Lucky
Chapter Eight
Before I even open my eyes, I know she’s gone.
Olivia’s side of the bed is cold, with no warmth left. She’s been gone for hours. I curse myself for being such a heavy sleeper. I got into the habit of being able to sleep anywhere, anyplace in the field.
I lie there a while anyway, listening to the birds out on the strip and the tick of the water heater, refusing to believe it.
Her scent is still all over my pillow; green and clean, like rain on cut grass.
Yesterday keeps coming back to me in pieces; the sound she made when I lifted her onto the counter, the softness of her thighs under my hands, the way she kissed her way down the whole ruined side of my body like it was nothing to be scared of.
My cock stirs at the memory and I want to punch myself.
Then I get up and check properly to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.
The morning light is coming in, bright sunshine but with clouds rolling in. Her bag isn't by the door and her boots are gone from under the chair. Laptop gone off the counter, coat gone from the hook. I try her number and it goes straight to voicemail.
The ice pack is back in the freezer. That's the one that gets me; she iced her ankle and put the pack away, then left. It must still hurt for her to do that.
There's a piece of paper on the counter, next to my coffee can of screws.
One word on it, in blue ballpoint, in looping handwriting. Small and slanting hard to the right, it’s the writing of a woman who takes notes at speed.
Luke.
That's it. I turn it over, holding it up to the window like some secret message is going to show through the paper. I stand in my kitchen clutching it as the heating clicks on, then get dressed and head downstairs.
The prospect’s still asleep in his car at the bottom of the outside staircase with his mouth open and the windshield fogged.
Will’s twenty-two years old, skinny as a rake, with a buzzcut he's growing out to look older. He’s wearing a prospect patch on a cut two sizes too big for him because it used to belong to somebody wider.
Prez put him on those stairs because the kid would walk through fire to be useful, but he’s too green.
He'd have sat up all night if he thought anybody was coming from outside.
The lot is empty where Savage’s truck was parked.
Damn it. With everything else I’m worried about, she’s driving Savage’s deathtrap of a truck.
I knock on the glass and Will comes up out of that seat like he's been shot at.
“Truck's gone,” I tell him.
He looks at the empty gravel, then back at me, his eyes popping. Every bit of color goes out of his face. Then he’s got his door open and both feet on the ground before he's properly awake.
“Lucky, I swear on my life, I never shut my eyes for more than…”
“Move over. I’m driving.”
High Vale's barely up when we drive through. Marvin's has its lights on and a delivery van outside with the back doors open. Marvin, the owner, is out on the step in an apron, hosing something off the concrete. He raises a hand at me and I give him a slow wave, but don't slow down.
The Saloon smells like there was a party last night.
Beer, woodsmoke and floor polish. Half the chairs are still up on the tables.
Savage is lying on the floor on his back, Harley the cat curled up on his stomach.
Some kindly soul has put a rolled up towel under his head, probably Bethany.
She’s in the corner, tapping at her laptop.
Savage takes the news of his truck badly.
“You’re tellin’ me she stole my Sheila.”
“Yep.”
“Your new girl stole my fucking truck.” He gently removes the cat from his belly, sits up, and a beer bottle rolls out from under his leg.
“Savage.”
He’s shaking his head, his face is a strange mix of fury and amusement. “I'm impressed. Where were the keys?”
“Hook by my door.”
He sits down on a barstool, which creaks. “So she went and lifted them off a hook in your kitchen… with a busted ankle, while you were lying six feet away asleep. Then drove away without waking Will up?”
“Yes.”
“Brother.” He shakes his head in wonder. “She’s a pro. And you are in big trouble.”
Bethany gestures for me to come over. Her hand is resting on the swell of her belly as she types.
“There's a transfer off Olivia’s machine overnight,” she says, without looking up. “Big one. Her whole working folder, out to a server that belongs to that magazine.”
The floor feels like it’s tipping underneath me.
“How do you know?”
“Prez asked me to hack her laptop when I repaired it. Just in case.” She gives me an apologetic grin. “He’s in the office, if you want to talk to him.”
The back room smells of paper and old cigarettes. There's a big desk which Striker and Prez share, a filing cabinet with a dent in the side, and a wall of photographs going back years from the club.
Prez shuts the door and stays standing.
“You need to tell me the truth, brother. Did you tell her what you are?”
“Yes.”
“After I said not to.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Lucky. I know you’re half in love with her already, but how did you let your cock replace your brain?”
“We can trust her, Prez.”
“What I said to you was that we don't know how deep she's in with Rotmere. Maybe she’s lying, maybe she’s not.” He leans forward on both hands. “How long have you known her? Not long enough to make an informed decision, that’s how long.”
There's nothing to say to that.
“You want to know what it costs? Say that story runs.” His voice stays level, which is worse than him shouting at me.
“Rotmere reads it and works out which pilot's been fooling them all this time. They’ll try and bury you in a hole in the forest inside the week. We’ll lose people trying to protect you. ”
“I know.”
“And those women we think they’re holding?” He straightens up. “The day it prints, they move every one of them somewhere we will never find them. Doc's two years of work are up in smoke and the whole thing starts again.”
I take off my cut and lay it on the desk.
Prez looks at it for a long moment. Outside, somebody starts a bike in the lot and lets it idle.
“No, Lucky. You put that back on.”
“Prez.”
“Pick it up.” He shoves it back across the desk at me. “You're still my brother, you still fly for me. You made a mistake, now you make it right.”
Hawk finds me out by the fence at the back of the lot. It’s a spot where the gravel gives up and the grass runs up into the forest. Birds congregate around the little fountain Bethany put out here.
My brother doesn't say anything for a while. He leans on the rail with his shoulder close to mine. He’s a grumpy bastard, but he’s always got my back. He’s been right by my side since we were kids; every time one of us had broken something that couldn't be fixed, the other would stand by his side.
The wind's coming down off the ridge with a cold edge on it that means rain.
“Heard you’ve been stood out here a long time,” he says.
“Yep.”
“She call you back?”
“Nope.”
He looks out at the mountains. “You think she’s going to publish her story?”
I turn my head and shrug. “The other thing it could be is that something's happened to her out there and I don’t know where she is. And I'd rather she be the villain than that.”
The wind moves the long grass down by the fence line. He pushes off the rail and claps me on the back of the neck. “Eat something. You're no use to her like this.”
To her.
I go back to the apartment after an hour because there's nowhere else to go, and it's worse than I expected. My shirt's on a chair where she pulled it off over her head, and I pick it up and breathe in her scent.
I take the paper out of my shirt pocket, put it on the counter, and sit down staring at it.
Luke.
She wrote my name and then she stopped. Ran out of time? Or did she run out of nerve?
I can’t decide what’s worse.