Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(71)

"I can hardly hear you, dude," Sean complained. "Speak up."

"I'm on the road. Erin's sleeping, and I don't want to wake her. Tell me what you've got."

Sean grunted. "Well, I checked out the babe lair, and you know what? Most of them actually were pretty damn cute. They couldn't tell me much about Billy the Fuckhead, though, except how loaded and hunkadelic he is, and that Jag just makes them all come. No surname, place of origin, occupation, or details of any kind. But I've spent the afternoon tracking down the Vicious Rumors, and—"

"The what?"

"Cindy's band," Sean explained. "She plays sax in an R&B bar band. She's a music major, you know. They tell me she's not half bad, either. Anyhow, I bought a pitcher of beer and a platter of wings for the lead guitarist and the drummer. They told me that this guy Billy got them some gigs in various roadhouses over the past couple of months. He's some kind of agent, or so he told them. He strung them along with big talk about record deals, national tours, and shit like that, but nothing ever came of it but a few sleazy gigs for thirty bucks a head in some roadhouse dives. Then he lost interest in them and sort of sucked Cindy up into his wake. She hasn't rehearsed with the Rumors for over a month. They're worried about her, too. They don't like the Fuckhead. And they want Cindy back."

"Surname? License number? Anything? If they worked for him they must have paperwork, right?"

"Nah. It was all cash under the table, and the cell phone number they had for him no longer works. He called himself Billy Vega, but Davy hasn't uncovered anything under that name yet. It's an alias."

"Shit," he muttered.

"But don't despair. They told me that the Vicious Rumors soundman had a big, sloppy crush on Cindy. Ever since she ran off, he's been hiding out in his parents' basement, nursing his broken heart watching his X-Files videos and drinking Jolt."

"Ouch." Connor winced. "That's bad."

"Yeah, love hurts. I'm on my way right now to roust the sound man out of his basement. We'll see if jealousy made him notice anything special about this guy. And I've got a list of all the roadhouses where Billy got gigs for the Rumors. That's my plan for the evening. Country music, cheap beer, and secondhand smoke. What a glittering life I lead."

"Great. Carry on. And thanks. I owe you one, Sean."

"You're gonna pay up, too. When we get this business straightened out, you're gonna make me some of your special chili, like you used to. Maybe not just once. This counts for three times."

Connor hesitated. "Uh, it's been two years. I don't even know if I remember how."

"Tough shit. Start practicing, because that's my fee. You do the chili, I bring the beer, the chips, and the pepper jack cheese."

Connor grinned into the dark. "Deal. I'll dig out my chili recipe. And Sean? You know what? You're a good guy."

Sean snorted. "Tell that to some of my ex-girlfriends. Oh, and speaking of which. Did you get laid last night?"

Connor let several seconds tick by. "You cannot even imagine how off-limits that is as a conversational topic," he said softly.

Sean gasped. "Really? Hot damn! So this is serious, huh?"

"Serious as death," Connor replied. "Don't touch it."

"Oh boy. I've got the shivers," Sean moaned. "What did she do to you, man? Did she—"

"I'll call you tomorrow, Sean."

He clicked the phone shut, dropped it into his pocket, and glanced over to make sure Erin was still asleep. Her eyelashes were dark fans against her cheek. Twilight had leached all the color out of the car, but he had already memorized her colors, the soft golden tints and faint blushes and glossy deep hues of eyes and hair. Her blouse had come untucked. Buttons gaped over her sweet, sexy tits, showing a tantalizing glimpse of the white cotton bra. He wanted to buy her expensive lingerie made out of sheer, fluttering silks and laces. Things that hung together with delicate straps and hooks and snaps. He wanted to watch her put them all on, scrap by diaphanous scrap.

Then he wanted to immediately rip them off her again.

A shiny black Ford Explorer passed him, not for the first time. A cold, tingling thrill of recognition raced through him. That Explorer had been one of the cars he had taken note of when they'd pulled into the restaurant parking lot, but he'd been so focused on Erin when they came out that he had forgotten to monitor the cars again.

They'd been in that restaurant for a half an hour. They'd sat in the parking lot for an hour and twenty minutes more. Any car that had been there when they arrived should have damn well moved on long before they left. His gut was cold, and his neck was prickling. He stepped on the gas, pulled up closer to the Explorer, and checked the plate.

Sure enough, it was the very one. Brand new, black and shiny as if it had just been licked clean. Just the driver, no passengers. He eased off the gas, let it pull ahead. There was an exit in a couple of miles. He put on his turn signal and got into the exit lane, to see how it behaved.

The Explorer swerved abruptly into the exit lane ahead of him. It slowed down until he was riding its bumper, then slowed down even more. Fifty-five… fifty… forty-five… thirty-eight… Jesus.

The Explorer swerved suddenly back to the other lane. Connor pulled up alongside, and glanced at it.