Wildest Dreams (Thunder Point #9)(25)

“Yeah. I was pretty safe. He’s a dealer, you know. The head thug in the trailer park. He wasn’t going to shoot me—someone would call the police. If it had been anywhere else he might’ve, but not where he does business. Too risky for him.” He looked at Lin Su. “I probably didn’t get everything,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have risked it,” she said. “Thank you, it means the world to me, but you shouldn’t have risked it. What if something worse had happened to you?”

“Worse?” he said.

“You’re hurt. If you like, I could clean that up. You need an ice pack...”

“Nah,” he said, ducking away from her. “I’m fine. Get settled. Have tea. Eat something...”

Then he turned and went down the hall to his room.

* * *

Blake closed his door and turned on the shower, hot. He looked in the mirror and almost jumped back in surprise. His eye was swollen, his chin was cut, a lump was rising on his cheek and his nose had bled. It appeared he’d absently wiped it across his cheek. His shirt was torn in two places. And he’d never been aware of taking a single hit.

He’d blacked out. It had been a long time since that had happened.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember anything. He could be so single-minded, so focused, the only important thing was his mission and survival. It had started when he was a kid—he could force himself to act without thinking. He’d be chased by some hood and he’d run and hide, then he’d catch his breath and realize he was two miles away. He could do that in a race—concentrate so hard on the task at hand he had no memory of the landscape. He’d know where each competitor was and what he had to do. It didn’t happen to him all the time, just when the stakes were high. He gave the credit to his discipline but it was probably more than that. One of his counselors when he was much younger said it was a form of PTSD. As long as he was functional, the therapist wasn’t too worried about it.

He stripped and got into the shower.

He’d been very stupid; he could’ve been hurt. He was always careful; he didn’t even ski. Triathlons were his career and he didn’t take unnecessary risks. But after seeing that destroyed little trailer, after hearing from Charlie what had been taken from Lin Su, after seeing that meth head ducking behind the building, he was utterly driven. He went after them, equal parts revenge and quest to get back that little box. He was incensed. Taking her useless little treasures had been so cruel. Men like them enjoyed being cruel.

Really, he didn’t think any of them had gotten off a shot at him, but his face bore the truth—he’d been hit at least three times. He’d been grabbed hard enough to tear his shirt. He was filthy as though he’d rolled around in the dirt. Maybe that came from scooping up the contents of that broken box? He’d never really know.

He put on a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt and went into the kitchen. The bowl was gone and a dim light from the loft came down the stairs. There was a light over the stove left on. He checked the garage—the door was down.

He got ice for his swollen eye and turned on the TV. He put his feet up and did a little channel surfing, volume low. He hoped Charlie would hear and come downstairs. He’d like an update on how Lin Su was doing.

He didn’t see them again that night.

Six

Lin Su crept around like a thief; she didn’t want to disturb Blake. He’d looked as though he needed sleep. She kept shushing Charlie. She lifted a chair at the kitchen breakfast bar rather than sliding it and warned him to be extra quiet. She didn’t want to avail herself of Blake’s food but there seemed no other option unless she wanted to walk with Charlie to the diner. His first morning at a new school was now awkward enough.

And how did you spend your summer vacation, Charlie?

Well, let’s see, I was chased by drug dealers and landed in the hospital and then my buddy, who is an Ironman by the way, beat them up after they ransacked and vandalized our trailer. He got hurt, but he got back my mother’s little treasures...

“Are you nervous about the school?” she asked in a whisper.

“A little bit,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t expect to have a hard time. I have my schedule. Cell phones have to be off and computers aren’t allowed.”

“Are you allowed to turn the phone on at lunch or anything? To text me that it’s going well?”

“You’re going to have to be very brave and wait for me to come home,” he said. Then he grinned his goofy grin.

She found granola in a canister on the counter and yogurt in the refrigerator. There was fruit in a bowl, blueberries in the fridge. No milk. She mixed granola and fruit with the yogurt for Charlie. Since she was going that far, she decided to help herself to tea and a muffin. She sniffed the tea cans and voilà...he had green tea! She didn’t make a sound as she filled the kettle and got out dishes.

She felt a giggle come to her lips. This Ironman on a training diet with all the überhealthy food didn’t live like any guy she’d ever known, not that there were many. Neat as a pin, all organic, healthy and pristine food... Where were the beer and chips?

“Try not to crunch so loudly,” she whispered to Charlie.

He moved his mouth very slowly, mocking her. How could his chewing wake Blake?

Then she heard footsteps and after just a few of them, Blake appeared coming up the stairs from the basement. He was sweaty, a towel draped around his neck.