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Paul seized the opportunity to pull on the lounge pants he’d got out for himself. He flashed her his arse, but made sure he didn’t turn about until both the joggers and the hem of his T-shirt completely covered his junk. All the flirty talk had him excited, and he didn’t want to alarm the lady. Having dressed, he found her watching him.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She blinked several times, like she was the picture of innocence. “What happens now? Are you going to call a tow truck?”
“Dunno. Maybe.” He perched on the end of the bed. He ought to call the police or the band, probably both. “Explain what happened to me. You got fired, nabbed the keys, roared along a few country lanes in the dark. Then what? By which I mean, what wassupposedto come next, since I’m assuming you didn’t intentionally drown Bertha, and be careful with your answer, because if you did mean to submerge her…”
The attitude she’d been showing vanished. Paul frowned as her body folded in on itself, hedgehog style. He could practically see spines sticking up from her. Still, no amount of prickly vibes would make him redact the question.
“Nothing special. Drive around for a bit, get tired eventually, park her up somewhere and go home,” she mumbled into her chest. “Driving helps clear my head.”
“You got folks at home?”
She wobbled her head in a way that neither constituted a nod or a shake. He figured that probably meant yes, but no one she was bothered about, or who gave a real fig about her.
“No pets?”
He got a proper shake this time, followed by the rasp of her teeth across her lower lip. “My mum… she moved on a long time ago. Grandparents died in my early teens.”
“Right.” That certainly sounded shitty. He tipped up his chin. “That when you started acquiring things?”
The bolshie attitude was back immediately. Her head whipped up, and she lasered him with a glare. “I don’t steal! Stuff just… Look, I don’t know where it comes from or how it ends up in my pockets, my locker, etcetera. I don’t… maybe I’m fucking magnetic or something. Or maybe people plant it on me.”
That was unlikely. It was probably a good thing that he’d given her clothing without pockets to wear, or when the guys returned, they’d find half their stuff missing. That said, he believed she believed herself innocent. She probably wasn’t aware of doing it when it came to the small stuff. The bus, though… That was different. That had absolutely been deliberate. “You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t notice yourself stealing Bertha?”
“Cars are different.”
“She’s a bus.”
“Vehicles are different. Look, what’s the point in me telling you all this? Just call the police, or whoever it is you’re going to call and be done with it. You caught me, right, so I’m fucking doomed. Might as well get on with the next shitty step.”
“Anyone would wonder why you’re so eager to get out of here.”
“Anyone would wonder why you’re so eager to keep me here,” she retaliated.
Paul clasped his hands and tapped his fingers to his lips. “I’m building a picture.” To anyone else, the answer of what to do next would likely have been obvious—police, tow truck, the band, not necessarily in that order. The thing was, a) he wasn’t a huge fan of coppers, having been ejected from one too many campsites in his time, b) he didn’t know who to call to get Bertha towed. There was probably a policy that involved complicated procedures he’d get flayed for if he mucked up, and c) he was in no rush to hook back up with the band and have them gate-crash his adventure. He had, after all, spent the day bored out of his mind. They could orchestrate their own entertainments.
Therefore, when his phone burst into life and started a peal of folk metal pirate chanting, his first instinct was to swipe the screen and reject the call.
Jodi’s brow wrinkled, and she tilted her head to look at him like he was a conundrum she might solve if she squinted hard enough.
The belligerent hollering began again.
Fuck!
Her eyebrows inched closer to her hairline and remained there while he gingerly put his phone to his ear. “Xane, look—”
“Where the fucking fuck are you, you enormous fucking fuckwit?” Okay, not Xane, Cave Troll.
“Christ!” Jodi spluttered, confirming that the roar had reached her ears. She clapped a hand over her mouth. He, meanwhile, had a rant delivered straight into his ear-hole, causing it to throb as if an alien xenomorph was about to burst free. If the bastard would shut up long enough for him to get a word in around the fucking fucks, then he’d explain the predicament that had befallen him.
Or not.
Why would he, when he was being called such delightful things?
His fingers were hovering over the end call button when the rant on the other end became muffled. It seemed he was about to be passed to someone with better negotiating skills.
“Paul? Sweetie,” Elspeth purred into his ear. “I know you’re pissed off at me, but… where are you?”
