by Lori Drake
Looking up, he saw Dean and Harper looking down at him. Harper had a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, and Dean’s eyes also glowed with that otherworldly light. Chris picked himself up off the ground, brushing himself off out of habit more than necessity.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“If you do that again,” Dean interrupted. “I’m done. Period. I don’t care how much she’s paying me.” With that, the medium turned and walked away. The screen door banged shut behind him, punctuating his departure.
Chris’s heart sank into his stomach as thoughts of what Dean might tell Joey ran rampant. Fear gripped him, warring with embarrassment, warring with shame.
What have I done?
“Interesting trick,” Harper said, puffing on his stogie. “Dean had a feeling you might have been behind his lost time yesterday. He didn’t understand how, because one of the first things I taught him was how to keep from being possessed. But I guess the normal rules don’t apply to you, do they?”
Chris hung his head, utterly at a loss for what to say in his defense.
Harper seemed to have time to wait. He fished a lighter from his pocket to freshen the ember on his cigar in the meantime.
“I didn’t mean to. The first time, it—it was an accident.” Chris sighed, rubbing his forehead. “And tonight, I just… I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again.”
Harper took a thoughtful pull on his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out again. “Alright, then.”
The older man turned to head back inside. Chris hurried to follow, but when he tried to pass through the doorway he found himself barred by an invisible force. Lifting his hands, he pressed them against it, dread forming a tight knot in his stomach as Harper turned to regard him once more. The other man gave him a long look, then shut the inner door, leaving Chris standing on the porch alone.
So alone.
It was going to be a long night.
21
Joey gazed down at the tiny dog dubiously. The others had barely twitched an ear when she came back inside, but the smallest of them all had hopped down from its perch and run over to sniff Joey’s bare feet. The little dog’s whole backside moved, side to side, as its tail whipped back and forth. Male or female? Joey couldn’t tell. What she was certain of was that the inquisitive thing had been sitting on the chair, not the couch where the rest of the dogs lazed. Together, but apart. She could appreciate that.
Crouching, Joey offered the dog a hand to sniff. It did, sneezing after getting a noseful. Laughing softly, Joey reached further to stroke the little dog’s head. She—Joey decided it must be a she, for she was utterly fearless—writhed with pleasure and flung herself at Joey’s hand, clearly wanting to be petted everywhere at once while trying to lick Joey’s hand for good measure. Her soft tongue lashed out, catching Joey’s wrist.
Joey was still lavishing attention on the little dog when Dean came back inside. The slamming screen door gave her a start. Still crouched, she twisted to face him, barely swallowing a growl. The little dog backed away from her. So much for fearless.
“Sorry,” Dean said, his voice tight as he walked around her. His posture was stiff, visibly tense. It didn’t take a dancer to see it.
“Something wrong?” she asked, rubbing her damp wrist against her jeans as she straightened.
“Yeah, your brother’s an asshole,” Dean grumbled, shooing a few dogs out of the way so he could sit on the couch. They moved long enough for him to settle, then crowded around him again, one even going so far as to sprawl across his lap.
“Chris? What happened?” Joey asked, frowning as she wandered toward him. Asshole wasn’t a term she often heard proscribed to Chris.
Dean’s brows drew together and he studied her in silence for a moment before replying. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
He didn’t want to talk about it later either, but to be fair she didn’t press him hard. He seemed distant, even after Harper retired for the night, like the moment they’d shared on the beach never happened. She was getting ready to bed down for the night when it finally occurred to her why: Chris must have witnessed the kiss. She hoped he hadn’t given Dean too much of an earful.
A thunderstorm rolled in around midnight, lashing the small house with wind and rain. Joey woke at some point to a particularly loud clap of thunder. She had the guest room to herself; Dean was holding down the couch. Heavy raindrops beat a fast staccato on the roof and the wind howled, making it difficult to get back to sleep. If not for the storm, she might have snuck out of the house to go for that moonlight run. She didn’t mind wet fur, but the storm was a little more than she wanted to venture out into on two legs or four so she closed her eyes and let the drumming rain lull her back to sleep.
The next time she woke, muted sunlight streamed through the room’s small, unadorned window. She yawned and stretched languidly, then squinted at the little patch of sky she could see from the bed. It was still gray, and her sharp nose told her that more rain was coming. For now, all was quiet as she rose and pulled her jeans back on so she could venture out of the guest room.
Dean was practically buried under a mountain of tiny fur-covered bodies on the couch—a literal dog pile. The memory of the decidedly steamy kiss they’d shared surfaced, unbidden. That had certainly been an unexpected turn of events. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Now that she’d gotten to know him better, he seemed like a pretty nice guy. Charming, for sure. Distractingly so. Maybe a distraction was just what she needed. Being in his arms had felt… really good, actually.
Realizing she was staring, she got ahold of herself and padded in the direction of the bathroom. When she came back out she found him awake and upright, having displaced his furry blanket somewhat. Dogs still crowded his lap. The little brown and white one came to greet her again, nails clicking on the tile floor and tail wagging enthusiastically.
She flashed Dean a smile as she crouched down to offer the pup a hand. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he said, yawning widely. “What time is it?”
“Six-ish. Sorry if I woke you.” She straightened and wandered closer to the couch, where he was trying to lean around the remaining dogs in his lap to reach his phone. Chuckling, she plucked it from the coffee table and offered it to him.
“Eh. It’s fine. Thanks,” he said, taking the phone from her and proceeding to do a one-handed message check while fending off a dog trying to climb his chest and lick his face.
“When do you want to head back to civilization?” she asked, perching on the arm of the couch next to him.
“After breakfast? Might be a while before we get another chance to eat.”
Nodding, she lingered for a minute or so, listening to the rain as it started up again.
“We should probably talk about last night…”
Dean emitted a distracted ‘hm?’ and looked up from his phone. “Oh, don’t worry about it.”
Joey blinked. “Don’t… worry about it?”
“Yeah, we’re cool.” He smiled and gave her leg a pat, then extracted himself from the dogs and got to his feet. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”
“Okay,” Joey said, distracted by the warm tingle that lingered in the wake of his casual touch. She had to bite her tongue to keep from offering to help. Once the door closed behind him, she rose and wandered back into the guest room to make the bed. As she worked, another rumble of thunder drew her eyes upward. Wind began to buffet the house again, whistling among the roof tiles. Maybe staying the night hadn’t been the best idea, if it meant riding back in the rain.
By the time Dean emerged from the bathroom, she’d migrated into the kitchen in search of coffee. She was trying to puzzle out how Harper’s archaic coffee contraption worked when Dean came into the room, rubbing his damp curls with a towel. Joey glanced at him briefly, then did a double-take when she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“Um, hi there,” she said, smiling. He smiled back.
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“Need some help with that?” He wasn’t ripped, per se, but clearly did spend at least a little time at the gym. His lightly toned physique was worth admiring, but she did it as discreetly as possible.
Down, girl.
“Sure,” she replied, pretending for a moment that she wasn’t a capable, independent woman who didn’t need a man to tutor her in coffee-making. Except when she did.
He draped the towel around his neck and bellied up to the counter beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare torso. She slid the coffee pot toward him and watched—only a little distractedly—as he filled the tin pot with water and added a few scoops of coffee to the basket housed inside.
“Looks simple enough,” she commented.
“That’s how Harper likes things. Simple.” He fit the lid on the pot, then stepped around Joey to put it on the stove.
“You warned me that Harper’s a technophobe, but I didn’t realize quite how far that went.” Looking around the kitchen, the only appliance she saw besides the stove was an old toaster. She’d noticed the previous night that he didn’t have a television or a radio, much less a computer.
Dean chuckled and went back to rubbing his hair with the towel once the burner was lit. “Sad state of affairs when the man doesn’t even have a basic coffee machine, isn’t it?”
Joey snorted. “Seriously primitive. Must’ve been hell while you lived down here. How long did you study with Harper?”
“About a year,” he said. “My mom was convinced I’d joined a cartel or something. It’s not like I could tell her what I was really doing.”
“Well, at least she left you to it. If it’d been me, my mother probably would have sent one—or all—of my brothers down here to fetch me. Actually, she still might.” Joey reached for her phone, realizing she’d barely touched it the previous day. There had just been so much going on, with the sudden trip to Mexico and all.
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Four. Er, three. You?” She asked, eyes still on her phone. No voicemail, but she did have a few texts from Sam. Part of her wanted to let him stew a bit longer, but she figured she should reply so her mother didn’t flip her lid.
“Only child,” he replied, walking over to the kitchen table. “They keep pretty close tabs on you? Your family.”
“Things are a little volatile right now. They’re not usually quite so clingy.” Tucking her phone away after sending Sam proof of life, she looked up in time to see Dean grab his shirt from where it’d been draped over the back of a chair. He hung his towel where the shirt had been and pulled the shirt on, covering up all the yumminess. She swallowed a wistful sigh.
“So, should we talk about the plan?” Dean asked, sitting at the table.
Joey joined him, claiming the chair beside his. “What about it?”
“For starters, where are we meeting Emma?”
“We?” Her brows inched upward. “You want to go?”
“Yeah. I mean, I figured I would. I’m the only one that can talk to Chris.”
“It could be dangerous. Emma said there’s a possibility that the spell might tip Tasha off that we’re on to her. I’m not sure how a confrontation with her will go down.”
His expression turned thoughtful and he paused a moment before asking, “Do you have a gun?”
Joey shook her head.
“Harper does. He might let me borrow it.”
“Is it a musket?” A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He laughed and shook his head. “No, it’s not a musket.”
“Do you think it’ll do us any good against a spell-slinging witch?”
“Hard to say. Never met anyone who could stop a bullet, but I’m honestly not sure how much of a disadvantage a witch is at, bringing a magic knife to a gun fight.”
Joey chuckled. “Good point, but we might have trouble getting a gun across the border. I don’t know what sort of paperwork is required for that, but we don’t have any and we’d be up shit creek if they decided to search us.”
“Fair point.”
Joey nibbled her lower lip, glancing over at him again. “I’m still not sure you coming is a good idea.”
“I’m not sure anything about this plan qualifies as a good idea.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes. “But if you want to come, fine. I’m not your keeper.”
He nodded, as if that decided everything. “How far out is Emma?”
“Three hours, give or take.”
“It might take us that long to get back,” he said, glancing out the window as a heavy rumble of thunder rolled overhead.
“Should we wait for the storm to clear? We don’t have any rain gear,” she observed, with a thoughtful frown.
“I’ll check and see if it’s going to clear anytime soon. If not, we’re just going to have to tough it out. The sooner we get this done, the better. Right?”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve got a leather jacket,” she said, chuckling.
“You can wear it,” he offered without hesitation.
Joey shook her head and lifted her chin. “I’ll be fine, I’m not going to melt.”
“Would you rather wear a trash bag? That could be arranged.”
She elbowed him and he grinned, lifting a hand reflexively to fend her off. His warm hand cupped her arm briefly and their eyes met. She leaned toward him, inviting more, but the percolator’s shrill whistle interrupted the moment. Joey all but leapt to her feet in her haste to silence it.
Harper wandered in not long afterward. He started breakfast while Joey called Emma to discuss the timeline and Dean checked the weather on his phone.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Dean said, after Joey hung up.
“Good news first,” Joey decided. Not that he’d asked, but it seemed implied.
“The good news is that it’s not raining in San Diego. The bad news is that it will be soon and it’s not letting up here anytime soon.”
They said goodbye to Harper and his furry retinue on the front porch after breakfast.
“Thanks for your help,” Joey said, enduring another round of gallant hand-kissing.
“You’re most welcome, Miss Grant. Good luck, and try not to get my boy in too much trouble, eh?” His insightful blue eyes looked past her to Dean, who wheeled the bike toward the porch.
“I’ll do my best, but I’m starting to feel like trouble is my middle name.”
He threw back his head and laughed while Joey headed off to join Dean. The heavy rain had abated into a few light sprinkles, but the sky overhead was dark grey and distant thunder rumbled, getting closer. Approaching the bike, Joey realized that she’d been focused on the notion of rain falling on them while they rode. It hadn’t occurred to her that the bike would be soaking wet before they even climbed on. It seemed she was going to get well and truly drenched.
“Last chance for the jacket,” Dean said, climbing into the saddle. “It’s gonna get pretty wet and cold on the way back.”
Joey hesitated, then sighed. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, and waited while he removed the garment and offered it to her. She thanked him, put it on and zipped up. It was comically large on her, but it smelled distinctly Dean-like—a not unpleasant smell. He handed her the sky blue helmet next, and she poured water out of it before putting it on. The lingering moisture inside was cold against her scalp and dripped down her neck, making her shiver as she settled behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him.
The ride back to San Diego wasn’t nearly as fun, or fast, as the one down to Harper’s place had been. For one, there was the rain. They had to stop on the side of the road a few times because visibility was just that bad. All they could do was sit there in the rain, waiting for it to lighten up enough to keep going. When they finally got to the border, they had to sit in a long line of vehicles awaiting inspection and approval while the rain continued to pelt them. Fortunately, once it was their turn
they were waved through fairly quickly. After all, it’s hard to smuggle illegals on a motorcycle. Drugs were another matter, but they didn’t have any bags with them so that made it less likely. Not impossible, but less likely. A cavity search would have been a great cap on a shitty ride, but fortunately it didn’t come to that.
It was nearly two o’clock by the time they pulled into the parking lot at Joey’s apartment complex. They had less than an hour before they were supposed to meet up with Emma and Cheryl, just enough time for hot showers and changes of clothes. Maybe even a cup of coffee. That last thought lifted Joey’s dampened spirits as she slogged up the stairs with Dean at her back. Her shoes squished with every step.
Inside, the apartment appeared to be just as she’d left it. She stood dripping on the tiled entry for a few moments while Dean crowded in behind her, then moved aside to give her some space.
“Shoes,” she admonished.
He halted mid-step, then bent to remove his wet, muddy boots, leaving them on the tile before stepping onto the cream-colored carpet in his socks.
“I don’t suppose you have anything I could change into,” he said, removing his helmet and placing it by his boots.
Joey closed the door and followed suit, removing her own helmet and kicking off her shoes. Then she went a step further, peeling off her soggy socks. “Yeah, you should be able to wear something of Chris’s,” she answered, sweeping her eyes over his frame. He was a bit broader in the shoulders and taller than Chris had been, but she thought she could probably scare something up. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” She motioned in that direction. “There are towels and stuff. Help yourself while I find you something.”
Dean nodded and started down the hall, peeling off his shirt. This time, Joey was too wet and tired to even think about admiring the view.
She hung Dean’s coat by the door to drip onto the tile. His scent clung to her as she headed down the hall, ducked into her room, and quickly changed into dry clothes. She was across the hall raiding Chris’s dresser when a knock on the front door interrupted her search; she grabbed a pair of socks to go with the shirt and pants she’d already selected and headed for the door. The shower was running, so clearly Dean didn’t need them right this moment.