She thought she saw a speck of light through the red cloud. A fluttering strobe that burst through the beast and scattered it into the wind. Now the separate elements of the creature fell upon her. Kramer couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her limbs were trapped in a compressing blanket that filled her eyes and mouth. She began to choke as the sand found its way into her throat. Darkness filled her vision and fire filled her lungs as she fought for air.
Kramer saw a ghost appear, shuffling like an old man. A figure coated in dust and grit. Geordie’s eyes were dark spots in his alabaster face. He just reached down to Kramer and pulled her from her grave. She came to her feet, barely able to stand. Life seemed to have stopped. No breath, no heartbeat. The sandstorm began to settle as the wind died. The sky appeared above them and as the now familiar arid terrain became visible, Kramer dropped to her knees. She puked a cement mix of bile and sand. Every inch of her exposed flesh stung from the battering it had received.
Geordie pulled her to her feet again. He pointed down the hill and seemed to speak but Kramer’s ears were clogged and she heard nothing but an indistinct rumble. He pushed her forward. Kramer’s feet moved on instinct, one in front of the other. Step after step until the ground levelled off and his hand touched her shoulder. Kramer sank to the ground in relief. Geordie did the same, lying flat on his back, chest heaving as he struggled to take a proper breath.
Tears came to her eyes, what felt like the last moisture in her body seeping out to clear the grit from her vision and leave damp trails through the dust and blood on her cheeks. Kramer lay down like Geordie, staring up at a cloudless sky. She had no idea how long they’d been inside the sandstorm, but the sun lay close to the horizon now, filling the western sky (she hoped it was western like back home) with violent colours. It would be night soon, and she knew they were lost. This empty world seemed to taunt her with its silence. Even the wind had fallen still. Kramer still held her gun, the metalwork covered in dust. She smoothed it clean and drew the short barrel up her body until she cradled it like a baby. The muzzle tucked itself under her chin. Kramer closed her eyes.
You can’t escape, a female voice whispered in her ear.
This world would kill them. Either from wraith-haunted storms, thirst or hunger. Or maybe it had another trick it waited to play, another way to torture then kill them. Kramer didn’t want to die; she wanted to get back home. She’d never hate the rain again. But they could wander this land forever and never find a doorway. Never find their own anomaly to lead them back into their world. With her eyes still closed Kramer found the trigger guard and let her finger curl within it.
You are scarred now. No-one will want to look at you. Your boyfriend most of all. He’ll never want to be with you again, the soft, seductive voice said.
She thought about Scarrett. She still found it crazy that some guy could walk into her life like that. Get under her skin and into her heart. She hoped he would move on. Find someone else. Maybe the idiot would spend the rest of his life searching for her, trying to find his way through to the universe she lay in. More tears squeezed out from beneath her eyelids. Kramer heard Geordie coughing. She waited until the sound subsided. Silence returned. A world of silence. A world of death.
Do it. Kill yourself.
Kramer tensed. A shadow blocked the light, and she opened her eyes to see Geordie silhouetted above her.
“What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”
“I...”
His hand grasped the muzzle of the MP5A and pulled it away from the soft flesh under her chin. Geordie leant in close, his face a mask of dried sand. “Whatever you think of this place, or the situation we’re in, never, ever think that pulling the trigger will fix things. All it means is that whatever pushed you into this place will have won. Never give in. Never surrender. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” She sounded like a little girl. “I’m sorry.”
“And don’t say you’re sorry. You’re better than that. I’ve seen you at your best, and you are one tough woman.”
Kramer nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Geordie hung over her until he seemed assured she wouldn’t do anything dumb. He pulled back, sitting next to her.
“Night’s falling. We’ll stay here. No point in wandering around in the dark.”
“No.” Kramer felt like she had to say something.
“It might get cold once the sun’s down. If we need to share body warmth don’t tell your boyfriend.”
“No.” Kramer managed a smile.
Geordie lay down, just out of reach. After a moment he said, “Do I need to look after your gun?”
“No,” Kramer said. “I’ll be okay. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “If you say you’re sorry once more I might have to shoot you myself.”
Kramer smiled and closed her eyes again. She waited for the voice to return but heard nothing but the soft sigh of the wind as it drifted across the arid land.
***
Alec Stanton made a decision on impulse to leave the exclusion zone and visit a local pub. The day seemed to have run out of control from him, and he could blame it all on the two Americans that the spooks had foisted on him. He didn’t mind the Intelligence services, they did a difficult job, and often they did it very well. But how the unit he dealt with over the Anomaly could even begin to think that Joanne Kramer and her stupid sidekick could offer anything but problems was beyond him.
And now it looked like Joanne lay dead beneath a couple of tonnes of rock. Which was a shame because he’d quite fancied her. The knock-back he’d got from her the other night didn’t bother him. He knew when a woman played hard to get and, if anything, the chase was better than the capture. So now Stanton walked from his car to the pub with his thoughts full of Joanne Kramer. If she’d listened, she’d be alive now. Rushing off around the countryside chasing oddball creatures when she should be following from a distance, calling in support and staying safe. Stanton would have quite liked her as a dinner companion again. Blue eyes, nice smile, nicer figure. Wasted on her boyfriend of course. Now, there was an advert for stupidity if Stanton had ever seen one.
The warmth of a log fire filled the interior of the pub. Stanton nodded hello to the landlord. A couple of men from his unit were over in one corner. He ignored them because even Stanton knew not everyone wanted the boss sitting down at a table with them. The buxom barmaid made small talk as she drew his pint of bitter. Stanton stared at her cleavage longer than necessary. All that thought about Joanne Kramer had made him randy.
As he took his first sip of the beer, a female voice said, “Are you on your own as well?”
The brunette drove all thought of Joanne Kramer and the barmaid from his mind. Now here was a classy woman. She sat on a stool at the end of the bar, an invitation for Stanton to move closer in her smile. He took the three paces, put his glass on the bar and said, “Not anymore.”
Her smile bewitched him. “I was supposed to meet a friend here, but she cried off.”
“No point in wasting a night out,” Stanton said, his eyes drifting to the open neck of her blouse.
“I have a table booked. Would you like to join me?” her voice held a seductive edge that thrilled him, like a gangster’s moll from a fifties movie. All cigarettes and sex.
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” she slid from the stool. Stanton got a better look into her blouse. His heart rate kicked up a notch. The view from behind was even better as she led the way to her table. Stanton held her chair as she sat down. He slipped into his chair across a candlelit table. Her dark eyes sparkled with the reflected light.
Stanton sat back as a waitress approached with their menus. “I suppose I should introduce myself,” he said, reaching across with his hand. “Alec Stanton.”
“Moira Morrigan.”
“Interesting surname,” Stanton said.
“Adopted,” she replied with a smile across the lip of her wineglass. “I have Celtic connections.”
“Wel
l, let’s hope we make a connection tonight,” Stanton smiled.
Her gaze seemed contemplative. “I’m sure we will. Are you local?”
“No, I’m working in the area.”
“What do you do?”
“I work for the government.”
“Sounds incredibly dull,” Moira said.
“It pays the bills.”
Her eyes fixed on him. “Anything to do with all the roadblocks around here?”
“I think I should say ‘no comment’ to that,” Stanton said.
She leant forward, the candlelight caught on her cheekbones and made her all the more beautiful. Stanton realised he’d stopped breathing. He forced air into his lungs. Her lips were full and painted a deep, ruby red. The way her tongue slipped out to wet them as she stared at him, made Stanton think of sex.
He shook himself as she said, “Tell me, what’s happening behind there?”
“I really can’t say.”
“All hush-hush?”
“Yes.”
“Will you need to kill me if you tell me?”
Stanton laughed. “That’s a bit melodramatic.”
“I’d put up a good fight,” she said. “You might have to tie me down to do the deed. Would you like to tie me down?”
Stanton cleared his throat. “You’re very forward. I didn’t expect this kind of conversation.”
She sat back and looked down at her menu. “No, I don’t expect you did. Although you were more than happy to spend your time looking down my cleavage.”
Stanton felt the thrill of the chase starting. Though, to be honest, he didn’t quite know if he or Moira was doing the chasing. She looked up at him through long, curling lashes and smiled. Stanton felt himself getting hard. He shifted in his chair, and without trying to draw attention to his predicament, laid his napkin over his lap for a bit of added cover.
“Well?” Moira asked
“Um, well what?”
“Have you chosen your main course?”
“Yes,” his voice sounded hoarse.
“And what have you chosen?”
“You.” Stanton didn’t quite believe the sound of his voice, but Moira’s smile seemed to confirm it was the right thing to say.
She closed her menu and said, “I assume your place is behind all those roadblocks.”
“It is.”
“Then let’s go to mine.”
“Now?” Stanton gestured at his menu. “We haven’t eaten.”
“That’s because sex is so much better on an empty stomach,” Moira whispered as she stood.
The waitress made no comment when they left without ordering, though Stanton fancied she had a sly look at his crotch as he linked arms with Moira. He managed to get to his car without tripping over his feet and got behind the wheel with relief. Moira’s scent filled the car with an intoxicating aroma of spices. She leant across and ran one hand down his chest. Stanton wanted it to go lower, but she stopped and said, “Do you want directions?”
Stanton couldn’t speak. He wanted her to do more exploring, but that would just delay reaching her house. She sat back, withdrawing her hand. Stanton grasped the steering wheel because otherwise, his hands would have been on her. “Directions?” he managed to squeeze out of his frozen throat.
“Turn left when you leave the car park.”
Grateful for the distraction, Stanton reversed out of his parking space. Moira fell silent once the car was on the road, just giving him the barest details ‘left here’, ‘straight over’, ‘next right’.
The car ended up on a narrow lane, hemmed in by vegetation on both sides that scraped the paintwork like the fingers of eager hands. The headlights illuminated the uneven surface with a cone of light that threw distorted shadows into the distance. The lane dipped into a patch of mist that thickened around them. Stanton slowed the car as the droplets of moisture reflected the headlamps like the surface of a mirror.
“It’s always like this,” Moira said in a quiet voice.
“What is?” Stanton peered forward, the car slowing to a crawl. All thoughts of sex had gone from his mind.
“The boundary to my house.”
The lane began to rise, and the mist dispersed. Stanton could relax and remember who sat beside him. He increased speed, still aware of the tight confines of the road but more confident now. Moira reached out and stroked his thigh.
“Slow here; there’s a turning on the right.”
Stanton saw it and guided the car between two thick stone gateposts. The house appeared out of the dark. A strange looking place. Wood and stone formed a two-storey structure that seemed to change shape each time he glanced at it. The windows were covered by heavy shutters that made Stanton think of cold winters and hot summers. He parked up parallel with the house. As soon as he turned the lights off, the car plunged into a darkness so complete he thought he’d lost his sight.
Moira obviously hadn’t; her lips brushed his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“It doesn’t look that humble to me,” Stanton said. He quite liked her warmth so close to him. Her breasts pressed on his left arm, and her breath almost scorched his face. Even this close he could barely make out any detail on her as his eyes grew used to the dark.
A hand rested on his thigh. She laughed, and that made Stanton’s blood race. The hand on his thigh moved and found his erection. Moira made a sound of satisfaction. Her lips found his, soft and warm. Stanton turned but hadn’t released his seatbelt and became trapped by it as Moira eased forward and pressed him against the door. Her hand moved, cupped and squeezed. Stanton groaned into her mouth. Her tongue invaded him. He managed to get one hand free and up to cup a breast. He could feel a thick nipple through her blouse.
“Here?” she asked.
“No,” he panted his answer, trying to remember the last time he’d felt this excited. “I want you inside.”
“Oh, I can say the same about you,” Moira said as she sat back.
Stanton laughed. This woman he’d known for just half-an-hour made him feel like a teenager in the presence of a cougar. The courtesy light blinded him as he opened the door. Out on the drive, in the dark again as the light turned off, he heard her walk around to him. She must have eyes like a cat, Stanton thought as she took his hand and led him to the house.
“Three steps up,” she said.
He didn’t hear a key in the door, but somehow they were inside, and Moira lifted the veil of darkness by turning on wall lamps. She kept the light low, just enough to allow Stanton to see her step back from him. He watched her unbutton her blouse with a dry mouth. At the moment she released the last button, Moira turned away. Stanton knew frustration and desire. In three paces he stood close to her, his hands pulling the blouse down her arms. Moira leant back into him, grinding against him. With her head back on his shoulder, she purred like a cat.
“You want me?” she asked.
“Yes.” His voice shook as he put his hands around to cup her breasts. Stanton kissed her exposed neck, felt her pulse beating in her throat. The way her hips moved sent shockwaves through him. He wanted her to stop, and when she did, he growled. Moira faced him, pulling his face down into a kiss.
Stanton couldn’t remember going up the wide staircase, nor entering the bedroom. He came out of his trance as Moira threw him naked onto the bed. He watched her, beautiful and aroused as she straddled him. Stanton reached for her. Moira’s eyes held a passion he’d never seen before. She impaled herself on him, taking all the breath from Stanton’s lungs. Moira moved, taking him deeper. He caught hold of her waist to control the movements, but Moira was a woman who knew what she wanted.
She leant over him, pressing her breasts into his chest, and said, “Do you want to be mine?”
He reached around her, trying to hold her still. She didn’t stop moving and took him closer to the edge.
“Do you?” she breathed hot words into his ear. Her tongue wound its way along his jaw. “Do you wa
nt to be mine?”
Fire seemed to be in every part of Stanton’s body, consuming him from the balls up.
“Jesus,” he shouted as she drove down hard on him.
“He won’t help you now,” she said. “Are you mine?”
“Yes!” Stanton’s nails sank into the flesh of her waist. She held still, waiting for him.
“Show me,” Moira said as she twisted her hips.
Stanton emptied himself into her, his spine arching as his soul broke free and leapt into the void.
Sometime in the night, Stanton lay and stared into the shadowed corner of the room. He thought he saw a pair of eyes watching him. When he tried to focus, the eyes shrank back into the gloom. Stanton soon forgot them. Moira felt his movement, and a hand pulled him onto his back. Stanton hissed as his torn skin touched the sheets. At some point Moira had let him fuck her, and she’d stripped his back with her long nails. Now she kissed down his body and used her mouth to arouse him again.
How many times now?
She didn’t stop. Stanton’s mouth opened in a silent scream as Moira took him deep in her throat. His hands tangled in her dark hair in the moment of release, holding her in place. Again, he disappeared into a void. When he woke, Moira lay beside him, her hand circling upon his chest. Stanton’s first thought was not again.
“Shall we talk now?” Moira asked.
“Yes.” Stanton wanted to sleep for a thousand years.
“Tell me everything.”
“About what?” He could barely keep his eyes open. Exhaustion wanted to claim him.
“The Anomaly. The people investigating it. The ones I should be wary of.”
The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2) Page 11