Read Online Racing the Devil by Jaden Terrell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jaden Terrell
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his Saturn round the bend. Then, feeling drained, I trudged up the long, winding driveway to Jay’s sprawling, two-story farmhouse.
“Jay, I’m home.” I pushed open the antique mailroom door with the stained glass insert and walked in. The smell of garlic and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, triggering a Pavlovian response.
Jay came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a Fourth of July dishtowel. When he saw me, he stopped short and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh my God. What did they do to you?”
I flicked my tongue across the scab on my lip, wondering if I should tell him how much I’d healed since Monday. “Just a little welcoming gift. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I hope not, honey, because it looks awful. Black eye, busted lip, bruises the size of hockey pucks.” He wrapped one arm around himself and propped the other elbow on it as he catalogued my injuries. “At least they didn’t break your nose.”
I thought of LeQuintus, flexing his muscles. “Not for lack of trying.”
He stepped closer and gave me a quick and awkward hug. “Well. It’s good to have you back. We’ve all been worried sick about you. Come in. Sit down. I made your favorite chicken. Roasted with garlic, basil, and rosemary. Just a touch of thyme. Fresh corn on the cob. Salad with arugula and baby oak leaves, with Vidalia onion dressing. And apple pie for dessert, with cheese or à la mode.” He laughed. “Don’t I sound like quite the little housewife?”
“I’ve been eating powdered eggs and country fried mystery meat for days. Not exactly gourmet dining.” I kept my tone light. Randall says Jay has a crush on me and likes to pretend we’re a couple. I don’t know about that. It’s not the kind of thing you can come right out and ask. Besides, I’m not sure what I’d do if he admitted it. So I ignore it.
Cowardly? I never said I wasn’t.
I followed him into the kitchen. As Jay was drizzling the dressing over our salads, I did a quick survey of his appearance.
A light layer of pancake base covered two small lesions on his cheek. A hint of blush negated his usual pallor. He looked okay, I decided. Keeping up his weight enough to keep from wasting. He was wearing tight jeans and a pale blue shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. Too uptown for a night at home.
“Hot date tonight?” I asked.
He blushed. “You don’t mind, do you? You just getting home and all? I can call and cancel.”
“No. I’m going to crash after dinner, anyway. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be arrested when I said I’d go out with him.”
“Really, Jay. It’s okay. I was going to be lousy company anyway.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
Over the years, Jay has amassed an impressive collection of murky sources of information. ‘Contacts,’ he calls them, from the years he spent programming computers for Nashville businesses back before he made his fortune in gaming. This may be true, but I suspect his considerable webmaster skills also come into play. Hacking. Cracking. Whatever you want to call it. Some things I’d just as soon not know.
“Later,” I said. “You can try and find out if there was an insurance policy on Amy Hartwell. Tonight, go out and have a ball.”
His date arrived as I was finishing the last crumbs of my pie. Jay hurried to the door to let him in, then led him back into the kitchen just as I was pushing my chair away from the table.
“Jared, this is Eric Gunnersen. Eric . . . Jared McKean.”
Eric, tall and Nordic-looking as his name implied, gave me a cool once-over and licked his lips. “Mmm. Rough trade. Cute, though. Should I be jealous?”
Jay gave me a playful slap on the shoulder as I carried my dirty dishes to the dishwasher. “Honey, he’s as straight as half a dozen arrows.”
The Viking gave a deep, theatrical sigh. “Pity,” he said. “The best-looking ones are always straight.”
Which was not
“Jay, I’m home.” I pushed open the antique mailroom door with the stained glass insert and walked in. The smell of garlic and cinnamon wafted from the kitchen, triggering a Pavlovian response.
Jay came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a Fourth of July dishtowel. When he saw me, he stopped short and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh my God. What did they do to you?”
I flicked my tongue across the scab on my lip, wondering if I should tell him how much I’d healed since Monday. “Just a little welcoming gift. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I hope not, honey, because it looks awful. Black eye, busted lip, bruises the size of hockey pucks.” He wrapped one arm around himself and propped the other elbow on it as he catalogued my injuries. “At least they didn’t break your nose.”
I thought of LeQuintus, flexing his muscles. “Not for lack of trying.”
He stepped closer and gave me a quick and awkward hug. “Well. It’s good to have you back. We’ve all been worried sick about you. Come in. Sit down. I made your favorite chicken. Roasted with garlic, basil, and rosemary. Just a touch of thyme. Fresh corn on the cob. Salad with arugula and baby oak leaves, with Vidalia onion dressing. And apple pie for dessert, with cheese or à la mode.” He laughed. “Don’t I sound like quite the little housewife?”
“I’ve been eating powdered eggs and country fried mystery meat for days. Not exactly gourmet dining.” I kept my tone light. Randall says Jay has a crush on me and likes to pretend we’re a couple. I don’t know about that. It’s not the kind of thing you can come right out and ask. Besides, I’m not sure what I’d do if he admitted it. So I ignore it.
Cowardly? I never said I wasn’t.
I followed him into the kitchen. As Jay was drizzling the dressing over our salads, I did a quick survey of his appearance.
A light layer of pancake base covered two small lesions on his cheek. A hint of blush negated his usual pallor. He looked okay, I decided. Keeping up his weight enough to keep from wasting. He was wearing tight jeans and a pale blue shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons. Too uptown for a night at home.
“Hot date tonight?” I asked.
He blushed. “You don’t mind, do you? You just getting home and all? I can call and cancel.”
“No. I’m going to crash after dinner, anyway. I feel like I haven’t slept in a month.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be arrested when I said I’d go out with him.”
“Really, Jay. It’s okay. I was going to be lousy company anyway.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
Over the years, Jay has amassed an impressive collection of murky sources of information. ‘Contacts,’ he calls them, from the years he spent programming computers for Nashville businesses back before he made his fortune in gaming. This may be true, but I suspect his considerable webmaster skills also come into play. Hacking. Cracking. Whatever you want to call it. Some things I’d just as soon not know.
“Later,” I said. “You can try and find out if there was an insurance policy on Amy Hartwell. Tonight, go out and have a ball.”
His date arrived as I was finishing the last crumbs of my pie. Jay hurried to the door to let him in, then led him back into the kitchen just as I was pushing my chair away from the table.
“Jared, this is Eric Gunnersen. Eric . . . Jared McKean.”
Eric, tall and Nordic-looking as his name implied, gave me a cool once-over and licked his lips. “Mmm. Rough trade. Cute, though. Should I be jealous?”
Jay gave me a playful slap on the shoulder as I carried my dirty dishes to the dishwasher. “Honey, he’s as straight as half a dozen arrows.”
The Viking gave a deep, theatrical sigh. “Pity,” he said. “The best-looking ones are always straight.”
Which was not
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