Edge Of Midnight (The Mccloud Series Book 4)

by Shannon McKenna

  Right. Like he was ever going to found a dynasty. With who? A dance club fuckbunny? Someone like Stacey or Kendra?

  Besides, Davy and Con were always on his case about his short attention span. The way they talked, he’d be liable to forget his own kid in a basket on the top of the car and drive off onto the express-way. He ought to do his hypothetical kids a favor. Give fatherhood a wide miss.

  His two brothers had the preservation of the species well under control. He should probably just go to the doctor and snippity snip himself right out of the gene pool. Make it a non-issue, forever.

  For some reason, the idea depressed the living shit out of him.

  Chapter 6

  From: witchywoman Bware: hi is anybody out there Miles checked the message he’d sent out, in the dialog box in the chat room. No bites yet. He turned to his other computers. He was futzing around in several chat rooms, using different characters and e-mail idents. Nobody interesting had come by, but it was early yet.

  He still marveled that he could dick around in cyberspace and actually get paid for it. He was racking up the billable hours as a cyber-consultant in Con’s Geek Eater investigation, pimping his various fantasy personas in chat rooms where nerds and geeks hung out.

  Mina, aka witchywoman Bware, was his most succesful lure so far. She got lots of attention. He was hoping for a hit from Mindmeld tonight. He’d been the only one who’d wheedled Mina into a private u2u room and asked about her childhood, under the guise of wanting to know her better. Miles had spoon fed him Mina’s hard luck story in a self-deprecating tone that he was proud of; junkie mom, deadbeat dad, raised by grandma, but Gran was dead, sniff sniff…going to college because of Gran’s inheritance…etc, etc. He might actually turn out to be good at this social engineering stuff. And Mindmeld, who had confessed that his name was Jared, seemed to have a hidden agenda.

  Miles could smell it. Like a fart in a car.

  He turned away from the monitors, with their soothing blue glow. It was oddly depressing, being in his basement lair again. The McCloud brothers had kicked his ass until he rented a place in Seattle, just a room over someone’s garage, but it was good to be independent. Still, it made no sense to rent another room in Endicott Falls for two months while his folks’ basement stood empty. He didn’t have money to burn.

  The problem was, the place reminded him way too much of his longtime crush on she-who-must-not-be-named. He’d spent years in this hole, listening to tapes of her playing her sax. Watching video montages of her. Wanking off to wishful, erotic scenarios where Cindy had an epiphany from God, and started seeing him as something other than a convenient adjunct brain. An external hard drive she could program to do her coursework while she went out partying with other guys. And he shouldn’t even go there. God knows, enough guys had already been there before him. A path had been blazed, by God.

  A flash on the screen. A response to his query. He shot across the room on the rattling swivel chair. Excellent. Mindmeld himself.

  R U still there witchywoman Bware

  He dove for the keyboard, typed. Yes hi how R U

  Good tnx did U like my abstract

  Jared had sent Mina an abstract he’d written on using roex filters to represent the magnitude response of auditory filters. Miles intuited that it was either a love offering or a sort of test, so he’d ripped the sucker apart. He grabbed his notes, and began to type. Yesbut I have problems wt roex filters—fits 2 notched-noise masking data R unstable unless filter is reduced 2 a physically unrealizable form & there’s no time domain version of roex (p,w,t,) 2 support…

  His hands clattered away. His reasoning was that if Jared was a garden variety boy dweeb trolling for sex and validation, he would be scared away by a girl who showed him up, and Miles wouldn’t waste any more time on him. But if Jared was the Geek Eater, he would lick his slobbering lips and make another move. And Miles might start earning the money Connor was paying him. He wanted some results.

  It was embarrassing, but he felt a constant need to prove himself to those McCloud guys. They were so good at every freaking thing they did. Hanging out with them was a sure recipe for a bitching inferiority complex. He gritted his teeth and coped, partly because he wanted to learn the crazy stuff they knew. Mostly because he really liked them.

  Still. Every one of those guys, Seth included, was a super-solvent, successful sex god and ninja maniac. Fucking unreal. It would give him a lot of satisfaction to make a contribution to Con’s investigation. Helping nail the Geek Eater would be a coup. A big self-esteem fluffer.

  “Hi, Miles.”

  The soft voice from behind him made him levitate about five inches out of his chair. He spun around, heart pounding. Geek Eater, Jared, Mina, McClouds, utterly wiped out of his mind in an instant.

  “Fuck,” he gasped out. “Cindy? What are you doing here?”

  Cindy stood there, smiling uncertainly, backlit by the light that spilled down the stairs from the kitchen, front lit by the eerie blue glow of the computers. She was wearing a lace-up red thing that clearly demonstrated that the wearer had no need for a bra.

  “Your mom told me you were down here,” she said. “Erin told me about the car bomb, and the cops, and Sean, all that stuff. Totally wild.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was thick. He coughed. “It was, uh, intense.”

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “Those McCloud guys can’t do the simplest thing without it turning into a life or death drama.”

  Miles let out a noncommittal grunt.

  Cindy perched her taut ass on the edge of his worktable. Faded jeans showed off her smooth, tanned belly. A silver ring gleamed in her navel. If she turned around, the waistband would be just low enough to show off the Celtic knotwork tattoo. It pointed at the crack of those pert buttocks. As if any more attention needed to be drawn to them. He shifted in his chair. Crossed his legs, to hide his inevitable reaction.

  “You lost the specs,” she commented. “Are you using contacts?”

  “Nah. Got laser surgery a few months ago.”

  “Oh. Wow.” Cindy twisted her hands together, at a loss. She looked different. Her face was spattered with freckles, hair yanked into a ponytail. Her eyes looked shadowed. Too much partying, probably. No makeup. She was ten times cuter without all that crap on her face.

  “So?” she said brightly, throwing up her hands. “What’s up? What are you doing up here? I thought you were sick of this town.”

  “I thought you already knew everything worth knowing.”

  “Oh, come on, Miles,” she said softly. “Don’t.”

  He shrugged, with bad grace. “I’m teaching a karate class at the dojo up near the Arts Center,” he said.

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened, impressed. “That’s cool!”

  “And I’m doing some sound gigs. Got one tonight for the Howling Furballs, up at the Rock Bottom,” he went on grimly.

  “Yeah? I know those guys. Maybe I’ll come. And oh. The Rumors have a gig next week, and our sound guy just bagged. Could you—”

  “No,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to do sound for the Rumors.”

  He’d done free sound for years for the Vicious Rumors, the band in which Cindy played sax. Just to stare at her, to be near her. Chump.

  Cindy wrapped her arms across her belly, a thing she did when she was tense. “OK. Uh…maybe I’d better not see if I can make it to the Furballs’s gig tonight, then.”

  She waited for him to tell her to please, please come. He sat like a lump, and let her wait. Let her see how it felt. He’d waited for years.

  “OK,” she said. “I have a good imagination. I’ll just pretend that we’re having a polite conversation, being as how we’ve been friends for years. Let’s see. You would start with, hey, Cin, great to see you, how’s life? Oh, yeah, Miles. Same old same old. Band camp is crazy, plus I’m working at the Coffee Shack in my free time, so if you get the urge for a Mexican Iced Mocha, come on down, and I’ll frappé one up for free. For sure, Cin, you bet I’l
l be there for that iced mocha, with bells on. Great, Miles, I’ll be waiting for ya. Other than that, just gigs with the Rumors, pick-up bands, weddings. And I’m getting my own place, in September.”

  “Yeah?” He broke his own vow of silence. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  Cindy touched her tongue to her upper lip, a trick that drove him crazy with lust. “Um…there’s no guy. I’m not seeing anybody.”

  “Wow, sounds like a state of emergency,” he muttered sourly.

  “It’s a group house. With Melissa and Trish. In Greenwood.”

  “And your mom can manage her mortgage plus your rent?”

  Cindy looked hurt. “Nobody’s going to pay my rent. What do you think I’m doing, busting my ass with three million jobs? Jeez, Miles.”

  “I just figured you’d hook up with some guy with a Maserati and a baggie full of coke, and be his happy little concubine,” Miles said.

  Splotches of color bloomed on Cindy’s face. “Ouch,” she whispered. “That was really cold and nasty.”

  That was Miles Davenport. Cold as an iceberg. Nasty as a pile of fresh dogshit. He sat there, glaring, and didn’t take it back.

  “You’re still mad about what happened at Erin’s wedding?” Cindy’s voice was tight. “It’s been a whole year! Forgive me already!”

  “I’m not mad,” Miles lied. “I’m just not particularly interested. And if you don’t mind, I’m working down here, not just dicking around.”

  She brushed angry tears out of her eyes with the backs of her hands, and turned to go. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fuck you, too, Miles.”

  He felt like shit for making her cry. “Cin,” he called out. “Stop.”

  She stopped at the door. “What?” Her voice was small and hurt.

  “What do you want?” he asked wearily. “Do you need to pass an exam? Do you need somebody to help you move? What the hell is it?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t want any favors. I just miss shooting the shit. Watching Battlestar Galactica with you. Can’t we just be friends again?”

  Miles swallowed. Yeah, sure, she missed being adored by her panting, drooling personal slave. Of course she missed it. So did he.

  But he couldn’t afford to adore Cindy. It tore him to pieces.

  “I’ll burn you some copies of my DVDs. I’m too busy to lie around watching the tube, Cin. I have a life.” He rummaged through the disc tower. “Battlestar Galactica? You want Firefly, too? I have the movie.”

  Cindy’s face contracted. “That’s not the point. You stupid dork.”

  Miles threw up his hands. “Then I don’t know how to help you.” She was so fucking pretty, her eyelashes glittering with tears.

  She blinked at the screen. “Who are you chatting with?”

  “Oh, that.” He turned to look, and grimaced in dismay. guess ur busy, bye 4 now, Jared had written.

  “Oh, shit,” he moaned. “I lost him. Damn!”

  “Lost who?” Cindy’s wet eyes brightened with curiosity.

  “It’s a work thing. For Connor. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Aw, shut up.” Cindy peered at the monitor. “The gain and asymmetry of a parallel compressive gammachirp filter is comparable to…jeez, Miles, what does Con have to do with this techno stuff?”

  “Nothing. There’s this predator who’s killing science geeks,” he admitted. “I’m creating characters with profiles similar to his victims. Then I put them out there in cyberspace, and hope he’ll hit on me.”

  “Brr.” She squinted as she read the screen. “WitchywomanBware? You mean, you’re a girl? Oh, Miles. That’s, like, kinky.”

  His face got hot. “It’s just the way I work. This guy Jared really likes Mina. I was hoping he’d make a move, but he’s wandered off.”

  “Sorry.” Cindy shot him a sidewise glance, and read. “Chatter personal profile: Mina. Where’d you come up with that?”

  “Dracula. We’re hunting a vampire. Not the sexy TV kind. The kind who sucks out your blood and kicks your corpse out of its way.”

  Cindy shuddered. “Creepy. That is so negative.”

  “Dealing with serial murderers will do that to you,” Miles said loftily. “Get out of my dungeon, if I’m too creepy for you.”

  Cindy leaned closer to read the box headed Physical Description. “Height, five feet, four inches,” she murmured. “110—115 pounds. Eyes, dark brown. Hair, long, dark. Bra cup size?” Miles had duly filled in B-cup. Under Distinguishing Characteristics, he’d typed, pierced navel.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “So, um…basically, you told this guy that you were me.”

  Miles’s rolling chair shot back and hit the table behind him with a crash. Cindy jumped back, eyes big. “That’s the thing about you that bugs the shit out of me, Cin,” he snarled. “You think it’s all about you. It’s not, OK? So take your perky tattooed ass and get it out of my face.”

  Cindy squeaked, and fled.

  Miles dropped his head onto the keyboard and swore, the most vicious, horrible epithets he could come up with.

  It didn’t help worth dick.

  “Change your name? Run away? You’re out of your mind! You’re giving in already? Where is your backbone? Where is your pride?”

  Her mother’s ringing tone made Liv’s head throb. Reasoning with Amelia Endicott was difficult under the best of circumstances, and these were far from the best. “Pride isn’t the issue,” she said. “I just—”

  “An Endicott does not hide and cower and skulk! You should be proud! Grateful for the sacrifices your family has made so that you could have all these privileges! Go look at the statue of Augustus Endicott in front of the library, and reflect upon all that he did for you!”

  Yeah, giving T-Rex a perfect opportunity to blow her head off with a sniper rifle, at his leisure. Liv squeezed her reddened eyes shut to block out her mother’s outraged countenance. Right now, cowering and skulking sounded very good to her. Very calm and restful.

  “Sure I’m proud of being an Endicott, Mother,” she said wearily. “But this guy is trying to kill me. I don’t want to be dead. That’s all.”

  “Stop being overdramatic,” Amelia Endicott snapped. “Are you insinuating that I don’t care about your safety? I’ve tried your whole life to help you make all the right choices, and have you ever listened?”

  Liv forced herself to exhale, and slowly inhaled again. “This is not my fault.” The words fell one at a time from her lips, like little rocks.

  “Saying ‘it’s not my fault’ will get you nowhere. Just look at yourself!” Her mother gestured at the mirror on the dining room wall.

  Liv looked, and wished she hadn’t. She was wild-haired, holloweyed, white-lipped, grimy. A chimney sweep from a Dickens novel, but for her out-of-control bosom. Just one more of the many things that offended Amelia Endicott. She’d tried for years to convince her daughter to get those indecorously bouncy boobs surgically reduced. Ouch. Not.

  Her father gave her an uneasy look. “Honey, maybe you should ease off,” he murmured, in a wheedling tone. “It’s been quite a day.”

  “All I want is what’s best for her.” Amelia’s voice quivered on the edge of tears. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I know that.” Liv fought off the weariness that rolled over her like a tank whenever she argued with her mother. “The policewoman told me that changing my name and starting over is an option to consider when you’re dealing with a dangerous—”

  “Not an option,” Amelia said crisply. “Not for you. Other familes prominent in politics or business make high security part of their lifestyle. They simply adjust their attitude and expectations!”

  Liv sighed. “But I—”

  “Your father and I are willing to invest in round-the-clock protection so that you can live your normal life as an Endicott!”

  Liv tried again. “But I don’t—”

  “I don’t want to hear that negative attitude,” her mother warned. “You’ll have to give up this whim
of running a bookstore, of course. Far too much exposure. The same goes with library work. I can’t fathom why you ever wanted to do anything so dusty and fusty in the first place, but never mind. Let it go, and move on, honey!”

  “But I’m not fit for anything else,” Liv protested. “All my training and education is in literature and library science.”

  “You can do what I’ve been trying to persuade you to do since you were in college,” her mother announced triumphantly. “You can go into the advertising department of ECE! Any location you like, darling. Seattle, Olympia, San Francisco, Portland, Spokane. Location is virtual these days. You could work from home, with this new video conferencing technology. You’re so creative and imaginative, Livvy. You were wasted as a librarian, or a shopkeeper, for God’s sake. In fact, this whole thing might just end up being a blessing in disguise.”

  Hah. Liv gritted her teeth. “I wouldn’t be any good at—”

  “Nonsense. You’d be brilliant. And the best thing about it is that anywhere you worked, you’d be guarded by ECE corporate security! Imagine what a load off our minds, honey! Knowing that every day, you’re as safe as if you’re locked in a bank vault!”

  Liv winced. “I’d go bonkers if I worked for ECE.”

  “Stop doubting yourself, Livvy! We’ve always believed in you!”

  Believed in who? Whoever this person was that Amelia Endicott so ardently believed in was light years away from the daughter she actually had. But there was no point in trying to make her understand.

  “We’ll find a high security condo, wherever you decide to settle,” her mother went on. “You’ll have to give up all that hiking and running, but you can work out indoors. There’s always grocery delivery…”

  Her mother’s babble faded into a faraway hum in Liv’s ears, as if she were alone beneath a glass bell. She thought of her mother’s collection of antique dolls in the parlor of her Seattle town house. Each stood alone, stiffly poised, a perfect ceramic smile on each painted face.

  Pretty. Content with their lot. Happy to please. Compliant.

  It was so painful, disappointing her mother for the umpteenth time. Forever rowing against such a powerful current wore her out, but this current was pulling her towards a deadly waterfall.