She got out of the car and locked it, pointlessly.
Despite the size of the cab and the growl of the engine, the inside of Ivan’s truck was small and quiet, hemmed in. Uma heard his breathing and thought she might be able to smell him too—that woody fire scent that her body was already conditioned to respond to. In some offbeat version of Pavlov’s dogs, she’d sniff him and go into heat.
“You been avoidin’ me, Uma?” His voice sounded harder than before.
“No!” she said, breathless at the lie. “I told you. I’ve been very busy.”
“Hmm.” His mouth curved down.
He pulled up in front of Ms. Lloyd’s and threw his truck into Park. A crack of blue light shone through the living room curtains—the television. Uma looked at the house for a moment. She had no desire to go in there. She wanted to go home with Ivan, to sink back into his bed and let him help her forget. Teach her how to feel real again. And why shouldn’t she have that? Joey didn’t know she was here, after all. He couldn’t possibly, could he? The phone call was some automatic thing set up to scare her, but no way he’d traced her here…right?
“Okay. Thanks.”
“I’ll come get you in the mornin’. We can change the battery.”
“Thank you.” She made as if to open the door, dragging out the motions of getting out. And if she were really dishonest, she could blame Ivan for the look he gave her, the way it held her, forcing her to stay, despite all her misgivings. So light, but still a weight that anchored her there. She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
And enough with the paranoia. Joey wouldn’t find her here. He’d never connect her with Ivan.
When her eyes got caught up in his, her breath snagged, tight in her throat, and she wondered,Couldn’t I kiss him again? Just once? Is it so bad to want one more?Didn’t she deserve this little bit of happiness before leaving this place forever?
“Change your mind?” he said, the smile already playing with his lips.
Uma answered after a sigh. “Yeah.”
Blame it on the Singapore Sling.
* * *
Ivan’s workshop was dark and cold. Squeak was there to greet them, but the place had none of the golden, flame-drenched magic of Uma’s previous visits. Ivan went to work providing light and warmth, but something about the space seemed almost sad now.
Why would he live here when he could be in that beautiful house? It occurred to Uma that this man might very well have as much wrong with him as she did.
He bit off someone’s ear, for God’s sake.
As he lit things, she took off her jacket but kept hold of the camera and looked around the room, snapping pictures of everything, despite the lack of light: a rifle hung on an iron rack above the door, a bow and arrow beside it, a random, worm-eaten newel post and a pile of books lay next to the bed on the floor—mostly big, coffee-table-size hardbacks on wrought iron and landscaping, with a couple of ratty paperbacks thrown into the mix. She read a spine—Ender’s Game. Huh. Impossible to imagine Ivan reading for relaxation. Her eyes swung back up to the gun. It should have frightened her but oddly didn’t.
“You hunt?”
“Yep.”
“What do people hunt around here?”
“Deer. Squirrel if you’re dirt poor.”
“And you?”
“Ate a whole lot of squirrel growin’ up.”
Uma shuddered at the thought. Squirrel and rabbits—little bones.
“Today, mostly venison.”
A straight-backed chair sat near the bed, almost invisible beneath a heap of clothing made up of jeans and shirts, maybe boxers. Something sticking out from the bottom caught her eye: a bright-blue tie, oddly out of place here.
“You own a tie.”
“Hmm?”
