Читать книгу Spirit - Brigid Kemmerer - Страница 15

CHAPTER 8

Michael made for quiet company. Aside from giving Hunter a ball cap with their company logo on it and saying, “This way you’ll look official,” he didn’t say anything. Hunter curled the hat in his hands and wondered if this was a mistake—but they were already driving, and he’d feel like an idiot backing out now. The truck windows were down, air streaming through the cab. Casper sat in the backseat but hung his head over Hunter’s shoulder to let the air blow his ears.

Hunter’s cell phone was in his pocket. No new messages.

“I don’t have any idea how to build a retaining wall,” he finally said.

“Then you’d better get out of the truck right now.”

Hunter figured he was kidding, but Michael’s voice was so flat he wasn’t sure.

Michael glanced over. “Can you keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re an expert at building retaining walls.” Michael hit the turn signal. They were pulling into a Wendy’s parking lot. “Hungry? Tell me what you want.”

Hunter hesitated. The thought of food was almost making him dizzy—but he didn’t want to spend his last nine dollars until he was sure Michael would be good for the fifty he’d promised.

But watching someone else eat would be the worst form of torture. Hunter reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“It’s on me,” said Michael. “Since you’re doing me a favor.”

“Whatever you’re having, then.”

It wasn’t until ten minutes later, when he had half a grilled chicken sandwich left in his hands, that his suspicion fully kicked in. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Michael pulled a handful of fries from the bag but didn’t glance away from the road. “Nice?”

“I thought you were all pissed at me because of what happened with Bill Chandler.”

Michael shrugged.

And then he didn’t say anything.

Hunter scowled at the windshield. Pride was pricking under his skin, trying to convince him to climb out of the car at the next stop light.

The promise of fifty bucks was keeping his ass right here in the passenger seat.

But really . . . the atmosphere in the car wasn’t tense. He had a task, something to take his mind off his mother and his grandfather and the mess of a situation he was in.

Michael hit the turn signal and eased the truck onto a gravel driveway that led back to a sprawling ranch-style house on the water. “Look,” he said. “I’m not upset about the Bill Chandler thing. I get where he was coming from, asking you to watch Gabriel.”

“I wasn’t—it just—” Hunter stopped himself and sighed. “It wasn’t like that.”

Michael stopped at a curve in the driveway and threw the truck into park. “Put the hat on and grab those rolls of landscape fabric.”

So they weren’t going to talk about it. Fine.

Hunter slid out of the cab. He pushed his hair back from his face and tucked it under the cap, breathing in the air off the water. The house sat alone on a few acres of land, and even here, in the driveway, they were a good hundred feet away from the front door. He felt better now that they were outside, with the sun on his skin. Casper bounded out of the truck to sniff at pallets set off to the side of the driveway, stacked with cut stone and sacks of soil and mulch.

Despite the breeze and the water, the whole place had a quiet stillness. It felt nice against his senses.

“Is anyone home?” said Hunter.

“Nah. They don’t need to be.” Michael pointed inside the curve of the driveway where the manicured lawn was broken by an eroded slope. “We’ll build a wall to match the curve today, then I’ll come back next week to plant stuff on top. Here. I have a sketch.” He reached inside the truck to grab a clipboard.

Hunter took a glance at the rough drawing. It was probably a good thing Michael was paid for landscaping instead of artwork. “Got it. What’s first?”

Michael was looking at him a little too closely. “Did you get in a fight at school?”

“What? No.”

“Then what’s with the bruise?”

Hunter wanted to pull the hat off and let his hair fall across his face again. He hadn’t noticed a mark this morning, but then he’d been hustling to get out of the locker room before the first bell since he wasn’t sticking around for classes. “It’s nothing.”

For a second, he thought Michael was going to push. Hunter didn’t look away, but inside his head, his brain was spinning out trying to think of some excuse to give.

But Michael just gave half a shrug and turned, gesturing to the grassy slope again.

The work was harder than Hunter expected. He kept his mouth shut and did as he was told, digging and laying stone dust and staking rebar. It felt good to work, to put his hands in the earth and let the sun draw sweat from his back. The cut stone was heavy, and he was really feeling it in his shoulders before they had a third of the wall built.

He straightened and stretched his back.

And from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement between some trees by the road.

Hunter froze. He watched for a moment.

Nothing.

Stupid. This house was way back off the main road. It could have been a deer, or a tree branch moving in the wind. All he could hear was his breathing and the water hitting rocky breakers. He dropped his guard and let the elements speak to him—but whatever it was, the elements didn’t mind its being here.

But something about it had bothered him, caught his attention and held it.

He kept thinking of Calla in his bedroom, sneaking in to hold a gun against his cheek.

He wished he had a weapon. He wished he had a weapon right now.

“What’s up?” said Michael.

“Nothing,” said Hunter. “I thought I saw something.”

He was ready for scoffing, because there was absolutely nothing around, but Michael put a hand to the ground and tilted his head. “I don’t feel anything malicious.” He paused. “But I’ll pay attention.”

Hunter kept his senses wide open now, laying stones as Michael directed, but focusing most of his attention on the road.

Michael glanced over. “Does this have something to do with the fight you didn’t have?”

Hunter didn’t look at him. “No.” He shrugged. “I’m just on edge.”

Another stone went on the wall. Michael wiped his forehead against his sleeve. “Does this have something to do with why you were ready to level the Home Depot?”

Hunter’s hands went still on the rock in front of him.

Michael didn’t say anything else, just laid another one without stopping. He flung the stones like they weighed nothing, and they slid into place perfectly. Hunter would have called him a perfectionist, but he’d bet Michael did it without thinking.

Another stone hit the wall, and Michael glanced over. “Think and work at the same time.”

Hunter grabbed a stone, letting a slow breath out. “I wasn’t going to level the Home Depot.”

“Maybe not intentionally.”

Hunter ran through the last twenty-four hours. Calla. School. Kate. His grandfather. Spending the night in his car.

Jesus, his throat felt tight again. He slammed the stone into place, feeling the impact all the way up to his shoulders.

Michael flung a stone next to his and remained silent.

And after a minute, Hunter realized he was going to stay that way. Michael wasn’t going to push. Hunter relaxed into the rhythm of the work again.

Then he felt . . . something brush his senses. His head snapped up.

Just as Casper growled from the grass nearby.

Wind came off the water to blow across the lawn, toward the road. The air carried no power, no direction. No help there. The sun had dropped behind distant trees and houses, leaving long shadows tracing across the grounds. Michael had a hand against the dirt, his eyes trained on the clusters of trees now.

Hunter thought of Calla again and wondered if she’d been following him, whether she’d choose this house to set on fire, just to screw with him.

But she would have had to follow him all day, right?

Casper growled again.

There! Movement. Definitely someone in the trees.

Hunter didn’t realize he’d started forward until Michael grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said.

Hunter waited.

“Grab your dog,” said Michael.

He didn’t have to grab him, but Hunter issued the command for Casper to stay, wondering if the dog also had trouble hearing over a suddenly thundering heartbeat.

No further motion from the tree line.

Michael stood and brushed his hands against his knees. “Come on. I’ll finish in the morning. I’ll tell them I lost the light.”

“You just—you want to leave?”

“It’s probably nothing, but we’re out in the middle of nowhere. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

When they were in the truck, Michael fed Casper old fries from the Wendy’s bag. He kept the windows closed, but Hunter peered out at the trees as they passed.

Nothing.

Michael glanced over. “Any problems at home?”

Hunter almost choked on his breath. “What do you mean? Why?”

“No pentagrams or anything?”

Oh. Those.

“No,” he said, speaking around the sudden gravel in his throat. “No pentagrams.”

And again, he waited for Michael to push, but they just drove in silence back to the parking lot at Home Depot. It wasn’t that late, but it was a weeknight, and the lot was mostly empty.

Hunter slid the cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall across his face. His muscles were starting to knot together with tension and exhaustion, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Calla’s threat to burn more houses.

Even if she hadn’t been stalking them at the landscaping job—and he still couldn’t make that work out in his head—she could be planning something tonight.

And he had no way to stop her.

“Thanks,” said Michael, pulling twenties from his wallet and holding them out.

Sixty bucks. Hunter looked up. “I don’t have enough change.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Hunter wanted to take two twenties and leave the third—but who knew when he’d be able to get his hands on cash again. He closed his fingers around the bills and shoved them into his pocket.

The night had turned pitch-black so quickly. The halogen lights in the parking lot blazed like suns against the darkness. Hunter put his hand on the door handle, ready to burst into the cold air.

Into the promise of another night alone.

Hunter checked his phone. No messages.

His throat felt tight again.

He needed to get the hell out of the truck before Michael called him on being a freak.

Then Michael said, “You want to talk about it?”

For some reason, the words were a relief and an assault simultaneously.

Hunter couldn’t even get it together to answer him. He kept his eyes on the strip of metal where the truck door met the window. It must have been colder than he thought; his breath began to fog in the air.

Michael flipped on the heat in the cab. “Nick does that, too.”

That pulled Hunter’s gaze off the window. “Does what?”

“Drops the temperature when he’s stressed. I’d bitch about it, but I can just turn the heat on. If you set the truck on fire, I don’t have as many options.”

Hunter held his breath, but there was no judgment in Michael’s tone, and no urgency or impatience, either. “I’ve never lost control like this before.”

“You’re sixteen, right? It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

Hunter scowled. “Great.”

Silence streamed through the truck again, accented by the hiss of air through the vehicle’s vents.

Just as Hunter was ready to climb out of the cab again, Michael said, “Why do you need money so badly?”

Hunter looked over at him, feeling his eyes narrow. Michael must have heard the conversation with the store manager. “So this was a pity job?” He thrust a hand into his pocket for the cash, ready to fling it back. “You thought—”

“Chill out. Pity would have been if I’d handed you the cash. You earned it. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s bullshit, Hunter, and you know it.”

“What the hell do you care?” Hunter threw the door open. “I’m not one of your brothers.” He waited for Casper to scramble out beside him, then slammed the door, stalking toward the jeep.

Michael shifted the truck into gear and accelerated out of the parking place.

Good. He could take all that stupid concern back home. Hunter shoved his key into the door of his jeep.

Just as Michael pulled his pickup directly behind it, effectively blocking Hunter’s vehicle in the spot, along with the Honda Civic parked beside it.

When Michael got out, Hunter glared at him. “Now I want to set your truck on fire.”

Michael came close enough to speak low. “Look, if you think I’m letting you get behind the wheel when you’re ready to make it snow in October, you’re out of your mind.”

“Move your truck.”

“No. I’ll drive you home so you can chill out.”

Hunter was going to hit him in a second. “Move your damn truck.”

Michael didn’t even blink. “Save it. Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Hunter felt his hands curl into fists. He could lay this guy flat and move the truck himself.

But all of a sudden, it felt like too much. His head was pounding again, and the air was freezing. It took forever to find his voice.

“You can’t,” he said.

Michael’s voice was impassive. “I can’t what?”

“You can’t take me home. My grandfather—” His voice almost broke, so Hunter just stopped talking. His keys were cutting into his palm, and Casper nosed at his free hand.

Michael waited for a moment, then said, “Get in. You can come home with me.”

God, that would be worse. “No way.”

“Look, just take a few hours to get it together, and I’ll bring you back for the jeep.”

Hunter just stared at him.

Michael opened the cab of the truck and whistled through his teeth. “Come on, doggie.”

Hunter expected Casper to stay at his side, like always.

But his dog leapt into the truck and lay down on the rear bench, his tongue lolling out. He looked at Hunter as if to say, Stop being such a baby.

So Hunter sighed and climbed in after him.