The Getaway
Authors: Sonya Bateman
The Getaway
A Gavyn Donatti Story
Sonya Bateman
Copyright (c) Sonya Bateman, 2010
All rights reserved
Cover design by Andrew Bateman
“The Getaway” first appeared in
The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2
, Running Press, August 2010 (UK); October 2010 (US)
The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2
anthology also features stories by:
Jackie Kessler * Gail Carriger * Karen Chance * Sherry Browning Erwin * Lara Adrian
Ava Gray * Helen Scott Taylor * Kim Lenox * Seressia Glass * S.J. Day * Sharon Ashwood
Michele Hauf * Elissa Wilds * Moira Rodgers * Natalie Gray * Shirley Damsgaard
The Getaway
I
f there was one thing Jazz hated more than birthdays, at the moment it was Gavyn Donatti—ex-thief, current boyfriend, and completely hopeless co-navigator.
She nosed the sedan to the top of the rise, tires spinning in the muck. How they’d gotten onto a dirt road was beyond her. Rain battered the roof and sheeted down the windshield, the wipers at top speed barely affording a glance at the few feet of desolate nothing the headlights picked out. No signs, no lights, no goddamn asphalt. No miracle turn-off to this supposed dream cabin.
Only Donatti could get them this lost with a map and detailed directions. Hell, he’d get lost with a GPS and a personal tour guide.
“Your car’s a piece of crap,” she said.
Donatti slouched in the passenger seat. “Sorry, babe,” he muttered. “Haven’t had time to upgrade lately.”
“Don’t ‘babe’ me. We’re lost.”
“No, we’re—” He straightened and peered out the windshield. For a long time. “Okay. We’re lost.”
“How perceptive.” Jazz nudged the shivering car through a series of deep ruts, fighting the jerks and tugs of the wheel. Christ. She’d driven getaway cars at a hundred miles an hour with bullets tearing through the back end, and had less trouble than this. The four-banger under the hood ground its gears and let out a couple of disconcerting clacks. “When’s the last time you changed the oil in this thing?”
“Um.”
“Jesus, Donatti. You’ve got to take better care with vehicles.” She refrained from bringing up what he’d done to her van. He knew what she meant. “What happens if we throw a rod out here? I didn’t bring a spare engine.”
He flashed a quick frown. “I’ll fix it.”
“Oh, no. I told you, I don’t trust that magic stuff.”
“Jazz, come on. You know it’s real. You’ve been—”
“No.”
“What do I have to do, turn lead into gold?”
“Nothing. Don’t do anything, okay? In fact, let’s make this a magic-free weekend.” She glared through the dark and the rain. Yes, she was being irrational. Donatti had just found out a few months ago that he was part djinn, and she’d seen him do impossible things. Like make himself invisible. And kill two thugs with one spell. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. For God’s sake, nobody believed in genies, any more than they believed in fairies and unicorns. “Promise me no magic.”
“Fine. I promise.” He let out a sigh. “Look, why don’t you pull over a minute? I’ll see if I can make any sense out of the map.”
Jazz shook her head. “If I get off this mud-bog excuse for a road, we won’t be able to get back on.”
“All right. You’re the boss.”
“Damn straight.” She allowed herself a smirk, but it faded fast. This was a mistake. Celebrating her birthday, which she didn’t give a shit about anyway, at some remote fucking
romantic
cabin with the thief who’d gotten her pregnant and then vanished for three years, only to turn up again just in time to completely eviscerate the life she’d made with Cyrus.
Okay. Maybe not eviscerated. Disrupted, definitely. Donatti had smoothed things over pretty quickly, and Cy had taken right to his father like he’d been there all along. But between her and Donatti, there was just an old spark. She might have loved him once. Now she wasn’t sure. Hell, she didn’t know anything these days. Sometimes she wanted to strangle him with his own intestines...but he was adorable even in his incompetence, and she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. He wasn’t bad, really. Just unlucky as hell. And he’d turned out to be a good father, once she’d finally managed to inform him that he was one.
Speaking of Cy, it was late and she hadn’t called to check on things at home. They were supposed to be at the cabin two hours ago. She pointed at the cell phone she’d plugged in to charge and said, “Can you dial the house? Put it on speaker.”
“Sure.”
Jazz realized she’d been gripping the wheel tight enough to cramp her fingers. She forced them to relax. Cy would be fine. She’d left him with Ian and Akila—Ian being the djinn who’d sprung himself on Donatti three months ago saying he was his great-great-great grandfather, or something. Akila, also djinn, was Ian’s wife.
The phone wasn’t ringing. Wasn’t making any noise at all. She looked sideways at him. “Did you forget the number?”
“Not exactly.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not getting any bars.”
“Shit!”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m gonna check the map again.”
“You do that,” she muttered, and shifted her concentration back to driving. She didn’t expect him to find anything. Following directions wasn’t one of his strengths. He was more the type to accidentally wind up in the right place—even if it was almost always at the wrong time.
The torrential downpour seemed to be slacking, and the road looked a little wider, a little firmer. That might’ve been wishful thinking. At least the car had stopped trying to fling itself kamikaze-style off the path. There was another little rise ahead. Maybe they’d find a new road on the downgrade. Or Atlantis. With Donatti around, she never knew.
Paper rustled sharply from the passenger seat. “Okay, so did we pass Loon Lake?”
“We passed a lot of lakes, Donatti.”
“I think we did. And we’re looking for Wolf Pond.”
She blew out a breath. “A pond in the Adirondacks. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”
“You win a cookie.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Cut the wisecracks. I’m trying to drive.”
He smirked at her. “Can’t have that now. You’ll get a DWL, and that’ll go on your record forever. When they put you away, they’ll make you watch Barney videos and listen to Rico Suave all day in your cell.”
“DWL?” She arched an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
“Driving while laughing. It’s a serious offense in the great state of New York. Have you ever seen a trooper crack a smile?”
She smothered a laugh. Damn, he always managed to crack her up, no matter how bad things got. She actually envied his endless supply of optimism—he could whip out a smartass remark while he was standing at the wrong end of a gun. Maybe he was a little stupid sometimes, but he made up for it with buckets of brass fucking balls. She had to admire that. “Happy troopers? That’d scare the shit out of me,” she finally said.
“Me too.” He maintained the serious-like-a-church-service front. “I actually saw one, once. He was cuffing me at the time.”
“Figures.” She smiled and glanced at the speedometer. The sedan was doing a whopping 24 MPH. At this rate, they might make civilization some time before New Years. They cleared the rise—and Jazz eased the brakes down, practically gaping through the windshield. “Tell me I’m not seeing things,” she said. “Is that pavement?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Donatti grinned. “See any road signs?”
“Yeah, sure. Right next to that mini mall over there.” She stopped with the front tires on the paved surface, not in the mood to push this thing out of the mud. Trees to the left, and trees to the right. Nothing in either direction said head-this-way. She flicked the hazards on—as if anyone else would be out driving on East Bumfuck Mountain in this weather—and said, “Okay. Now what, Mister da Gama?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Turn.”
“Brilliant idea. Which way?”
“Hey, don’t look at me.” He folded the map in his hands a few times. “If I pick the wrong one, you’ll kick my ass.”
“I should probably kick your ass anyway. This was your idea.”
Donatti stiffened and stared straight ahead. “Yeah,” he said softly. “How stupid of me, thinking we might have a good time together.”
I’m sorry
. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Instead, she popped the car into gear and eased into a left turn. “I think this way’s down,” she said. “At least we should hit a crossroad or a sign eventually.”
“You’re the boss.”
Jesus. Did he have to sound like she’d kicked him in the balls? Irritated, more with herself than him, she walked the car up to a decent speed and listened to the tires slice over drenched asphalt. After a long silence, she coughed once and gestured to the radio. “You want that on? It might take a while until we get oriented again.”
“Nah. If there’s any stations in range, it’s probably your choice of country, country, and western.” He dropped his gaze to his lap. “Jazz, I’m sorry I got us lost.”
His apology where hers should’ve been sent a spark of anger sizzling through her. She managed to throttle it back. “It’s not completely your fault,” she said. “I’m driving.”
“Yeah, well—holy shit. You see that thing up there?”
“What...”
Thing?
The rest of the question faded from her lips. The rusted hulk of an old car lay by the side of the road ahead, choked in tangles of weeds. She slowed when they passed it, and gave a low whistle. “That’s a DeSoto. Well, it used to be. Back in the ‘50s. Jesus, it’s crumpled to hell.”
“Kind of weird, isn’t it? All the way out here?”
“Yes. Weird.” It was damned unsettling. Like finding a horse in a parking garage—or rather, the bleached skeleton of a horse.
The road curved, and when they rounded the bend something shivered in her gut. “There’s another one,” she said. A rusted, twisted auto body overgrown with brown vegetation. This one had come to rest from whatever crashed it on its side. “A Mustang. Early ‘70s.”
Donatti stared at it. “Okay, I’m creeped out,” he said.
“I’m turning around. We’ll go the other way.” She tapped the brake.
The car sped up.
“What the
fuck
?” Jazz gripped the wheel and tromped on the brake. It didn’t slip, shimmy or sink to the floor. Went down cushioned, like a normal pedal. But the sedan didn’t slow. The speedometer climbed to thirty-five, forty, forty-five. She didn’t dare take her eyes from the road.
“Uh, Jazz?” Donatti’s voice shook a little. “We going for a Dukes of Hazzard turn here?”
“It won’t stop.” She managed to sound calm. “I changed my mind. Use magic.”
“Right.”
They flew past another wreck, too fast to make—but definitely a classic car like the rest. She knew it took him a few minutes to do anything magic. It had to warm up or something. The needle climbed. Fifty. Fifty-five. The wheel strained in her hands, and the car tilted.