Blood Brothers Page 0,79

decided in one corner of his brain. Huge eyes that looked black against her white skin, a sharp nose, a wide mouth, sexily full that may have owned its sensuality to collagen injections.

She wasn't shaking, and he didn't sense any fear along with the fury as she stood on a dark road facing down a complete stranger.

"Lady," he said with what he felt was admirable calm, "where the hell did you come from?"

"From that stupid road that looks like all the other stupid roads around here. I looked both damn ways, and you weren't there. Then. How did you...Oh never mind. We didn't die."

"Yay."

With her hands on her hips she turned around to study her car. "I can get out of there, right?"

"Yeah. Then there's the flat tire."

"What flat...Oh for God's sake! You have to change it." She gave the flat tire on the rear of her car an annoyed kick. "It's the least you can do."

Actually, it wasn't. The least he could do was stroll back to his car and wave good-bye. But he appreciated her bitchiness, and preferred it over quivering. "Pop the trunk. I need the spare and the jack."

When she had, and he'd lifted a suitcase out, set it on the ground, he took one look at her spare. And shook his head. "Not your day. Your spare's toast."

"It can't be. What the hell are you talking about?" She shoved him aside, peered in herself by the glow of the trunk light. "Damn her, damn her, damn her. My sister." She whirled away, paced down the shoulder a few feet, then back. "I loaned her my car for a couple of weeks. This is so typical. She ruins a tire, but does she get it fixed, does she even bother to mention it? No."

She pushed her hair back from her face. "I'm not calling a tow truck at this time of night, then sitting in the middle of nowhere. You're just going to have to give me a ride."

"Am I?"

"It's your fault. At least part of it is."

"Which part?"

"I don't know, and I'm too tired, I'm too mad, I'm too lost in this foreign wilderness to give a damn. I need a ride."

"At your service. Where to?"

"Hawkins Hollow."

He smiled, and there was something dark in it. "Handy. I'm heading there myself." He gestured toward his car. "Gage Turner," he added.

She gestured in turn, rather regally, toward her suitcase. "Cybil Kinski." She lifted her eyebrows when she got her first good look at his car. "You have very nice wheels, Mr. Turner."

"Yeah, and they all work."

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

CAL WASN'T PARTICULARLY SURPRISED TO SEE Fox's truck in his driveway, despite the hour. Nor was he particularly surprised when he walked in to see Fox blinking sleepily on the couch in front of the TV, with Lump stretched out and snoring beside him.

On the coffee table were a can of Coke, the last of Cal's barbecue potato chips, and a box of Milk Bones. The remains, he assumed, of a guy-dog party.

"Whatcha doing here?" Fox asked groggily.

"I live here."

"She kick you out?"

"No, she didn't kick me out. I came home." Because they were there, Cal dug into the bag of chips and managed to pull out a handful of crumbs. "How many of those did you give him?"

Fox glanced at the box of dog biscuits. "A couple. Maybe five. What're you so edgy about?"

Cal picked up the Coke and gulped down the couple of warm, flat swallows that were left. "I got a feeling, a...thing. You haven't felt anything tonight?"

"I've had feelings and things pretty much steady the last couple weeks." Fox scrubbed his hands over his face, back into his hair. "But yeah, I got something just before you drove up. I was half asleep, maybe all the way. It was like the wind whooshing down the flue."

"Yeah." Cal walked over to stare out the window. "Have you checked in with your parents lately?"

"I talked to my father today. It's all good with them. Why?"

"If all three of us are direct descendents, then one of your parents is in the line," Cal pointed out.

"I figured that out on my own."

"None of our family was ever affected during the Seven. We were always relieved by that." He turned back. "Maybe relieved enough we didn't really ask why."

"Because we figured it, at least partly, was because they lived outside of town. Except for Bill Turner, and who the hell could tell what was going on with him?"

"My parents and