Page 26 of Uncontrolled

“I, uh…” He grins, forcing it at first before a sort of relief comes over him and the smile goes natural. “We haven’t met.”

I fiddle with a zipper on my pack. “Guess you must have a damn good reason you’re trailing me for the second day in a row.”

He balks. I take it as a victory. I need him aware he’s not getting anything past me. My plan is to stake a claim on Allie early and convince these guys I’m still working her over myself. If I mark her off limits, it’ll keep her safe, buy she and Talia some time.

When I duck to grab the water bottle again, he actually startles. It has to be an act.

With another drink, I jab a palm across my mouth to wipe the water slipping to my chin, the sweat there. “If you’re joining my personal fan club, it has membership dues.” I glower at him. “You want something? My time is valuable. Pay me or get gone.”

He shoots me a startled expression and then digs into his rear pocket for his wallet. I can’t decide whether or not to laugh. He riffles through the bills and hands me a fifty, then adds another for good measure.

I wonder how much I can push him before he gets pissed. When I was still crashing at the Boxcar Camp, I could have come across as more threatening. Since I moved in with Allie full-time, I’m a lot less crusty. LowLow wasn’t kidding when he said I smelled clean. Life at the camp gets you a ground in sort of grime that soap alone won’t rinse away. With my new shoes and clothes run through a few cycles in a coin-operated Laundromat, even my eyebrow piercing and gauged ears are skewing more mall punk than anti-establishment.

I shove the money into my pocket with the rest I’ve collected today. “Now I’ve got time for you.”

He grins as if he’s in on my hustle. “So this is probably weird, but I think we have a friend in common.”

I can’t explain the cold creeping through the marrow of my bones. This guy thinks I’m like Jamison. Maybe they weren’t close and Jamison was normal to him, not a murdering psychopath. I could say no. Tell him he’s mistaken. Bolt and disappear.

The coward inside me died beside that barn, I remind myself. In this moment, it doesn’t ring remotely true.

“We don’t run in the same circles,” I say, not because I’m bailing, but because I know how to keep him interested. There’s a reason he’s been following me. I’m just not sure what he wants, yet.

He gives me a cocky once over I’m impressed he has the stones for. “I mean, obviously,” he says and then it dawns on him what a dick thing he just said. He rushes on. “This mutual friend, he mentioned you, and our group, we’re a…” He flounders. “We’re interested parties.”

I pretend I’m not following. “Interested in what?” I press, but in my head, I’m caught on the wording he used. Have. I think we have a friend in common.

Jamison was after the blood for himself. He wouldn’t bring these guys in any more than necessary to squeeze them for info. He had me on the inside with Allie. He made his move, kidnapped her and Talia. Killed me. No loose ends. He wouldn’t have told anyone else his plans.

“Have you talked to Jamison lately?” he asks. “In, say, the last week?”

Holy shit.

They don’t know he’s dead.

“Two weeks ago,” I say, not having to fake the edge in my voice. “I saw him two weeks ago.”

“Would two weeks be about normal?” he asks me. “For how often you see him?”

I watch him watching me, my throat tight.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” he asks. “I can buy you some food.” He pauses and does this weird, slightly crouched motion. He reaches toward me, palm up, as if he’s ready to jerk away at my slightest flinch. Like he’s luring a dog. “You hungry?”

My humiliation crests into indignation. I go for my pack, knock the weight of it onto my knee, then hoist it into position on my back and get my arms in the straps. “Piss off,” I growl before I can help myself.

“Wait,” he cries.

The way I’m stalking off down the street has nothing to do with a plan. I’m not dealing with this. I’ll come back another day. Find another in. And screw over Allie because your feelings got hurt? I think furiously.

“I really believe Jamison’s in trouble!” he says, trailing after me. “He might need our help! Another guy in our group, Corbin, he’s missing, too. Jamison was gonna help us search for him and then he never showed. None of us have heard from either of them since.”

I slow. What if it wasn’t information on Allie they were after at all? What if it’s Jamison’s whereabouts they want?

A flicker of a memory sabotages my thoughts. My duffle bag, a precursor to the pack I carry now, leaned against the dresser, zipper stretched tight against the clothes mashed inside it. Me, cowering, broken, clutching cracked ribs on my bedroom floor as my father loomed above. The agony of breathing. An inexplicable metallic thunk.

Jamison saved me that day. Got me out of there. Beat my father unconscious with a baseball bat. Though I never so much as swung a fist, we both caught charges. Of course, I only heard about them second-hand. It was Jamison who convinced me not to show up for court because the police could force me home. I wound up hiding at the Boxcar Camp while his lawyer got him off. I had nothing and no one for an entire year.

No one except Jamison.

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