gorgeous eyes were a dead giveaway.
“What the hell?” she said.
Max grabbed her arm. “Come on!” He glanced behind her, where Chet’s murderers thundered up, just around the corner. “Do you wanna die here or not?”
No, she did not especially want to die there. With no time to consider any other option, she followed Max to his car, idling at the curb, and jumped into the passenger’s seat. He flew into the driver’s side and punched the gas. The car tore away as Val caught a glimpse of Sten and another man round the alleyway’s corner and begin running toward her in a futile attempt to catch up or read the car’s license plate number as it sped out of sight.
Val watched the world fly by through the back window as the car cut left and right down side streets, then merged onto the highway, until she was sure they’d lost her pursuers. She turned back and put her head between her legs for a minute, trying to catch her breath, then stole a glance around Max’s car. It looked average, something a middle-class professional might drive, not a flashy status symbol of a rich playboy. He was trying to blend in, avoid notice from the cops. He’d planned this.
“How did you find me?” Val asked, still short of breath.
“The same way you found Chet.”
For a moment Val didn’t understand what he meant, because what she thought he meant couldn’t be true. “No, I mean how did you know where I’d be at that moment?”
“ I mean , I saw it in a vision of the future.” He glanced at her. “Like you, right?”
Val stared at him, slack-jawed, and her heart began racing again. Was he telling the truth? How could he know otherwise? Could there be others like her, and how had she never encountered any of them until now? What did any of this craziness have to do with Robby’s murder or Norman Barrister or Lester Carressa?
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Max said. “Please don’t throw up in this car. I’m borrowing it from a friend.”
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped. “Just pull over somewhere. I need a drink.”
He exited the highway and drove to a bar with peeling paint and a broken sign, careful to park out of view of the street in case someone was looking for their car. Blue-collar locals filled half the dimly lit tavern as country music crooned from an ancient jukebox in the corner. Max and Val sat at a booth in the corner, away from curious ears. An older waitress with too much eyeliner asked them what they wanted to drink.
“Bud Light,” Max said, keeping his head down so the waitress wouldn’t recognize him from news coverage of his father’s death. Even a day’s worth of stubble and a ball cap covering half his face couldn’t hide the fact that he was an unusually handsome man with a mug that was hard to forget.
Val pushed her wet hair behind her ears and wiped away a smear of mud from her cheekbone. “Shot of tequila, please,” she said. “Actually, make that two shots.”
The waitress nodded and disappeared, leaving Max and Val alone. They sat in silence for a while, studying each other. He looked calm, normal—a ridiculously attractive version of normal anyway. But she looked normal, too, and God what a lie that was. She’d often wondered if people could tell she was off, sensed the oddness in her somehow. Now that she’d met another like her—assuming he spoke the truth—she knew her secret was well hidden. She would never have guessed he was a freak, too.
And what a beautiful freak he was. His light brown eyes with starbursts of green around the pupils raked over her features and made her blush again. Why did he have to stare at her like that? He didn’t make her uncomfortable as much as painfully aware of exactly how many inches apart their bodies were. Her heart still ached for Robby, but she wasn’t blind.
He slipped off his coat, uncovering a Soundgarden T-shirt over exquisitely sculpted biceps, and handed it to her. Val looked at the coat for a
“What the hell?” she said.
Max grabbed her arm. “Come on!” He glanced behind her, where Chet’s murderers thundered up, just around the corner. “Do you wanna die here or not?”
No, she did not especially want to die there. With no time to consider any other option, she followed Max to his car, idling at the curb, and jumped into the passenger’s seat. He flew into the driver’s side and punched the gas. The car tore away as Val caught a glimpse of Sten and another man round the alleyway’s corner and begin running toward her in a futile attempt to catch up or read the car’s license plate number as it sped out of sight.
Val watched the world fly by through the back window as the car cut left and right down side streets, then merged onto the highway, until she was sure they’d lost her pursuers. She turned back and put her head between her legs for a minute, trying to catch her breath, then stole a glance around Max’s car. It looked average, something a middle-class professional might drive, not a flashy status symbol of a rich playboy. He was trying to blend in, avoid notice from the cops. He’d planned this.
“How did you find me?” Val asked, still short of breath.
“The same way you found Chet.”
For a moment Val didn’t understand what he meant, because what she thought he meant couldn’t be true. “No, I mean how did you know where I’d be at that moment?”
“ I mean , I saw it in a vision of the future.” He glanced at her. “Like you, right?”
Val stared at him, slack-jawed, and her heart began racing again. Was he telling the truth? How could he know otherwise? Could there be others like her, and how had she never encountered any of them until now? What did any of this craziness have to do with Robby’s murder or Norman Barrister or Lester Carressa?
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Max said. “Please don’t throw up in this car. I’m borrowing it from a friend.”
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped. “Just pull over somewhere. I need a drink.”
He exited the highway and drove to a bar with peeling paint and a broken sign, careful to park out of view of the street in case someone was looking for their car. Blue-collar locals filled half the dimly lit tavern as country music crooned from an ancient jukebox in the corner. Max and Val sat at a booth in the corner, away from curious ears. An older waitress with too much eyeliner asked them what they wanted to drink.
“Bud Light,” Max said, keeping his head down so the waitress wouldn’t recognize him from news coverage of his father’s death. Even a day’s worth of stubble and a ball cap covering half his face couldn’t hide the fact that he was an unusually handsome man with a mug that was hard to forget.
Val pushed her wet hair behind her ears and wiped away a smear of mud from her cheekbone. “Shot of tequila, please,” she said. “Actually, make that two shots.”
The waitress nodded and disappeared, leaving Max and Val alone. They sat in silence for a while, studying each other. He looked calm, normal—a ridiculously attractive version of normal anyway. But she looked normal, too, and God what a lie that was. She’d often wondered if people could tell she was off, sensed the oddness in her somehow. Now that she’d met another like her—assuming he spoke the truth—she knew her secret was well hidden. She would never have guessed he was a freak, too.
And what a beautiful freak he was. His light brown eyes with starbursts of green around the pupils raked over her features and made her blush again. Why did he have to stare at her like that? He didn’t make her uncomfortable as much as painfully aware of exactly how many inches apart their bodies were. Her heart still ached for Robby, but she wasn’t blind.
He slipped off his coat, uncovering a Soundgarden T-shirt over exquisitely sculpted biceps, and handed it to her. Val looked at the coat for a
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