Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [36]
The highway was farther than she realized, and for a few panicked moments she thought she’d been walking in circles. And then she heard the sound of a car moving fast, and she knew she was almost there.
She stumbled out onto the highway just as a pair of bright headlights speared her way. She didn’t even have to put out her thumb, which was a good thing. She wasn’t sure she had the energy. The car pulled up beside her, and she recognized Nate in the driver’s seat.
“Get in, precious,” he said, and his casual manner was oddly comforting. If he’d shown her any sympathy she would have fallen apart.
She went around the car and climbed in. She didn’t recognize it, and for that matter Nate didn’t have his driver’s license yet, but Jamie didn’t question it. She put on her seat belt and closed her eyes.
He drove very fast. She could smell the beer on his breath, and she almost wanted to vomit again. She was never going to drink anything for the rest of her life. And she was never going to make the mistake of thinking some bad boy like Dillon Gaynor was worth fantasizing about.
Except that Paul Jameson had been even worse.
Her fault, she reminded herself. She’d led him on. But she hadn’t realized that Dillon had told him to. Dillon had handed her over like a ripe peach and told Paul she was his for the taking. And she’d gotten half drunk. It was no wonder she hadn’t made it clear that she didn’t want him to.
A little whimper escaped her, and Nate glanced over at her. One arm was draped along the back seat, the other on the steering wheel. “Cheer up, Jamie. Had to happen sooner or later, and now you’ve got it over with. Next time will be better.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she said in a low, bitter voice.
“Sure there will. All Dillon has to do is crook his finger and you’ll come running.”
“With a gun,” she said.
“Not his fault. As a matter of fact, you’d be surprised to know—” The flashing blue lights behind them shut him up midsentence. “Shit,” he said.
Jamie glanced behind them. “Were you speeding?”
“I was speeding, I’m loaded, and I didn’t bother to ask the owner whether I could use his car. I think we’re screwed, Jamie. In more ways than one.”
She just stared at him in horror.
“Come on, Jamie,” he said. “You gotta have a sense of humor about these things. Aunt Isobel will bail us out, and we probably won’t get anything more than a slap on the wrist. Don’t worry about it. Hell, they might even let us go with a warning.”
They were sitting side by side in the police station an hour later, waiting for Victor Kincaid to come pick them up, when two police came in, dragging someone in handcuffs. Someone bloody, disheveled, barely walking.
Dillon Gaynor.
He looked at the two of them out of one swollen eye, and his mouth curved in that familiar, mocking smile. And then the police dragged him away.
They shoved him up against the desk with unnecessary force, and Jamie winced, watching them. Not that she should have a moment’s sympathy for him, she reminded herself. But he looked so thrashed.
“Dillon Gaynor,” said the desk sergeant in a resigned voice. “I should have known you’d be back. You’re going down for this one, you know. You were warned—one more fight and you’d be spending time as a guest of the state. Looks like you’re about to reap the fruits of your labors.”
“Worse than that,” one of the cops said. “He put a kid in the hospital.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” the sergeant said. “What does surprise me is that the other guy managed to make such a mess of his pretty face.”
“The other kid barely touched him,” the cop said with a malevolent chuckle. “He…fell on the way to the patrol car.”
“Nasty fall,” said the sergeant casually.
“Very nasty.”
“Nate! Jamie!” Isobel Kincaid appeared in the doorway of police station, in her high heels and her real pearls and her expression of horror and disdain. “Your father’s waiting for you in the car. I’ll take care of any papers—just leave.”
“Mother…” Jamie began,