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Chapter Ten

  The incessant chirping of someone’s cell phone alarm dragged me out of sleep. Brian fumbled on the bedside table until he came up with the phone and shut off the alarm. The room was still dark, the sun not yet up. I was beginning to suspect Brian of being a morning person. As I drifted back to sleep, I wondered how Dylan would deal with that. Both of us tended to stay up late and sleep in when work and school weren’t getting in the way.

  The next time I woke, I was alone in the bed. The sun was up now, the first thin light of dawn creeping in around the thick curtains. Brian and London were huddled around the laptop, talking in low voices. I listened to them long enough to know they were mapping out a route for our search circle, and then I dragged myself out of bed to get dressed. The sooner we started looking, the sooner we’d find Dylan and this whole nightmare would come to an end.

  The boys gathered up phones, key cards, and wallets while I pulled on my shoes, and we headed for the car. No one had much to say on the walk to the parking lot. London looked like he enjoyed mornings about as much as I do.

  At the car, London opened the rear driver’s-side door and motioned me inside. Definitely not a morning person. I climbed in and turned to reach for the belt, but London stopped me with a word: “Scoot.” I scooted, and he squeezed in beside me.

  “Contact,” he said. “Easiest way to reach both of you.” He fished his iPod and a long cord out of his pocket. Talk about being prepared. And I thought I had the packing thing down to a fine art. He plugged one end of the cord into the music player and leaned between the front seats to plug the other end into the auxiliary port on the car stereo.

  “You’re in charge of this,” London said, firing up the iPod and handing it to me. He fastened his seat belt just as Brian started backing the car out of the parking space and then slumped against the window, eyes closed.

  I fiddled with the iPod as we followed the loop around the resort area and then turned onto Buena Vista Drive to head away from Disney. London had an eclectic mix of music, even according to my standards, and I didn’t recognize half the bands. I found a lot of my favorites, too, though—even some of my more obscure favorites—and after a minute or two of scrolling, I chose Elvis Monroe’s “Comin’ Around,” a song that both Dylan and I loved.

  Looking up from the iPod, I noticed that Brian had a GPS map pulled up on his phone that he glanced at now and again as he drove.

  “You don’t really need the GPS,” I told him. “We’re going straight up I-4.”

  “Coffee first,” London explained.

  “Awesome. Wait. Did you program that thing for the nearest Crackbucks? Because that’s probably a bad idea.”

  “Why’s that?” Brian asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

  “I remember trying that once, when I lived here. Bob...uh...my GPS took me to the Outlet Mall food court. We don’t wanna do that.”

  London cracked an eyelid to look at me. “You named your GPS?”

  “Yeah. Bob. Don’t ask.”

  London smiled and shook his head, closing his eyes again. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I could see Brian smirking. Fine. Whatever. Let them be amused.

  “Anyway,” I said, “There’s a Starbucks by the mall.”

  Brian found his way to I-4, and we made good time heading north. We grabbed a quick breakfast at Mickey D’s, taking a few minutes to sit and eat. Then we piled back into the car, grabbed coffee in the Starbucks drive-through, and began our search.

  Hollywood portrays search and rescue operations as dramatic, pulse-pounding events. This one, at least, was the polar opposite: boring and tedious, except for the minor amusement afforded by Brian swearing at and flipping off the crappy Orlando drivers. London had the worst of it, of course; not only did he have to concentrate on trying to find Dylan, he also had to ride leaning forward so that he could rest his fingertips against Brian’s neck. He couldn’t even brace himself with his other hand, since it was firmly gripping mine.

  We took a few breaks to let London stretch out and to give Brian some relief from traffic. We hadn’t taken the congestion of the tourist areas into account, and our search circle wasn’t expanding as fast as we had hoped it would. By lunchtime, we all had a little black storm cloud hanging over our heads. We kept at it, though, until nearly dark.

  And through it all, London never felt so much as a spark.

  We headed back to the hotel with our hearts a little heavier than they had been. Before the door had even closed behind him, London made a beeline for the closet. He pressed Dylan’s dress against his cheek, and then he laughed.

  “She’s okay,” he told us. “I mean, Brian and I checked on her this morning, but still. Anyway, she’s pissed, but she’s also feeling smug about something. That’s gotta be a good thing, right?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Maybe she kicked her kidnapper in the dangly bits.” I paused, staring at him. “You didn’t need us this time. To connect to Dylan.”

  London looked a little surprised, like he hadn’t realized it himself until I pointed it out. He let go of the dress, smoothing it. “That’s gotta be a good thing, too, right?” He didn’t sound so sure this time.

  Brian gave London’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “Anything that helps us find Dylan’s a good thing. We’ll sort the rest out later.”

  London gave him a tired smile and a nod. He ran through some stretches while we all decided what to order from room service, and then he lay down flat on his back on the floor. Brian picked up the phone to call in the order, and I moved away to stand over London, looking down at him. There were dark circles under his eyes and tension seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the muscles of his forehead and neck.

  I nudged him with my foot, and waited for him to open his eyes before I spoke. “A hot shower will help more than a hard floor.”

  “Probably.”

  “Come on,” I said, offering him a hand up.

  He smiled and reached for my hand. His eyes fluttered a little when we touched, and for some reason it made my pulse speed up just a touch. Stupid hormones.

  Either London didn’t notice—he was exhausted after all—or he chose not to comment. He just hauled himself to his feet, and somehow managing to avoid pulling me off mine in the process. As the bathroom door shut behind him, I grabbed my purse.

  “Going down to the gift shop,” I told Brian. “I’ll be right back.”

  Brian insisted on going with me, but we didn’t see any sign of trouble. I gathered up a few necessities, including the razor I had wanted the night before, and paid up, and we were back in the room before London even knew we had gone. He emerged from the shower a few minutes later, his t-shirt and pajama pants sticking to him from the dampness, and curled up on the bed where Brian sat flicking through TV channels.

  Brian settled on some action adventure movie on HBO, the volume turned low. I don’t like to come into a movie halfway through, but in this case it didn’t matter. We were only watching it to kill time while we waited for dinner and not because we gave a damn about the plot.

  After dinner, Brian headed for the shower, leaving London and I alone. London lay stretched out on the bed, reading Ashe’s notes. I sat at the desk, going through Dylan’s email and social networking accounts again and turning up nothing.

  “Hey,” London said from behind me. “Remember last night when I said we’d talk later?”

  I remembered. “Nothing to talk about.”

  London chuckled. “Think about who you’re lying to.”

  I did think about it. This empathy thing could be damned annoying. “No, really. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  The sheets rustled, and when London spoke again his voice came from somewhere nearer. “Why does it bother you?”

  I looked back over my shoulder to find him sitting on the foot of the bed.

  “Is it because of Dylan?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

&
nbsp; London laid his hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  I wanted to deny being embarrassed, but I couldn’t. Stupid superpowers. I sighed. “It’s okay.” I took a breath. “See, the thing is, I don’t even know why the Brian thing bothers me. I’ve always thought he’s gorgeous, since the first time I laid eyes on him. Had no idea who he was at the time. I just knew he didn’t look like he belonged on a cruise ship full of frat boys and old people. But it’s always been just an appreciation, you know? Like admiring a painting or something. It’s not like I want what Dylan’s got with him.”

  “Yeah, I know. I mean, I could tell.”

  “So I don’t know why it suddenly seems wrong.” But even as I said it, I knew why it felt wrong. Admiring Brian made me feel disloyal to London—an idea so ludicrous it should make me want to laugh. “Maybe it’s just the situation,” I said. “It doesn’t seem right to be ogling Brian—or anyone else—right now.”

  I wasn’t sure if London could tell that I was lying, but if he knew, he let it go. I turned back to the computer and pulled up Dylan’s bank account. I scrolled through the charges...and let out a strangled yip.

  “What? What is it?” London asked. He leaned against the back of the chair, and I pointed at the screen. “Oh, wow.”

  I heard the bathroom door open, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the screen. I couldn’t find my voice, either, so it was London who shared the news with Brian.

  “Someone’s using Dylan’s debit card,” he said.

  “What? Where?” Brian asked. A second later, he, too, hovered over me and the laptop.

  “Here. In Orlando,” London told him. “Fast food, supermarket, gas station.”

  “The charges are all from yesterday,” I added, regaining my ability to speak. “While we were in Key West, someone was using Dylan’s money for a shopping spree.”

  “Is that a store number?” Brian asked, pointing to string of digits listed beside the name of one of the fast food places.

  “I dunno.” I did a web search using the name and number, but came up blank. Similar searches on the other entries gave us nothing, either.

  The easy path obliterated, we went with plan B. I opened my computer notepad and jotted down the names of the stores where the card had been used. London grabbed his laptop, and we made lists of locations for each of the stores. Comparing the lists, we found that the three stores were grouped together in only a couple of places in Orlando.

  Ten minutes later the boys were dressed and we were out the door again.

  Two hours later, Brian pulled the car into a deserted parking lot, shut off the engine, and got out. He paced, swearing and dragging his hands through his hair.

  “Stay here,” London said as he hopped out of the car.

  He laid his hands on Brian’s shoulders, but Brian jerked back and pushed him away. London said something I couldn’t hear, and Brian shoved him. London shoved back, and Brian threw a punch. London brought a hand up to block the punch, and the boys grappled for a minute. I was out of my seatbelt and had the car door open before I realized that the fight was over. I watched Brian sink to his knees, his head in his hands. London knelt beside him, blocking my view, and I realized why he’d told me to stay behind. Brian wouldn’t want me seeing this. He wouldn’t want anyone seeing him like this. I closed the door as quietly as I could and stared hard out the opposite window.

  I had no way of knowing how much time passed before they came back to the car. It seemed like years. No one said a word about Brian’s breakdown, but when we got back to the hotel, London strong-armed him into taking some kind of prescription sleeping pill. It worked fast, and he was out cold by the time I got out of the shower.

  “Got a couple more of those?” I asked London.

  He turned away from the window. “A couple?”

  I pointed at myself and said, “One,” and then at London and said “two.”

  He shook his head. “Be my guest, but I won’t need it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.”

  “Then why aren’t you asleep?”

  London shrugged. “Got caught up in thinking about what to do next. And I kind of wanted to wait for you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. London had that effect on me more than I was comfortable with. I just nodded and starting shutting off lights. London met me at the desk, offering me the bottle of sleeping tablets. I considered for a moment, and then shook my head.

  “Antihistamines make me loopy enough. That stuff might put me in a coma. I’m good.”

  London smiled. He set the bottle on the desk and shut off the lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, the only light coming in through the window. I crawled under the duvet as he pulled the curtain almost closed and then curled up with my back to him. A moment later, he climbed into bed and curled up around me.

  “This okay?” he asked.

  I didn’t say anything, but I laid my arm on top of his. I figured that was answer enough. I guess it was, because he snuggled in a little closer.

  I lay awake long after London fell asleep, the last holdout. I should have taken the damned sleeping pill. It was too late now, though. I didn’t want to get out of bed and risk waking London. After all, he was the key to this whole thing. He was the one who needed to be well-rested. I could afford to lose a little more sleep. London’s well-being was the reason I refused to get out of bed and grab one of those damned tablets. It wasn’t because I couldn’t bear the thought of sliding out of his embrace. Not at all. Honest.

  Yeah, right.