Anne Stuart - Into The Fire

Killer was Nate’s affectionate name for his lowlife friend Dillon. Unfortunately there were times when Jamie wondered whether or not it was a bit too appropriate. “That’s all right. You don’t want a sixteen-year-old tagging along after you. I’ll be fine. There’s a book I want to read….”

“Nope,” Nate said flatly. “You aren’t going to miss out on your prom to curl up with a good book. You’re coming with us. Time to visit the wild side of life. See how the other half lives. Try a little danger.”

“I’m not big on danger.”

“Your big cousin will be there to protect you,” he said. “And Dillon will make sure nothing happens to you.”

“Like I trust him?” she scoffed.

“Trust who?” Dillon said, lounging in her doorway.

That was only one of the things she didn’t like about him. He always walked in, appearing out of the blue. He seemed to know when her parents were gone—Victor and Isobel Kincaid neither liked nor approved of Nate’s friend, and he was wise enough to make himself scarce when they were around. But anytime they were gone he’d be lounging in front of the big-screen TV, eating their food, smoking cigarettes, watching her out of his cool, insolent blue eyes. When he bothered to pay any attention to her at all.

“My little cousin thinks you’re a dangerous man,” Nate said with a laugh. He was a few inches shorter than Dillon, dark hair to Dillon’s bleached-blond shag, sunshine and good nature to Dillon’s mocking deference that always bordered on rudeness. It was no wonder her mother disliked him.

“She’s right,” Dillon said, looking down at her. “So are you ready?”

“I’m trying to talk Jamie into coming with us. She just got stood up, and I thought it was time to broaden her horizons.”

She half expected Dillon to object, but he simply looked at her and shrugged. “If you think she’s up to it.”

“She’s my biggest fan,” Nate said. “She’d never rat us out. Besides, Jamie can be your date since you don’t have one.”

“No!” Jamie said, her horror overriding her usual courtesy.

If anything, Dillon seemed more amused than offended. “I don’t need a date where we’re going. I think you’re asking for trouble here, Nate.”

Nate’s smile was wide, the kind that won over friend and foe alike, clouded men’s minds and women’s, too. “But you know I love trouble.” He reached out a hand to Jamie and pulled her to her feet.

“She’s not wearing that,” Dillon said.

“Killer, you are no fun at all,” Nate protested. “I think we should show up at Crazy Jack’s with my cousin the prom queen.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jamie said nervously.

“Of course it is. Go change into something sexy. Dress like a bad girl for a change. Wouldn’t you like to be a bad girl, just once?”

“Not particularly.” She cast a wary glance up at Dillon. He tended to ignore her, and she’d probably exchanged maybe a dozen words with him in her entire life. “What do you think, Dillon? Should I come with you guys?”

She should have known she’d get no answer from him. “Suit yourself. Just hurry up.”

She was crazy to do it. Her parents only tolerated Dillon because of Nate, but there was no way they’d approve of her going out with them. Dillon came from the wrong side of the tracks, and his behavior befitted his upbringing. He’d already spent three months in juvie for stealing cars, and no one had any illusions that he’d changed his ways. He’d just gotten more careful.

Jamie could never understand what Nate saw in him. Maybe it was his to-hell-with-you attitude. Nate charmed everyone he came in contact with, needing their approval; Dillon didn’t care one way or another. He just did what he wanted and let the chips fall where they may.

And she was going out with him. Well, not with him, really. She was just tagging along with her cousin and Dillon and as soon as they got to Crazy Jack’s, wherever that was, he’d find someone to keep himself busy. Nate would look after her—she trusted him with her life.

The prom dress ripped slightly when she yanked it over her head. She tossed it in the corner, found a pair of jeans and a big white shirt. She buttoned it up high, just so Dillon didn’t get any ideas, and headed back out to the sound of their voices before she could change her mind.

They were in the kitchen drinking beer. Her father wouldn’t like that one bit—the boys were only nineteen and one of them would be driving. Dillon was to blame, of course. Maybe after tonight Jamie would have some kind of idea of what Nate saw in him. And if she did, maybe she’d help her parents figure out how to get Nate away from such a dangerous influence.

“That’s better, precious,” Nate said approvingly. Dillon said nothing, draining his beer.

“We’d better get going. Rachel will be pissed.”

“Who’s Rachel?” Jamie asked. Maybe Dillon had a girlfriend, after all. In fact, he was very good-looking. A polar opposite to her cousin, he was tall, blue-eyed, teenage skinny with endless legs. He had the best cheekbones she’d ever seen on a man, she had to admit that much. And the kind of mouth a susceptible girl might find attractive. If she liked danger.

“Never you mind about Rachel,” Nate said fondly. “She’s nothing serious. Just for fun.”

“Is she your date or Dillon’s?” she asked.

“Carry these.” Dillon shoved a six-pack of beer into her arms. “And you’ve forgotten. You’re my date for the night.”

She looked at him warily, not certain whether he was kidding or not. With Dillon you could never quite tell.

Her only choice was to ignore him. She wrapped her arms around the beer, hoping the white cotton of her shirt would disguise her bundle, and followed them out into the driveway.

It was a warm night in May. The peepers were in full voice, and there was a soft breeze ruffling through the bright green leaves overhead. The kind of night that always put an ache of longing in the pit of her stomach, though she never could quite figure out what she was longing for.

Dillon’s old car was parked in the driveway. There was no mistaking it—a very old yellow Cadillac convertible that he’d fixed up himself. It was fast and big, and he could outrun the police if he really wanted to. As far as Jamie knew, he’d never wanted to.

He’d always tinkered with cars. He’d been driving since he was thirteen, and she had no idea if he had a driver’s license even now. He went around to the driver’s side and climbed in, not bothering to open the door. Not bothering to open hers, either, of course.

She reached for the rear door, but Nate was ahead of her. “You sit in the front, kitten. I want the back seat for me and Rachel.”

He smiled at her, beguiling as always, and there was no way she could object.

“The doors don’t work,” Dillon said. “You’ll have to climb in. Hand me the beer.”

She hesitated. She could still go to the prom—there was no shame in going alone, and she had the dress. That stupid pink dress that she’d torn.

Safety or danger? Dillon was looking up at her, his cool blue eyes daring her. She climbed over the side of the car and slid down onto the worn leather seat of the Caddy, putting the beer beside her.

He took one, opened it and set it between his legs. Immediately drawing her attention to his crotch. She jerked her head away, staring straight forward. He wouldn’t notice the blush of color on her face. He wasn’t that interested.

He drove fast but well. He’d jury-rigged a cassette tape player into the dashboard, and he had it playing loud heavy-metal music. He finished one beer, tossed the can in the bushes and opened another, all without sparing a glance her way.