Skin Dive

by Ava Gray

  “As a last resort, if you can’t stop it any other way.”

  “Cool,” she said, sliding off the deck chair. “I was about ready for some action anyway.”

  CHAPTER 5

  PRESENT DAY DETROIT

  Shapes loomed up from the darkness. Fearlessly, Gillie stepped forward. The metal door slammed behind her as she stepped fully through the employee’s entrance, trash in hand.

  In the distant, half-light thrown by the streetlamp, the Dumpster became a young dragon crouched against the crumbling brick façade of the bar where she worked. She could almost discern the scales in the flecks of rust where the paint had peeled away. She approached the dragon armed with nothing but a thin black plastic sack full of rubbish. With a fierce scowl, she wound up and slung the mess down the beast’s gullet and pacified it for another day.

  “You’re welcome,” she said to the dark and oblivious city.

  That imagination had seen her through unbelievable horror. Sometimes she still found it hard to sleep at night. Hard to believe she was finally safe, or at least, more so than she had been. For someone like her, safety came in degrees ranging from out of harm’s way for the moment to about to die. And sometimes her mind played tricks on her, making her think something terrible was about to happen, because it always, always did.

  But she wasn’t imagining the light crunch of footsteps over broken glass.

  “You shouldn’t have to do this.” The quiet voice didn’t surprise her.

  When Gillie turned, she found Taye propped up against the opposite wall, a steakhouse that had long since gone out of business. Now it had grates across the windows and people still managed to break the glass. God knew, the bar was headed that way, but over these months, Mick had been good to her. Weird as it might seem, she didn’t mind her job.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “This is what real people do.”

  She wasn’t interested in replaying the conversation wherein he offered to get her enough money to set her up for life, though his ability hurt him and it meant the difference between freedom and capture. It was possible he was just working too hard, but Taye looked more haggard all the time, as though the electricity had sapped the life right out of him. In recent months, his outlook had darkened, too, so bleak and grim that most days, it was a fucking miracle if she could make him smile. She’d taken to memorizing dirty jokes that she overheard in the kitchen in the hope she could take him by surprise and banish the sorrow for a little while.

  Plus, she wasn’t interested in letting him steal for her. She wanted to work; Taye didn’t understand that. He thought she should be ready for a life of leisure after her long incarceration, ready to bask in the sun and sip margaritas. Unfortunately, the easy road wasn’t the best way, and deep down, he knew that. He just hated seeing her with her hands raw from scrubbing, and the guilt of feeling like he should do better for her made him surly.

  Frost lay lightly on the ground, adding a crystalline layer to the grit-covered pavement. Snow touched his hair and melted immediately, as if he generated heat in each unruly strand. It was too long in front, and it hung in his eyes, lending him a roguish air. But that buccaneer swagger was deceptive; he wasn’t playful. Like the electricity he commanded, he could turn deadly in a flicker.

  By now, she should have gotten over the lightning that careened in her veins just from looking at him. He wasn’t shiny and new anymore. They’d had months to get used to one another, and more than once, she’d flung a dish and screamed at him. More than once, he’d slammed out of the apartment as if he couldn’t stand her proximity for another minute.

  But he always came back, and she always swept up the glass shards of what she broke. Their extra-special brand of dysfunction wouldn’t work with anyone else.

  At their first meeting, Taye had frightened her. She’d believed him a punishment from Rowan or a herald of worse things to come. But shortly, she’d realized he was a reward for everything she’d endured. Or maybe, she’d thought recently, she just wanted him to be. Taye had other ideas.

  “We’re not meant to be like them.” He pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward her, all loose-limbed grace.

  “I want to be. I’ve never done any of this. Maybe to anyone else, my life might seem awful or pathetic, but . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  He had seen the truth. Taye knew where she came from—and it was why he escorted her to and from work every night. He’d gotten it into his head that she needed protecting, that she was too fragile for the world. Like so many men, he saw only the fair, almost translucent skin, red curls, and big blue eyes. He assumed her appearance meant she couldn’t take care of herself—that the apparent physical fragility ran bone deep. But one couldn’t survive what she had and remain emotionally vulnerable. Inside, where it counted, she had a steel core.

  “There’s nothing pitiful about you,” he said softly. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

  For a while, after that possessive kiss at McGinty’s, she’d tried to get him to take that final step past friendship and into intimacy, but he wouldn’t budge. He maintained a hands-off policy where she was concerned. Which Gillie thought was ridiculous. She was nearly twenty-five years old, and no man inspired by normal desire or affection had ever touched her. Rowan’s real doll obsession with her did not bear close scrutiny. From what she’d observed, Taye’s need to protect her fought constantly with his desire to keep his distance.

  Though she knew he hated casual contact, Gillie curled her hand around his arm anyway, as though they were a normal couple. Did boyfriends pick their girlfriends up after work? She suspected they did in this part of town, if they gave a shit.

  He glanced down at her fingers, pale against the dark leather of his jacket. The duster suited his rangy build. With it, he always wore jeans, plain white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots. Gillie had wondered if that style was left over from the person he was before, the one he could only remember in bits and pieces.

  That lack of memory tormented him. While she lay in their chaste bed, listening to him breathe, she’d also heard fragments of his nightmares. At base, Taye felt like an incomplete person, a man blessed with abilities instead of memories. He did not know who he was—or what he’d done—only what he could do.

  After a long hesitation, he didn’t pull away; he let the small incursion against his defenses stand. And then he set off toward the main street, matching his strides to hers. That instinctive courtesy made her think he couldn’t have been as bad a man as he feared, before the Foundation broke him and remade him in their image. He was only certain he’d been homeless, crazy from the first vaccine. It hurt her to envision what he’d suffered, even before the evil of those subsequent secret experiments. But it also let her understand him. Pain had forged him into a protector, but it had left him emotionally wrecked. He feared he had nothing to give.

  Because she couldn’t give up on him—couldn’t let him slide in silence—she said, “I made cookies today while you were at work.”

  It was an invitation for him to stay up with her for a while and talk about his day. It also served as a quiet reminder of what they shared, and a statement that nobody would ever understand like she did. By the wry quirk of his well-molded mouth, he knew her intention; you didn’t get that kind of subtext with just anybody. Taye thought she only wanted him because he was the first person who had been kind since the Foundation took her from her parents. He thought she lacked any frame of reference to make an educated sexual decision.

  Gillie found that insulting. There were guys at McGinty’s, kitchen help and the occasional patron, who had offered to take her home. She didn’t want any of them. Eight months later, she still wanted Taye, but he said the dregs of society didn’t count. Some days, he was the reason she threw things. Him, and his fucking stubbornness.

  Yet he didn’t demure or mutter an excuse about how he needed to go straight to bed. She’d learned early on that he had a sweet tooth, so she angled a hopeful look at h
im.

  “What kind?”

  Maybe she ought to mind that her company wasn’t enough. But she’d take whatever she could get with him, as he wanted to cut and run. Only a confounded sense of obligation had kept him hanging around this long. And that, she did not want from him.

  But time was running out. Soon, they would have enough for the ID package, and they’d go their separate ways. The idea filled her with despair.

  “Gingersnaps.”

  He sighed. “You do this on purpose, tempting me in the middle of the night.”

  “Of course.” There was no point denying it.

  They turned the corner onto their street. The studio he’d found for such cheap rent was in a terrible brownstone that smelled of mildew and urine. Around here, there were mostly closed businesses and buildings that had been condemned and taken over by squatters. Graffiti streaked the brick and cement; steel grates covered windows and doors.

  “We need to talk,” he conceded. “And cookies will make the bad news go down easier. But Gillie, sweetheart, you have to resign yourself to the fact I won’t be around forever. I can’t play house like you want me to.”

  Her pleasure at the endearment twanged with a sour note, swelling into astonishing pain. “I have. I know you won’t stay.”

  She let go of his arm then and hurried up the walk, stepping over broken green glass that glimmered like pirate emeralds. His footsteps came on, slower but steady and sure behind her. He would be watching the street, looking for the Foundation trackers. The two of them were too valuable for their tormentors to yield pursuit without another attempt at recovery.

  When she pushed open the front door, she found a man asleep in the foyer. Likely homeless, but this wasn’t the sort of place where anyone would run him out. Just as well; it was cold outside, cold enough to see her breath even inside the doors. Taye paused, and she knew what he was thinking: Am I this guy? And did anyone give a fuck?

  In silence, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. The overhead light guttered, making it impossible for her to see their denomination. He crossed the cracked blackand-white vinyl floor to tuck the money into the man’s breast pocket. Closer, the smell of cheap liquor wafted from him. It was impossible to tell the man’s age, but Taye himself seemed older when he turned toward the stairs, following her up to the first landing.

  Gillie jogged up the flights without speaking, and then unlocked the door. It was a humble studio, smaller than the place where Rowan had held her hostage. But it was theirs.

  After this, she wanted to go to college. She wanted . . . everything. But she wasn’t likely to get a happy ending, not the one with a picket fence and the man of her dreams. Taye said she hadn’t met enough men to make up her mind anyway.

  And these days, she would settle for freedom.

  While Taye prowled the place, checking the few dark corners where an intruder might hide, she pulled her chipped, misshapen cookie jar from the top of the ancient refrigerator. Feline in shape, the thing also had one deformed ear, giving it a tomcat look. When she removed the ceramic lid, dual scents of sugar and spice wafted from the container. Switching focus with predatory grace, Taye wrapped up his search and came to sit warily on the couch.

  Gillie poured milk into plastic tumblers and put some cookies on a plate. Taye eyed them with endearing hunger, as if they nourished some need in him much deeper than the ingredients would suggest.

  “Here you go.”

  He took one for each hand, ignoring the milk, and ate them before leveling a contemplative gaze on her. His irises gleamed the vibrant blue green of tropical waters. Some might name them turquoise or aquamarine, but those words seemed flat compared to the beauty of Taye’s eyes, fringed with dark lashes, bleached lighter at the tips. He was tan now from his work on the docks; his lean jaw bristled with stubble, and it held a ruddy hue, slightly redder than his chestnut hair.

  “I guess you know there’s a reason I’m not going to bed.”

  She nodded. Though her baking had improved, it still wasn’t irresistible. In all these months, she’d never learned what it would take to breach his walls. Maybe she didn’t have the key, and one day he’d decide she could stand on her own two feet. That day, he would leave her.

  “They’re hunting us. I heard from Mockingbird . . . He tapped their network again and saw the new retrieval orders.”

  Cold, spiked horror spilled through her. As she recalled, Mockingbird was a counteragent, working against the Foundation. He wanted to recruit Taye to join his mutant army. Gillie had never spoken to him, but the first time he called, Taye had told him to leave them both alone. It couldn’t be good they were hearing from him now.

  A hard knot formed in her chest. Dammit, she didn’t want to spend her life running. It didn’t seem like too much to ask that she could just do normal things like pay bills and go to work at a job nobody else wanted. Quiet dreams—and perhaps impossible ones, as well. She forced herself to consider the problem rationally, setting aside her visceral emotional response.

  “How long do we have?”

  He didn’t seem panicked, which led her to believe the Foundation team must not be local. If they have to factor travel time, given Mockingbird’s early warning, we can be long gone before they get here.

  “He said we should have a couple of hours. They’re mobilizing from New York.”

  She nodded, trying to keep it together. Collect the pertinent facts. “And how are they tracking us now, after all this time? We’ve been so careful.”

  “It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I . . . lost control.”

  “Taye, what happened?”

  “I don’t know. When I went past the power station—the same one I pass every day—something happened. I pulled. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

  “Oh, shit. Maybe it was just too much juice. Involuntary response?”

  “I guess,” he muttered.

  There was darkness in his face, pure despair, and she wanted so badly to wipe it away. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll bug out of here, and you’ll get it under control. This won’t happen again, I’m sure. We just need to find some tungsten-powder and lose her signal. Did Mockingbird give you a safe house this time?”

  “Yeah. As long as we get moving and don’t power up again, we’ll be fine.”

  “That’s good news. I didn’t want to heal ever again anyway.” Relief surged through her.

  Something like pain flashed across his face and then was gone. “I understand that. Now I need you to go stand by that wall and smile for me.” Taye pulled out his cell.

  “Why?”

  “Please?”

  Sighing, she did as he asked. Then he clicked a few buttons on the phone and nodded as though he’d checked something crucial off his to-do list. He stuck it back in his jacket pocket; the dark leather contrasted beautifully with the pale, worn denim.

  “What was that for?”

  “Mockingbird needs a picture of you. He’s preparing an ID kit.”

  Well, that’s unexpectedly good news. If he was handling the paperwork, then they could keep all the money they’d saved. But it did make her wonder what their benefactor expected to get out of the deal.

  Gillie put that aside for the moment, focusing on another aspect of the situation. “But to reaffirm, as long as we lose Kestrel, and then go back to living like normal people, they shouldn’t be able to locate us, right?”

  “That’s the next bullet point. I’ve got more news and it’s all bad.”

  She braced. “I’m tough, I can take it.”

  “They’ve put us into the system as terrorists and set a merc on us. And he’s good. I did a little digging on him before I came to get you. I don’t know yet what kind of news coverage we’re getting, if any. Just because they’ve added us to a wanted list doesn’t mean anyone is paying attention. It might not be that big a deal.”

  Yeah, right. She could tell when he prevaricated.

  “Aw, fuck.”


  In reaction, Gillie leapt to the worst-case scenario. Given the right connections and sufficient media interest, their pictures would be plastered all over the place, making it impossible to lay low. Since their escape, she’d watched the news, trying to catch up on current events, even though it was always relentlessly grim, and she knew how this stuff worked.

  “You see why I’m worried.”

  “Yeah. I guess I should call Mick and quit my job.”

  “It’s not the kind of place where you need to give notice. It’s time for us to get out.”

  She curled her hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into her palms. “I’m not going back. I’ll die first.”

  “Shh.” Taye stroked a hand across her hair. Funny, he’d touch her only if she needed comfort, as if she were a child, not a grown woman. He did much the same, soothing her, when she lashed out. “They won’t take you again. I promise, Gillie-girl. That much, I can do for you.”

  If she hadn’t been fighting fear, she might have asked him to explain what he meant by that much. Like he thinks he’s no good for anything more. But she could think only about leaving this apartment. Even though it wasn’t much, besides Taye, it was all she had.

  She turned her cheek into his palm, seeking his overwhelming heat. For brief, precious moments, his fingers traced along her cheekbone, thumb lingering as if her skin were the sweetest thing he’d ever touched. His gaze lingered on her lips—and then she saw the moment he remembered who she was. Gillie the innocent, Gillie who must be protected from herself.

  For the first time, she drew away before he did. “I’ll pack. There’s no point in wasting time. If you say it’s serious, I know it is.”

  He flinched and averted his eyes. “Don’t trust me like that. Not me.”

  Always lines like that. Trust me, but not completely. Touch me, but not like you want to. Stay with me, but not really. Not forever. Taye could break a woman’s heart with his inconsistencies. She ignored his idiocy in favor of getting her backpack. His was already packed. While she stuffed clothes into the bag, Taye paced, head canted. Maybe his mood was rubbing off on her, but she sensed the unnatural stillness, too. There were no dogs barking, no rush of tires on damp, salted streets. Since it was after three in the morning, that could be why.