Page 69 of Hounded

“No.”

His legs and feet were bare under the satin shorts he’d been wearing the day I fixed his shower, and a cable knit cardigan swathed him from shoulders to hips. The sweater gave me pause. It was mine, apparently left behind in the postmortem purge, but he couldn’t have known that.

I swallowed against the grit in my throat and asked, “Want some help?”

When he faced me again, his lips twisted in an uncertain frown. “I nearly backed into you. Didn’t hit you, did I? You aren’t hurt or anything?”

I shook my head. It was barely a bump, and he looked embarrassed enough already.

Indy nipped his lip between his teeth while dodging my gaze. After a moment, he tilted his head toward me and grinned. “IsGhostdriver’s ed still on the table?”

My deadpan stare wiped the humor off his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I… I’ll work on that.”

With a nod, I approached while shooing him toward the passenger side of the coupe.

“I’mthe one who needs practice,” he protested.

I slid past him and dropped into the driver’s seat,reaching immediately for the lever to slide it backward so my knees weren’t crowding into the steering wheel.

“And parking lots are great places for that,” I replied. “Empty ones, though. Too many obstacles here.”

“And pedestrians,” Indy muttered glumly.

He trotted around the car and got in while I started the engine. Once he was settled, I pulled forward into the parking space, then reversed again before angling toward the road.

“Besides the lesson,” I began, “was there somewhere you wanted to go?”

“Out,” Indy replied. “Just out. If I have to see the inside of that dumb trailer for one more minute, I’m gonna go homicidal.”

I hummed and nodded. This was typical Indy behavior. He got an itch for adventure at odd hours, dragging me out of bed and across town to 24-hour diners, dance clubs, or to wander the aisles of the nearest convenience store. As much as I complained about the impromptu jaunts, I had missed them in the doldrums of my recent weeks of solitude.

“There’s an all-night ice cream place a few miles from here,” I mused. “Could be a reward for getting this old girl in gear. Literally.”

Indy swayed back, aghast. “I can’t goinanywhere dressed like this. I’m not wearing shoes.” He pulled one leg up into the seat and waggled his painted toes. Sliding his foot back down, he asked, “Why’re you up, anyway? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Just got off work.”

I steered the Firebird onto the road, feeling the motorthunder as we picked up speed.

Indy huffed skeptically. “Emergency TV delinquency?”

I rolled my eyes. “Televisions aren’t even that expensive anymore.”

Clearly unconvinced, Indy reached for the radio dial. Aftermarket speakers pumped out the rich melody of a Bon Jovi song. Indy bobbed his head and hummed along while drumming his fingers on the passenger door window frame.

I watched as his fingernails sparkled in the passing streetlights and wondered how a wedding ring would look on him. Almost fifteen years later, I still remembered the afternoon after his proposal. He dragged me to the bookstore and bought a stack of wedding magazines to pore over. He’d gushed over every detail, dogearing pages and circling photos. It should have been his day. I would have given it to him, but he was gone before I could. The loss made my heart ache.

The radio cut to commercial break as we continued into the city. Most of Brooklyn was cluttered and crowded, so finding a space open enough I didn’t need to worry about Indy crashing into parked cars or passersby was a challenge. But I knew these streets better than anyone, so after about fifteen minutes, I was able to locate a vacant lot with nothing but a pair of dumpsters and a few flickering streetlamps to serve as road hazards.

I bumped the gearshift into neutral, then set the emergency brake before climbing out of the coupe.

Indy stood on the other side and looked expectantly at me across the roof.

“You’re up,” I told him.

Once we had traded places and settled in, I turned down the radio and pointed at the floorboard.

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