. “But first I’m calling the electric company and getting us hooked up.”

“Good luck with that.”

She eyed him closely. “You think it’ll be a problem?”

“Well, who owns this house?”

She hesitated. “My father.”

“Yeah, the electric company will probably want him to call and okay it.”

“No.”

“I’m just warning you.”

She eyed him speculatively. “You can call and say you’re him.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Sure it will. I know his Social, birthdate, whatever. You can be him.”

“His name’s Dayton?”

“Dayton Winters,” she said.

“And what’s the power company?”

“Pacific Power.”

“Hand me your phone,” he ordered. “And write that stuff down, so I can just look at it.”

She held out the phone to him, then pulled out one of the small notebooks she used on the job. She flipped to the back pages, where she kept her father’s information, while Dance Googled the power company’s number. He made the call and answered questions easily enough, and without a squawk they accepted that he was Dayton Winters, though they said they would have to send someone out to the property to hook them up as there was apparently some problem with the line. The appointment was for the next morning.

He handed her back the phone and she said, “You’re a good liar.”

“Yeah?” he asked cautiously.

“No, don’t worry. I consider it an asset. I’m not as good at lying, although I’m working at it.”

She saw a flash of white from the brief smile he shot her and had to look away. Yep, the man was too damn attractive. . . too damn attractive.

“All right, I’m leaving for a while. I’ll bring you back breakfast.”

“I’m not all that hungry.”

“I’m still going to bring it back. And we’ve got tuna and peanut butter and bread for sandwiches later. I’ll pick up some more ice and we should be good until the power company gets here.”

Jordanna started to turn away, but he stopped her with, “How long you planning on being here?”

She glanced back at him. “How long are you?”

“Still working that out.”

“Okay.”

“What if . . . this takes longer than either one of us think?”

She paused. “Still working that out,” she responded, then headed for the door that led through the woodshed and the carport beyond.

Jordanna plugged the phone into the car charger as she drove into Rock Springs. It was a twenty-minute drive; the old homestead was out in the sticks, for sure. Jordanna had resented that, too, when she was growing up, but now she found herself feeling differently about its isolation. She’d been so hell-bent on getting out of Dodge when she was a teenager that she hadn’t been able to see one good thing about Rock Springs or the house. Now, she viewed it differently. Not only was it a great place to go to stop the world for a while, but also, she reluctantly allowed, it did have a beauty of its own, a somewhat untamed landscape and a quaint western-themed town that harked back to its Wild West roots. These charms had totally escaped her when she was younger. In her mind, Rock Springs had been backward, unsophisticated, and totally Nowheresville.

The sun was bright and beaming down warmly, expelling the spring chill, as she reached the outskirts of town. She was headed to the diner for a cup of coffee when she saw a blue neon sign that read in script: FOR THE LOVE OF JOE.

“A coffee shop,” she said in wonder. Well, it had been years since she’d been back. Even Rock Springs had apparently been touched by the coffee craze. All she could remember from when she’d lived here was the abundance of churches and taverns.