The container of books go first. The crate crashes and breaks on the asphalt.
It's an unsettling demonstration of what might happen to my bones. I crawl up on the sill and leap anyway.
So much for not playing Spiderman.
I tuck and roll into the landing, then skitter across the parking after the crate. Smoke billows out the emergency exit doors.
I grab the broken crate, shove it into my car, and peel out.
***
As I'm flooring it down I-8 into Arizona, my phone rings. I fumble for it in my pocket and answer without checking the caller ID.
“Dimitri, I'm coming over. I'm heading toward Phoenix now.”
I stare out the windshield, dumbfounded. I have no idea what just happened.
I think I blew up a lab.
“Dimitri, can you hear me?”
Silvia is on the line.
“Silv, what? What are you doing?”
She huffs. “I'm swinging by your place in about an hour.”
“What?”
I can't think of anything else to say.
“Are you drunk?” Her tone is admonishing.
“No, but I would like to be,” I say. “Why are you coming by?”
Sometimes I forget she knows where I live.
“I have stuff for you,” she says. “I'll show you when I get there.”
“Okay … ” My brain is still trying to catch up. “Silvia, I'm not going to be home for a few hours.”
“Why not?” She sounds irritated.
“Because I'm … Look, just go hang out at McDonald's 'til I call you.”
She groans. “Fine.”
I hang up.
Dealing with Silvia is not in the top hundred things I want to do when I reach home. To make matters worse, she's apparently sneaking out of the mansion now.
I wonder what she is up to, and how it's going to cause new problems.
Chapter 6
Once I see there's no Audi in my carport, I call Silvia to tell her I'm home. I would rather just meet her at McDonald's, but the Walkers do whatever they want. Especially Silvia. I need to get her headed back to the mansion before I can take the books to Karl. Otherwise, she might become bored and decide to wait for me here—and then run into Syd.
I lug the broken crate of books up the front porch. My muscles throb and burn with every movement. Unfortunately, I still have a ways to go before I can crash.
With numb arms, I work the key into the lock and let myself into the living room. I try to kick the door shut behind me. My balance slips. I turn to catch my fall and knock the crate into the end table. The crate finishes breaking in half. The books scatter across the floor and couch.
I stare down at the books because I'm too tired to move. Then I take a deep breath, gather them up, and stack them on the coffee table.
The doorbell rings.
Silvia is already here. Lucky me.
I trudge to the door and pull it open.
Silvia looks up at me expectantly, like I'm supposed to be happy to see her. Instead, I gaze over her to the carport.
“Where's your car, Silv?”
“Oh, I left that at McDonald's. I like walking.” She pushes past me into the living room and turns in a half circle. “This place hasn't been redecorated since I was here three years ago. I'll send someone out tomorrow.”
“Please don't.” I shut the door. “And you left your car where?”
“It's two blocks. Good exercise.” She plops down into the chair.
I rub my hand down my face. As much as I would like to be angry, my brain just can't handle anymore stupidity.
“Give me your keys,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “My keys for what?”
“Silvia, you clodpoll, you don't leave a Porsche unattended in a McDonald's parking lot.”
Her expression drops.
I sigh. “Come on.”
We load up in my car and head to the McDonald's.
“Aren't you going to do something about all that?” Silvia points her finger up and down me.
“About what?”
“You look like you fell off a mountain,” she says.
I glance at my arms. They are gashed up, bruised, and dirty. My face probably doesn't look any better.
“I'll deal with it when we get back.” I pull into the McDonald's parking lot. “Go get your car and follow me.”
She shifts in her seat, somehow moving closer even though she was already against the center console.
“You always look after me.” She caresses my hand on the console. “I think Daddy would be happy if he knew.”
I groan and loll my head back on the seat. “God, Silvia, it's not a good time for this.”
“Well, when?” She draws back, her expression darkening. “When is a good time?”
“It's never going to be a good time,” I say, even though I shouldn't.
“You don't have a choice in this, Dim,” she replies with an edge.
I glare at her. “The fact you'll have to order someone to be with you should speak volumes.”
Her mouth gapes. Then she composes herself and bursts out of the car. She stomps halfway toward her vehicle, spins around, and storms back to my open passenger window.