“I swear to god I’m going to fire you when we get back,” he mumbled, scratching at the mud in agony.
He felt Luther lower himself to the ground beside him and take his hand.
“I’m right here with you, old friend.”
Sean shook his head and spat the word again. “Fired.”
~~~
Sean’s eyes sprang open.
Drywall.
He stared at a white ceiling.
The corner of his mouth began to curl into a smile.
He wasn’t dead. But at that moment, dead might have been preferable.
He felt as though a cadre of tiny insects marched up and down his cheeks. He could feel their sharp little feet, pinpricking his face. A chill ran through his body, but when he reached up to touch his forehead, he found it sweaty.
“Oh no.”
He scrambled to his feet and ran to Luther’s kitchen sink. As he hurled ale and froth into the sink, Luther appeared, nearly knocking him across the stove as he slid in beside him and vomited into the same sink. This set off a chain reaction and Sean once again emptied his stomach until the two of them stood hip-to-hip, dry gagging.
Sean wrestled the spasm down and turned away from the sink, wiping his mouth. He heard Luther turn on the water.
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” croaked Sean. “And I just saw a guy dying of leprosy.”
Luther scooped some water into his mouth, swished and spat. Next he splashed a little on his face and wiped it off with the kitchen towel hanging on the handle of the stove.
“Frat kids do this shit every weekend.”
Sean’s stomach spasmed a final time as he rolled his hip along the countertop to rest his butt against it. He closed his eyes and took slow, easy breaths.
Luther walked away from the sink and let Sean take his place there. He removed the woolen cloak and draped it over his cheap wooden kitchen chair.
Sean rinsed the froth from his close-cropped beard and let his gaze wander the room. He never dreamed he’d be so happy to see Luther’s crappy kitchen.
“Did I will myself here?” he asked, a little surprised he hadn’t appeared in his own home.
Luther shrugged. “I helped.”
“I felt you take my hand.”
“Yup.”
Sean sniffed. “You killed me.”
“Yup.”
“I only hope one day I get the chance to repay the favor.”
Luther grinned, his deep, rich laugh filling the room.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Back off the door. I’ve got a gun.”
The return of Paunchy Pete.
His had been the only voice Catriona heard outside their prison’s door over the hour they’d been locked in the little room. He seemed to be alone out there in the house. She’d heard him on the phone, presumably with a girlfriend. Someone who needed to get off his back already. He felt certain his shit was under control.
All riveting stuff.
At least Peter liked his meth. That could provide them with an opportunity.
Mo looked up from where she’d curled in the corner, picking at a loose hem in her tunic. Catriona reasoned the busywork kept the woman’s mind off their situation, and for that, she was grateful. Keeping herself from spinning off into a blind panic was hard enough. She didn’t know if she had the strength to soothe Mo with words of inspiration she herself didn’t believe.
Catriona rubbed her palms on the sides of her thighs, readying herself to recognize and take advantage of any opportunity.
The doorknob rattled and Peter popped his head in to ensure they’d provided him with a clear path. Satisfied with their positions at the back of the room, he entered with a tray containing two paper plates slipped beneath two thin sandwiches. A pair of bottled waters completed the feast. He kept the tray balanced against his chest with one arm. The opposite hand held a pistol.
Catriona stepped forward to take the tray and Peter raised the gun.
“Stay there.”
Catriona stopped. “Sorry, Peter.”
Peter had been lowering the tray to the ground, but he stopped as she spoke, his gaze whipping in her direction. He straightened again, glaring at her.
Catriona smiled. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be too familiar.” She motioned to the world outside their door. “I heard you talking, earlier, to someone. They called you Peter.”
He grimaced. “That’s not anything you need to know.”
“But I do know it. I can’t un-know it. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like they’re going to let me go and I’m going to run to the police screaming Peter did it. What good would that do?”
Peter scowled, clearly unhappy with the idea that she knew his name, but not so unhappy Catriona felt confident he knew they would be released.
She felt her smile falter.
They’re not going to let us go.
She felt nerves flutter in the pit of her empty stomach. Sometimes a gift for reading people didn’t tell you what you wanted to know.
Accepting his fate as a known entity, Peter lowered the tray to the floor.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Catriona.
Mo perked, looking as if Catriona read her mind. “Me, too.”
Peter’s frown tightened another notch.
“Now?”
The women nodded.
He took a deep breath and sighed with a tone of resignation, his expression relaxing, as if he’d known their request would be an eventuality and there was nothing left to do but get the ugly business behind him. “One at a time.”
“Oh, I’ll go first,” said Mo.
Peter glanced at Catriona and she nodded.
“Let her go first.”
Mo rocked forward and Catriona thrust out a hand to help her up.
Peter backed out of the room and motioned with the gun for Mo to follow him. He waved it once in Catriona’s direction to be
