Low Pressure (16 page)

He’d especially enjoyed getting into her car and rubbing his hands over the leather seat still warm from her ass. That had almost been as good as sifting through the panties in her bureau drawer.

But while these small violations had been fun, he was ready to get on with it. He could practically hear Allen whispering in his ear, “Strike while the iron is hot,” and Ray always heeded Allen’s advice.

That strutting pilot was another reason to move things along. Ray would have given one of his tattoos—except for the snake—to see Dent Carter’s face when he saw what had been done to his airplane. He would have gone ballistic. Ray wasn’t afraid of him. Hell, no. But he was an additional complication that must be taken into account.

Ray had been keeping an eye on her house all morning, and sure enough, when she returned, Dent had been with her. Police had come and gone, but Ray wasn’t too worried on that score. While inside her house, he’d been very careful. Besides, he didn’t have a police record. He’d never been fingerprinted.

In fact, outside of his workplace, few people even knew he was alive. It wasn’t like he had a large circle of friends. He went to work. He came home. He worked out there with his own set of weights. If he went out, to a diner, to the movies, he went alone. If he felt like talking to someone, he pretended Allen was there, listening, laughing, giving him advice.

He’d continued to watch Bellamy’s house while the hours ticked by. Ray wondered what they were doing in there. Cleaning up the mess he’d made, or something more fun? Dent-the-superstud was probably after a piece of baby sister’s snatch, wanted to see how she compared to the other one.

What really had gotten to him, though, was their little stroll to the park. They’d looked so carefree, when they should have felt his threat, sensed his lurking, even if they hadn’t seen him.

Swinging, for godsake. Like a couple of kids without a worry in the world. Heads together. What had they been whispering about? What a sucker Allen Strickland had been? It made Ray’s blood boil.

He wanted vengeance for Allen, and he wanted it now. No more pussyfooting around. He was a man of action. Jean-Claude Van Damme wouldn’t wait around. Vin Diesel wouldn’t put off till tomorrow what should be done today.

He stuffed the remainder of the burrito into his mouth, balled up the wrapper and tossed it to the floorboard of his truck, then sucked half his Big Gulp through the plastic straw.

He was about to start his truck when his cell phone rang. His boss, calling again. This made about the tenth time today he’d tried to reach him, but Ray had ignored the calls because he knew why the guy was calling. He wanted to know why Ray hadn’t been on the job for the third day in a row.

Because Ray Strickland had more important things to do, that was why. He didn’t have to answer to anybody. He made his own decisions.

He picked up the phone, said, “Fuck you,” to the caller ID, then switched it over to vibrate so it wouldn’t bug him anymore.

He cranked on the truck, peeled out of the 7-Eleven parking lot, and headed back toward the neighborhood he’d recently left. He made two circuits around the park. They were no longer there. He drove toward her house, propelled by blood lust, no particular plan in mind except to stop Bellamy Price from breathing. Getting that asshole Denton Carter at the same time would be a bonus. Extra points. Allen would be tickled pink.

But as Ray turned onto Bellamy’s block, the Vette streaked past him in a blur of crimson.

All Ray had time to note was that there were two people inside it.

He gunned his truck and made a U-turn at his earliest opportunity. But his pickup couldn’t match the Vette for speed and maneuverability. By the time Ray was headed in the right direction, the Vette had vanished.

As soon as the flight went airborne, Bellamy said to Dent, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“First class?”

“The trip.”

“We’ll get there in time to have some dinner, get a good night’s sleep, see your brother first thing tomorrow, come back. Less than twenty-four hours.”

“During which I’ll be out of pocket. I’m afraid Daddy will take a turn.”

“If you get a call, we’ll charter a jet back.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You can afford it. You’re rich and getting richer.”

She said nothing to that. “But not telling them that we’re going feels devious.”

She had called Olivia en route to the Austin airport and had spoken to her father as well. Both had assured her that he was comfortable, that the drugs were working to curb the side effects of the most recent chemotherapy, and that for the time being he was holding his own. Even so, his oncologist had urged him to remain hospitalized so he could be closely monitored.

“I agree that’s best,” Bellamy had told her dad. “But I miss you.”

“Miss you, too, sweetheart. I’ve become accustomed to seeing you nearly every day.”

Although he had put up a brave front, he’d sounded feeble, which had only intensified her guilty feelings for leaving Austin without notifying them of her trip to go and see Steven.

With Dent setting the pace, they had practically jogged from the park back to her house, where he’d allotted her only five minutes to toss a change of clothing and some toiletries into a bag before hustling her out to his car.

He wove through Austin’s insane traffic at seventy miles an hour, which would have left her breathless with fright had she not been navigating the airline’s equally maddening telephone reservation lines.

The security check line had never been so long or slow moving. They made it to the boarding gate with only minutes to spare. Bellamy insisted on sitting on the aisle, telling Dent she didn’t like the window. He’d said God forbid that she look out and spot a cloud.

They’d been bickering ever since. Now she said, “You didn’t even give me time to think about it.”

“If you’d thought about it, you wouldn’t have come.” He looked around the first-class cabin. “Where’s the flight attendant?”

“The seat belt sign hasn’t been turned off yet.” She spoke absently because her mind was elsewhere. “The man in the pickup—”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Neither did I. You were driving too fast. All I caught was a glimpse of his tattooed arm, which was propped in the open driver’s window.” She paused, then said, “It could have been a coincidence that he was going in the direction of my house.”

“It could have been.”

“But you don’t think it was.”

“Put that truck in some areas around Austin, and it would fit right in. In your neighborhood, in the municipal park . . .” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. What was a guy like that doing cruising the streets of white-bread suburbia? Looking for his lost pit bull?”

Anything else they said would’ve been speculative, so there was no point in discussing it further. Besides, Dent’s fidgeting had become annoying. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Then . . . Oh.” Suddenly she realized why he was so restless. “You dislike being a passenger. You want to be piloting the plane.”

“Damn right.”

“Are you still qualified?”

“Qualified, yes. But no longer licensed for this size jet. I’d have to be retyped.”

“But you could fly it.”

“In a heartbeat.”

“You sound confident.”

“You don’t want to fly with a pilot who isn’t.”

“I don’t want to fly with one who’s overconfident, either.”

He held her gaze for several beats. “Something on your mind, A.k.a.?”

She wanted to ask him about the incident that had cost him his career in commercial flying, but his hard expression caused her to shy away. “The attendant is up now.”

“About freaking time.”

When she reached their aisle, she smiled down at Bellamy. “It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Ms. Price. I loved your book.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on a book tour?”

“No, I’m taking some time off.”

“Don’t make us wait too long for the next book. Something to drink?”

“Diet Coke, please.”

The attendant reached across her to set two cocktail napkins on the armrest between her and Dent. “And for you, sir? Something stronger?”

“You read my mind.”

“I’m good at that.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he said, giving her a slow grin. “Bourbon on the rocks.”

“That would have been my first guess.”

“Make it a double.”

“That would’ve been my second guess,” she said with cheekiness, then pulled back and started up the aisle toward the galley.

Bellamy gave him an arch look.

He said, “If I can’t work the kite strings, I’d just as well drink.”

“It’s not that. It’s . . .” She looked after the shapely attendant as she made her way forward toward the galley. “It’s always been easy for you, hasn’t it?”

Catching her drift, he said, “Flirting? It would be easy for you, too, if you’d let it be.”

“Never. I’m not equipped.”

He slid a glance over her. “Your equipment is fine. Better than fine. But you’ve got this TFR posted—”

“TFR?”

“Temporary flight restriction posted around yourself that defies anyone to breach your airspace.” He turned slightly in his seat to study her better. “Why the barrier?”

“Just my nature, I suppose.”

“Try again.”

“Okay, blame the gene pool.”

“Meaning?”

“Susan inherited all the ‘it factor’ genes. When I came along, there were no more left.”

“You’re full of crap. Want to know what I think?”

“Actually, no.”

“I think your ex is to blame.”

The flight attendant returned with their drinks before Bellamy had a chance to respond. Dent absently thanked her for the drinks, but his attention stayed fixed on Bellamy, who was made uneasy by his scrutiny. She poured her cola into the glass of ice and took a sip. Finally, because he didn’t relent, she turned to face him. “You’re dying to know?”

“Hmm.”

“He was an up-and-coming electronics engineer in our company. Brilliant. Innovative. Hardworking. Handsome in his own way.”

“Otherwise known as ugly.”

“Average good looks.”

“If you say so.”

“We began going out together after business meetings, first with a group, then by ourselves, and that evolved into actual dating. Olivia and Daddy approved of him one hundred percent. He was pleasant company, he was a gentleman, he was easygoing in any given situation. We got along beautifully. We became engaged at Christmas and were married in June. Lovely wedding with all the trimmings.” She glanced down at the armrest. “Your ice is melting.”

He hadn’t seemed to notice until she’d called his attention to it. Picking up both the small bottles of bourbon, she emptied them into his glass.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She sipped her Coke. He sipped his drink.

Eventually he said, “If that’s the end of the story, then you’re still married to this pleasant, hardworking, brilliant electronics engineer who sounds as boring as hell to me. So does your marriage.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Things rocked along nicely for a couple of years. We were compatible. We never fought.” She smiled wanly. “In hindsight, maybe we should have. We weren’t
un
happy.”

“Just?”

“Just that there seemed nothing much to look forward to except years of sameness.”

“Monotony.”

“I thought a child might help to—”

“Break up the boredom.”

“Create a newer, stronger bond between us. He agreed. In fact, he loved the idea of a child. We worked on it, and two months later were rewarded by a dual pink stripe on the home pregnancy test.”

She picked up her glass and rattled the ice, but didn’t drink from it. “Olivia and Daddy were over the moon. They wanted a grandchild so badly. Everyone was excited. We were discussing motifs for the nursery, considering names. Then—” After a significant pause, she said, “In the tenth week, I miscarried.”

She was staring into her glass of cola but could feel Dent staring at her. Finally she looked up at him and shrugged. “That was the end of it. I got a D and C. My husband got a girlfriend.”

D
ale Moody glowered suspiciously at his ringing cell phone and debated whether he could be bothered to answer it. After three rings he checked the caller ID. Haymaker. Who had recently warned him that Rupe Collier was on his tail.

Ordinarily it was months between his and Haymaker’s telephone visits. It didn’t bode well that he was calling again so soon.

He answered. “What’s up, Hay?”

“Rupe Collier came sniffing again.”

“When?”

“This afternoon. And this time he didn’t phone. He pulled up into my driveway while I was out watering the yard. No way I could avoid him. His hair’s thinning. You can’t tell it on TV.”

“What did he want?”

“Same as before. You. Says it’s real important—
vital
was the word he used—that he talks to you before tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“You ever hear of
EyeSpy
?”

“The kids’ game?”