Carnival (The Traveling Series #4) Page 3

  I needed to center myself.

  I pulled on my helmet, an icy detached calm flowing through me, an intense focus where I separated my emotions from my actions.

  Music started thumping through the speakers, the primitive drumbeat from the Terminator theme-tune: du-duh duh du-duh, so loud that you could feel it in your bones, through the hard packed earth beneath your feet, in your brain and in your blood.

  Kes’s bike screamed out into the arena, a flaming torch held above his head. Tucker, Luke and I followed, each carrying unlit torches, circling each other like gladiators, until our unlit torches met the flames of Kes’s torch and a jet of fire leapt forty feet into the air. The crowd yelled and clapped and the show had begun.

  I raced up the steepest ramp, hurling my body and bike into a handlebar handstand and landing with a bounce on the far side, watching out of the corner of my eye as Tucker performed a one-handed rail grab, as if he was riding a skateboard, not 200 pounds of burning metal. Then Luke charged up the largest jump, performing a one-handed handstand, his palm planted in the center of the seat. Kes followed with a leap where no part of him was touching the bike, and the crowd screamed, some of them covering their eyes until he’d landed safely.

  Each stunt, each jump, each leap of faith ramped up the action and the danger, until all four of us were airborne together, synchronizing handstands and somersaults.

  Those were the most dangerous, because if the first rider landed it wrong, the second was going down, no question.

  Our bodies shone in the sunlight, the fire-resistant gel making us gleam like bronze statues, the tattoos on my arms kingfisher bright.

  We spun, leapt, cartwheeled. We flew, challenging gravity, just like Kes had said. And each time it seemed as though we’d reached the limit of what a body of blood and bones could do, we went further, muscles screaming, tendons in our necks standing out like cords.

  It was hot and dirty and sexy, and I knew from experience that women were getting just as hot and having sexy, dirty thoughts about all of us.

  What a fuckin’ rush.

  Then I lit the flames in a giant torch set up between the ramps, and as one, we raced our bikes up, up, up as the fire licked across our flesh, doing the impossible, living the unbelievable, once more defying fate as the four of us were airborne together. We were gods out there and nothing could touch us.

  As the show ended, Kes howled like a demon, sending chills through the sweating audience.

  It wasn’t an act: it was raw and feral and we each felt it in every cell of our bodies. Primeval, inhuman, invincible.

  We raced from that arena more alive, more alight, more aware of our beating hearts, of the blood that boiled in our bodies than anyone else in the universe.

  And when Kes vaulted from his bike and tugged off his helmet, tossing it beside the rig, he didn’t speak when he grabbed his wife by the hand and dragged her off to the RV.

  Luke disappeared with Zach, and Tucker and I were left alone, sweating our adrenaline and burning testosterone.

  He gave me a wry smile and shook his head, fumbling for his cell phone in the pile of clothes that he’d been wearing before the show, and I knew he was going to call his woman. And probably have phone sex so scorching that it melted his handset.

  I had no one, and my heart thundered in silence.

  Wiping sweat from my eyes, I limped back to the rig and pulled out a bottle of tepid water that I’d left in the shade. Cold water could made me sick if I drank it too soon after a show. I don’t know why.

  I was dog tired, but energy slithered under my skin, searching for a release. Feeling like this is the reason that rock stars keep groupies on hand. Since being part of Donohue’s Daredevils, we’d all had our share of dirt-bike groupies, but when I met Mirelle I’d given them up and the thought of going back to that wasn’t appealing anymore.

  We used the rig as a divider from our living area: on one side of it stood the RVs and Zach’s truck, and on the other side a private area where we could get changed.

  Sighing, I peeled off my leather pants and stood buck naked under an outdoor shower that Tucker had rigged up.

  I could have used the one in our RV, but I didn’t want to go there and hear Kes and Aimee fucking like the world just ended.

  I let the cold water pour over my head, closing my eyes as it cascaded across my face.

  And then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up with the feeling that someone was watching me. I washed the soap out of my eyes and looked around. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could feel them. Somewhere out there in the trees, watching.

  I was too tired to give a damn. I stroked my balls lazily as I washed them, hoping that the reporter wasn’t coming back for a follow up interview or she’d get an eyeful.

  When I’d scrubbed off the sweat and most of the gel, I dressed in oil-stained jeans and an old t-shirt. While the leathers, helmets, gloves and boots were drying, we started loading up the bikes and other equipment in the rig.

  Val and Dirk, a couple of old time roustabouts swarmed over the scaffolding for the jumps, beginning the long job of dismantling them and loading everything into our eight-wheeler.

  At the far end of the midway, the Ferris wheel had already been stripped to a bare skeleton, the buckets packed away until we were in another town, a different state.

  It took between five and six hours to dismantle the bigger rides—and most of that was using muscle power.

  After twenty minutes Tucker and Luke showed up, calmer, and with that post-fuck glow that was damned irritating to a man who was taking celibacy to a new level of aggravation.

  Kes arrived over an hour later, grinning to himself as he barked orders to the team working on taking apart the bleachers and safety barrier.

  While we grunted and sweated under the hot floodlights, Aimee arrived with huge plates of sandwiches that were wolfed down, held in greasy hands.

  It took us four more hours to pack up our equipment before we had a six-hour drive to Moses Lake. With one stop to change drivers on the way, we’d be there by breakfast.

  Kes was driving the RV with Aimee as his backup driver; Luke drove another RV; and I was in charge of the rig with the bikes, ramps, floodlights, spotlights, torches and spare parts—Tucker would spot me when we got to the truck stop outside of Coeur d’Alene.

  Zach was driving Ollo in his specially adapted RV, and Bo was riding with him tonight. He took turns in different trucks, depending on who he felt like keeping company. Little dude knew how to work the crowd.

  Tucker yawned and put his feet up on the dashboard, curling himself into a comfortable ball. I knew he’d soon be asleep. The guy was like a damn cat—he could sleep anywhere.

  I turned the key, and the diesel engine coughed and roared, and I drove out of Missoula in a cloud of yellow dust.

  A single man.

  By the time we arrived at Grant County Fairground, I’d been asleep for all of three hours. Lucky me. I stretched out, brushing my fingers against the roof of the cab, surprised when Bo’s quiet chatter sounded in my ear.

  “Aw, you woke the lil’ guy,” Tucker chided.

  “I didn’t know he was there. When did he appear?”

  “Snuck in when we were at the truck stop. The moment your ass hit the seat, you were snorin’ so loudly, you didn’t hear him. But gee, you look so cute together. He looks just like you—except you’re hairier.”

  I gave Tucker the finger while Bo tugged gently on my full beard as if he agreed.

  Gently, I unwound his fingers and lifted him onto my back as I climbed out of the truck’s cab.

  The air smelled fresh and there’d been a heavy dew overnight. Bo leapt down and ran toward Ollo’s RV that was parked next to us.

  I couldn’t see Moses Lake from here, but I knew it was about half a mile to the south of us. You’d probably be able see it from the top of the Ferris wheel.

  I yawned and stretched again as Tucker climbed out of the cab, scratching his belly then
rubbing his eyes.

  In the distance, I saw Kes striding across the grass to check out the small arena. At least at this showground we wouldn’t have to erect our own bleachers. That was a blessing.

  Everywhere, show folk were pouring out of trailers, trucks and RVs, beginning the hard, grinding work of making magic happen. There was a city of canvas to build, a world of possibilities.

  I walked to the back of the rig and unlocked the heavy double doors. I paused, listening, wondering if I’d heard something scuffling inside or whether it was just my imagination. Maybe a raccoon had gotten in? If so, the poor critter was two states and about 300 miles from home—and about to be evicted.

  I climbed inside and a curse fell from my lips.

  A shrill feminine voice cried out as I peered into the darkness, wondering if I really had just seen a blonde girl hiding in the back of the rig.

  Her pale face loomed out of the darkness, her expression terrified.

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Get your butt out of there now!” I commanded.

  “I’m sorry,” the voice cried again.

  I stepped out of the rig and jumped down, watching in disbelief as a small blonde kid stumbled into view.

  She bit her lip, staring at the distance between the rig and the ground.

  Sighing, I held out a hand to her, having to catch her as she just about fell into my arms.

  “I’m sorry!” she said for the third time.

  I set her back on her feet and stared at her. She was wearing torn jeans and a dirty t-shirt, but the purse she had slung across her shoulders looked expensive and new. I wondered if she’d stolen it.

  Her hair was a soft blonde color but currently coated with cobwebs.

  I lifted a hand to brush them from her hair and she flinched.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, trying to soften my annoyance. “You’ve got some spider webs in your hair.”

  She shrieked loud enough to wake the next town and started batting at her hair, clawing her hands through it and giving panicked little yelps.

  “Hey, stop that! It’s just a lil’ ole cobweb! Nothin’ to get hysterical over.”

  She shot me a filthy look and continued shaking out her hair, combing it roughly with her fingers.

  Her cries had brought an audience.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” laughed Tucker. “Where’d you find this treasure?”

  “Snuck in the rig while you were in charge.”

  Tucker smirked at me.

  “Yeah, well, finders keepers where I come from. She’s all yours, big guy.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Aimee, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Oh!”

  She frowned and stared at me and Tucker.

  I shrugged.

  “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Maybe she ran away to join the circus,” Tucker chuckled.

  Aimee held out her hands to the girl who looked maybe sixteen.

  “Are you okay?”

  The girl nodded sullenly.

  “Where did you come from?”

  The girl’s eyes shifted away and she clamped her mouth shut.

  “Okay, well . . . do you need to call anyone to come get you?”

  The girl shook her head stubbornly and Aimee gave a frustrated sigh.

  “I’m kind of thirsty,” she whispered, licking her dry lips.

  “Well,” said Aimee, speaking gently, “come on over and have some breakfast with us and we’ll figure out what to do.”

  The girl sidled past me, her eyes flickering to Aimee as if safety lay in that direction. We all followed, trooping over to the RV, and the girl shot a worried look over her shoulder.

  “Are those guys coming too?”

  Aimee smiled.

  “Yes, we all live together.”

  The girl’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Together?”

  Aimee laughed.

  “Yes, but not like that!” Her nose scrunched up. “They’re kind of my brothers-in-law.”

  The girl didn’t look reassured, but didn’t argue.

  “What’s your name?” Aimee asked.

  The girl was silent.

  “Okay, well maybe you’ll tell me later. Do you like bacon and eggs? Pancakes?”

  The girl nodded.

  She was too skinny and looked like she could do with a few good meals. There was something fragile about her, but in the full daylight, I realized that she was older than I’d first thought—maybe seventeen or eighteen.

  She watched silently as Aimee bustled around the tiny kitchen, whipping up eggs, bacon and pancakes, a big breakfast to see us through hours of set up and sheer exhaustion.

  Tucker hauled out the dining table from where it was stored along with folding chairs, and I set up the canopy at the side of the RV so we’d have somewhere shady to sit outside.

  The girl pulled a face then whispered something to Aimee.

  Aimee smiled and nodded.

  “Bathroom’s through there. Second door on the right.”

  The girl eyed the rear of the RV warily, then followed Aimee’s instructions.

  When Kes arrived, he didn’t appear pleased with the news that we had a stowaway.

  “How old is she? We don’t need some sheriff breathing down our necks accusing us of kidnapping her.”

  “I have no idea,” Aimee said evenly. “Maybe if we all stop staring at her like she’s about to catch fire, she’ll trust us enough to tell her story.”

  Kes grunted. He didn’t have too much time for people who brought him in touch with the authorities in any way, shape or form. I knew how he felt.

  When the girl tiptoed out of the RV, she hesitated by the door as if she was planning to make a run for it.

  “Help yourself to coffee and juice,” Aimee called.

  The girl licked her lips again and I noticed that she’d taken the time to wash her face and comb some of the dust out of her hair. But there was nothing she could do about her dirty clothes.

  Tentatively, she took a step forward, sliding into a seat without meeting anyone’s gaze. Aimee piled food onto her plate and passed it across to her. After a short pause, she tucked in as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  I ate silently while Tucker kept up a stream of lame jokes that made the girl smile shyly.

  At the end of the meal, I stood up and cleared my place, planning on getting over to the arena and starting the set-up of the ramps.

  “Hey!” Aimee called. “Where are you going?”

  “Got work to do,” I said shortly.

  “We have to decide what we’re going to do about our guest,” she insisted.

  “I don’t need your help,” the girl snapped, frowning at Aimee.

  “Honey, you stowed away in the back of our rig. You sure need someone’s help.”

  I raised my hands and backed away.

  “She’s nothing to do with me!”

  “You found her,” Aimee insisted.

  “So? Tucker let her sneak in. Let him deal with her.”

  “I’m not a stray dog!” hissed the girl.

  “Oh no, brother, she’s all yours!” Tucker laughed, standing up ready to head off. “Aimee said so. And I’m too smart to let the woman who cooks my food get mad at me. Besides, we’re meeting with Al in . . . five minutes ago.”

  Fuming, I watched as Kes and Tucker headed for the arena to talk to Al, the ride foreman, grinning like idiots.

  “Well,” said Aimee, waving her hand at me until I sat down, then turning to smile at the girl. “Are you going to tell us your name?”

  “I need to go now.”

  Aimee shook her head slowly.

  “You’re just a kid . . .”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Prove it then.”

  “Look, I’m grateful for the breakfast, but this has nothing to do with you.”

  Aimee leaned toward her.

  “I’m worried about you. People don’t just run away like this for
no reason. Has someone hurt you?”

  The girl’s face clouded.

  “No. Not the way you mean.”

  “I really want to help you,” Aimee said encouragingly.

  “Like I need help from a bunch of carnies,” the girl spat out.

  Immediately, she looked as though she wanted to bite back the words, but Aimee’s face hardened.

  “Maybe I should just call the sheriff’s office and let them sort it out.”

  The girl blanched.

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Sure I would. This is my family, and if you’re under age or you’ve done something that’s gotten you into trouble, you’ve brought it to my door. You’ve got one chance to convince me not to make that call.”

  Aimee was speaking, but it was Kes’s voice that I heard in my head. He had that old school carnie mentality that every townie is out to screw us.

  “Fuck you!” the girl said angrily, jumping to her feet. “It’s none of your business!”

  “Cool down, kid,” I snapped. “Aimee just busted her ass cooking for you and being nice. You don’t get to talk to her like that. You crashed our party—no one invited you here.”

  “Then let me go!”

  “Not until we know that you’re going to be safe,” Aimee said, looking determined.

  I wondered why she was spending so much time on a runaway who was eager to be on her way. Maybe it was the teacher in her, but good riddance, as far as I was concerned.

  The girl was clearly annoyed but gave in.

  “Fine. My name is Sara and I’m eighteen. Can I go now?”

  “Eighteen, huh? Then you won’t mind showing me some ID,” said Aimee, folding her arms.

  The girl chewed her lip, then with great reluctance pulled out a wallet and flashed a driver’s license.

  Aimee snatched it from her before she could put it away again and studied it closely. Then she tossed it to me, commenting,

  “It looks real. What do you think, Zef?”

  I caught the leather wallet, and I couldn’t help noticing that it looked new and expensive. Yeah, the ID looked real enough, and I noticed that her address was Montana, not Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. So she’d been on board the rig at Missoula. And I remembered that feeling of being watched while I’d showered. Had she been spying on me then, waiting for her chance to hide in the back of the rig? Then I studied the date-of-birth on her license carefully.