Out Of Control. Shannon McKenna

between reality and fantasy. He’d choked down enough reality when he was ten years old to know exactly how it tasted, but just look at him now. All that meditation and detachment were for shit when that hot button was pushed. Pow, he jumped three feet into the air and charged off, cape fluttering, to save the fair maiden from the gigantic squid. Forever trying to rewrite the sad story’s ending.

      Not that he was any goddamn superhero. In fact, he was a calculating bastard. Blatantly working the situation to his advantage.

      But then again, she was free to tell him to fuck off if she pleased. So Margot Vetter needed help with her mysterious problems? Fine.

      Then maybe she could be persuaded to help him with his.

      Chapter

      6

      Blood all over her porch. Spattered over the peeling paint, the windows, the dusty wicker furniture that had been there when she moved in. Her welcome mat was drenched and sticky.

      It was a scene straight out of one of those silly horror flicks she used to love, back before she figured out that life had enough horror in it as it was. She stared down at the puddle, remembering how she used to giggle and squeal with her friends at the Braxton theater, screaming insults and admonitions. Don’t split up, you airheads, someone always croaks when the group splits up! Don’t go down into the creepy cellar, you brain-dead ditz, can’t you hear the freaking music?

      No scary warning music for her. Just birds twittering, tree boughs tossing in the fragrant breeze. Her wind chimes tinkled and clanked. Their hollow, random melody was supposed to be soothing. The lake of blood rendered it grotesque. More horrifying than any splatter flick soundtrack she’d ever heard. No group to split up and pick off, either. Just herself and Mikey, who had called a shaky emergency truce and was huddled behind her ankles, shivering. Mikey would face down ten pit bulls, but he was out of his depth with Snakey, and he knew it.

      She was, too. Scared out of her wits. The only thing to do was run, but her emergency stash of money had all been invested in her fake references, still more blown on celebratory crap like the couch, a pretty dress and frivolous shoes when she’d landed the job. What was left had gone for the vet bills and the kennel. The twenty-three bucks in the freezer would barely fill the tank in her dying car.

      She had a week to wait for her next piddly paychecks from Joe’s Diner and her various gym jobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them. The blood didn’t disappear. Just as well. If she were going bonkers on top of all this, she would be in real trouble.

      That thought sent painful laughter jolting through her. Like this trouble wasn’t real enough. Framed for murder and on the run from the law. Haunted by a grisly assassin with an unknown agenda. Stalked by a bloodthirsty maniac who might or might not be the same guy. The blood smelled meaty and nauseating. Her stomach bucked and rolled.

      Under the circumstances, going bonkers might be a sweet relief.

      She had to run. Just like before, a mad dash from nowhere to nowhere, disaster poised over her like the blade of a guillotine. Ouch. A guillotine was most definitely the wrong image to call up right now.

      Running was the only option left. So why had she called up McCloud at five in the morning and begged him to come over and hold her hand? She was so lame.

      Because he made her feel safe. Because she wanted to see him one last time. Because she wanted to say goodbye.

      The answer to her own question came to her like a sharp bonk on the head, startling tears into her eyes. Yeah, that was it. Saying goodbye to a fantasy. Thanking him for…for what, she wasn’t even sure. For what he might have been to her, if the world had been different.

      What a ninny. One sexually charged moment with a guy, and she was mourning the poignant loss of the love of her life. Puh-leeze.

      So. The plan. Scrape together every penny she could. Work the shift at the diner for the tips. Try, probably in vain, to get that cheapskate Joe to advance her for the days she’d already worked. Same thing at the health clubs. Pawn that goddamn pendant. And then run.

      Jump, and the net will appear, the touchy-feely self-help books said, but she just bet they weren’t talking about clueless outlaws.

      Davy McCloud’s black pickup pulled up at the curb. A funny little sound came out of her throat. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep any more from sneaking out unawares.

      She’d never been so glad to see another human being in her life.

      He bounded up the steps, lightfooted and silent. She sniffed back the soggy mess in her nose and leaned out across the gore, steadying herself by clutching the doorjamb. “Go on around to the back door, or you’ll track this stuff all over the place. It’s still wet.”

      He stared at her blood-spattered porch for a long moment. “Jesus,” he said. His eyes fastened on her face. “You OK?”

      She nodded. It was a huge lie, but she so appreciated his asking she almost started sobbing. She wasn’t OK. She wanted a hug, this instant, and he was too far away, across a lake of blood. “Go around to the back door,” she repeated. “Now. Please. Don’t make me wait.”

      He nodded, and ran back down the steps.

      Margot slapped the door shut and scurried towards the back door. She wrenched the warped door open. He pulled her right into his arms. Her face scrunched, her throat quivered, and she buried her face in the soft fabric of his shirt. He was so warm and solid. He smelled so good. She wanted to crawl into his pocket and just huddle there.

      He grabbed a napkin left on the counter from last night’s Mexican pig-out, cupped her head back and dabbed at her face.

      She snatched it away and honked into it. “Sorry. I’m just—”

      “Shut up.”

      She blinked at him. “Huh? Excuse me?”

      “Stop apologizing. I’m tired of it.” And before she had a chance to get properly pissed at his nerve, he disarmed her by kissing her forehead and folding her back into his arms again. “You call the cops?”

      She didn’t even bother to answer, and he didn’t press the point.

      McCloud pushed her into a chair and set about making coffee. She scooped Mikey into her arms, shut her eyes, and let him do it.

      “Did you see or hear anything this time?” he asked.

      “Like Snakey would make it so easy,” she scoffed. “Of course not. I was dozing. The alarm woke me up at four. And I saw…the blood dripping down the windowpane.” Her teeth started to chatter.

      Davy set a steaming mug of coffee before her. “I hope you drink it black. Couldn’t find any sugar or milk.”

      She tried to smile. “Fine. Thanks.” She took a gulp of coffee just as he laid his hand on her shoulder. Bracing heat and strength poured right into her body. She choked, sputtering. She could not project her needy fantasies onto this guy. She had to get a grip, right now.

      “I know what you’re thinking,” she snapped. “But it’s not true.”

      “Oh, yeah?” He sounded amused. “Tell me what I’m thinking.”

      “I’m not running away from my pimp. I haven’t ripped anybody off. There’s no drug deal gone bad in my past. I don’t owe anybody money. I’m a dull person, leading a dull life. All I do is work.”

      He sat down in the chair across from her and took a swallow of coffee. “It’s nice of you to tell me what’s not happening. But it would be much more useful to know what actually is happening.” He gazed at her over the rim of his cup. Waiting, just as he had last night.

      She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and—

      The phone rang. She leaped up, jostled the table and spilled her coffee over herself. “Oh, crap. Sorry. Excuse me while I get that.” She scurried into the bedroom, pathetically