Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [48]
She found a parking spot, pulled over and turned off the car. The church was just up ahead, it would only take her a moment to cross those few yards. All she had to do was open the door, get out and walk. And maybe this time she could say, “Hi, my name is Rachel-Ann and I’m an alcoholic.”
Or maybe not. Maybe she should just turn the car back on, put it into Reverse and get the hell out of there. The Kit-Kat Klub would be in the full swing of Happy Hour, and no one would pay any attention to her if she sat in a corner and got quietly loaded. She’d end up with someone, anyone, it didn’t matter. Just so long as she didn’t have to be alone.
She kept her hands on the leather-covered steering wheel, not moving. Three months and five days since she’d had a drink. Meetings every goddamned day. Ninety and ninety, they told, another of their endless rules. Ninety meetings in ninety days. If she walked into another meeting she’d go postal.
Maybe she’d just drive. She didn’t have to get drunk any more than she had to go to a meeting. Life didn’t always have to be composed of extremes. Maybe she’d take a drive along the ocean, watch the moonlight on the water. And when she walked back into La Casa and the damned ghosts started looking at her she’d ignore them.
Or maybe she’d…
She saw the face in her window out of the corner of her eye, and she screamed, panicked, before she turned and realized who it was. She tried to lower the window but the power was off and the electric window stayed shut. With shaking hands she reached forward and turned on the car, and the window slid down in one smooth move.
“You coming in to the meeting?” Rico asked. It was the first time he’d ever spoken to her directly, despite all the meetings, and now, looking into his dark-brown eyes, she had the oddest sense of déjà vu.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, then could have kicked herself. Give a recovering alcoholic an inch and they’d take a mile. He’d preach to her until she had no choice but to follow him numbly into the meeting and sit through another endless round of qualifying.
“Do you want to?”
“No. I want to go out and get drunk.”
“What do you want me to do?”
It was a simple question, and she knew what the answer should have been. She should tell him she wanted him to stop her. But she was so tired of giving the expected response. So tired of it all.
“You want the truth?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I want you to come with me.”
He rose, and she couldn’t see his face any more, just the rumpled clothes, the bottom of his jaw rough with five o’clock shadow. He walked away from the door, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Until he came around the other side of the car and got in beside her.
He put on his seat belt. She hadn’t bothered to wear hers. “Where are we going?” He seemed no more than casually curious.
“Does it matter?” Her hands were still shaking, and she turned the key, forgetting that the car was already running. The starter shrieked in protest.
“No,” he said. “Put on your seat belt.”
“Why? Because it’s the law?”
“No,” he said. “Because I want you to keep yourself safe.”
She glanced at him doubtfully. The interior of the car was filled with shadows, and she could barely see him. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve suddenly fallen in love with me, are you?”
His laugh was soft, unexpectedly charming. “No.”
“Then you can come with me.”
“I thought you wanted me to.”
“I don’t have any idea what I want.”
“Yes,” he said gently. “I know.”
She drove into the L.A. night, and because she could think of nowhere else to go she took him to the Kit-Kat Klub, the most decadent public place she could think of. He followed her in, watching her quietly as she ordered a margarita. And then she sat there staring at the glass, not touching it.
“Am I cramping your style?” he asked with an unexpected trace of humor. The club was very noisy,