Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles)

by S. M. Stelmack

  As Akeno eased the safe door shut, however, his sensitive ears caught the almost imperceptible turning of the office door handle. He ducked behind the nearby desk, an instant before the door swung open, a dim arc of moonlight spilling in from the hallway.

  He rested his head against the hardwood floor to peer under the desk. There was a single pair of feet in black running shoes, and from the shape of the shadow that stretched behind, his visitor was a woman. She slipped inside, shut the door, and a familiar voice spoke in the quietest whisper. “Akeno? Are you here?”

  Anger and relief flooded through him as he rose to his feet.

  “Susan,” he hissed, “what the hell are you doing here?”

  She turned towards him in the darkness, and though her face was concealed by a balaclava, he knew she was smiling that devilish grin of hers. She sauntered towards him. “Now is that any way to talk to your Mistress?”

  Akeno had no idea how to respond to that. Was she here out of her insatiable need for danger? From the past two months of sex he could believe it. The woman was a handful, two handfuls, actually. And she had a way of mixing pleasure and pain into a cocktail more potent than either.

  “What’s the matter?” she breathed. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  No, he wasn’t, because it meant she didn’t trust him, understandable given his profession, but the lack of faith still stung. “You know how dangerous you being here is? This isn’t one of your games, Susan.”

  She gave an amused shrug, slinking around the desk to him. “I like risk, Akeno. I thought you did, too.” Her body rubbed against his as she eased up her hood to reveal her mouth, with its hot red lips and perfect white teeth.

  He gave her what she wanted because he was powerless to do, otherwise. He yanked up his mask, crushing his lips against hers. To say he was being unprofessional was an understatement, but as her tongue slid into his mouth he had a hard time thinking about anything else. He ran his free hand over the silky fabric of her midnight bodysuit, enjoying the curves sheathed within.

  It was she, as usual, who broke off the kiss, tugging her mask down to blank out her face again. Her fingers trailed down his arm to where his hand held the bag. “How much did we get?”

  He covered his face. “About a million. Maybe a bit more.”

  Her dark eyes glinted. “Mmm…with that, we could do a lot of things for a long time.” Akeno knew what she meant, and he couldn’t help but reach for her, again.

  Suddenly, the room was again bathed in dim light, the office door opening to reveal a young man standing in the hallway. Akeno froze. The youth squinted into the darkness. “Jeanelle?”

  Akeno spun about, his eyes darting in search of an escape route, but then a gunshot blasted through the room and the boy collapsed like a rag doll. Before Akeno could react, Susan seized him by the arm. “Come on! Run!”

  The whole house was awake now, and in a rich neighborhood like this, they had only a couple of minutes before the cops would be on them. There was no time to argue. Leaping over the crumpled body, Akeno felt a spike of sickness drive right through his heart.

  The kid couldn’t have been older than sixteen, dressed in his robe and pajamas, completely unarmed. There was a neat little bullet hole in his forehead, and from the way he’d fallen, he was clearly dead. Oh God, he thought, sprinting after his lover down the curving stairwell to the front entrance. Oh God, Susan, what have you done…?

  Chapter One

  Brian Chanse wanted to notch up the speed of his wipers, but they were already going full out. The rain was so fierce they didn’t sweep off the water before the windshield was covered again, and the blackness of the New Mexican night didn’t help.

  “Might as well be driving underwater,” he muttered to himself.

  He glanced at the GPS. Should have stopped when he had the chance. Santa Rosa wasn’t for another twenty miles, though it was still closer than turning around. He rubbed his eyes wearily. There was nothing to do but press on.

  At the rate he was going, it was almost one in the morning when up ahead he spotted someone walking the shoulder of the road. He blinked a few times, but sure enough, there was some poor soul slogging through the downpour.

  He crawled past to reduce the spray from his wheels, getting a a better look. A kid. He pulled his Mustang over and checked his rearview mirror. Yep, it was a kid coming up to his door. A runaway? A druggie? Didn’t really matter—he wasn’t about to pass anyone by in a storm like this. He lowered his window.

  Rain splattered his jacket and cut into his face. It was a teenage girl. She was in hiking boots, jeans and a hoodie, all of which were absolutely soaked, and she swayed before steadying herself against his car.

  “Bad night for a walk. Need a lift?”

  She studied him, her eyes a shocking blue against the pallor of her skin. Definitely pretty and most definitely not well. She nodded after a moment and circled the hood of his car, while he gathered up the empty fast-food wrappers from the passenger seat and fired them into the back.

  She slid in, her short blonde hair matted to her head, her arms wrapped about her in a futile attempt to retain some warmth. He took an extra look where the arms were wrapped, then searched her face. She wasn't quite as young as he'd taken her for, just petite. Probably in her twenties and harmless enough. She didn’t seem to have any gear.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  Her face was dead white, even her lips were a dark shade of pale. The desert was a cold place at night, and who knew how long she’d been out there. “I know how this is going to sound, but I think you really ought to get out of those wet clothes. I can get some dry stuff out of the back if you want to change. I’ll wait outside.”

  She stared straight ahead at the rain battering the windshield and shook her head. “I’m fine. I just need to get to the next town.”

  Stubborn woman. Stubborn and stupid. She was going to catch her death, but what could he do about it? He'd warned her, and he wasn’t interesting in arguing with any more people that insisted on putting themselves in harm’s way. He’d already had enough of that for a lifetime.

  Still, he cranked the heat to max, then reached into the backseat and rooted through the mess until he found a beach towel, handing it to her. She took it gingerly, as if it was diseased.

  Stubborn and stupid and ungrateful.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He shifted the car into gear and continued down the highway, trying to ignore the sound of her chattering teeth.

  By the time he parked at a Santa Rosa motel, she was asleep, her chin on her chest. The place was a dump, and by the looks of the peeling paint and flickering neon sign, it was many a year since it’d been anything else. He sprinted inside and rang the night buzzer several times before an elderly clerk came to the grubby counter, watery gray eyes huge behind thick glasses.

  “A room, please.”

  The man took the last key from the board behind him, sliding it over to Brian along with a coffee-stained registry. “That’ll be sixty-five dollars. Check-out time is noon. No pets.”

  As if a dog would want to stay here.

  Leaky ballpoint in hand, he scribbled in his name and address, only realizing as he finished that he didn’t live there anymore. Then again, he didn’t live anywhere anymore. He doled out the money, then picked up the key and headed back to the car. All he had to do now was wake the woman, settle in for a good night’s sleep and spend the next day driving to Los Angeles.

  Cold rain drumming on him, he opened the passenger door and tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss. We’re here. Get up.”

  She stirred briefly, before slumping back against the seat.

  No good deed goes unpunished.

  “Come on, miss.” He shook her, but she had all the get up and go of a sack of potatoes. He placed his hand on her forehead. Her clammy skin was ice cold.

  “Dammit. Why can’t people ever just listen?” Unsnapping her seatbelt, he scooped her limp body into his arms. God, no
t a sack of potatoes but a feather pillow. He hurried up a slick flight of stairs, and managed to juggle keys and her into his room, kicking the door shut and flicking on the light with his elbow.

  He laid her on the bed. Her lips had turned bluish-gray and she was shivering harder than a lost kitten. A check found her pulse still strong. She was hypothermic, but not in any immediate peril. The first thing was to get her warm so she didn’t get any worse, then call an ambulance.

  Brian grimaced at what he had to do next. Him alone in a hotel room taking clothes off a stranger. Wasn’t this just a lawsuit in the making? Then again, a dead woman in his room wouldn’t look so good, either.

  Peeling off the wet hoodie, his eyes met with a thin white T-shirt, her nipples hard buttons beneath the wet fabric. He reminded himself of the first-aid course he’d taken every year since he was sixteen. This next step was required, that’s all.

  As he tugged off her t-shirt and sports bra, he tried to keep his eyes to himself, but, oh yeah…she was well-built. He hurried down to unlace her boots. It was then she became conscious. “Don’t…please… don’t…” she slurred.

  “You’re hypothermic,” he explained, as he slid off her socks and boots. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I have to take off your wet clothes. And then I’ll get you some help.”

  “Don’t call…don’t call a doctor… please….”

  Victims of exposure often made odd requests or even hallucinated, but she seemed lucid.

  “Don’t call…” she pleaded. “They’ll find… me… please…don’t….”

  “Who’s going to find you?” he asked, but she’d already passed out. He shook his head, then peeled the wet pants over her hips and down her slim, athletic legs. Her panties had come down with the jeans and turning her to her belly, he averted his eyes from her ass. Her firm, squeezable ass. He lost no time in turning down the bedcovers and tucking them snugly around her body. With a bathroom towel, Brian dried her hair as thoroughly as possible. When he was done, it spiked out from her head, and without thinking, he smoothed down its short silkiness. Catching himself, he withdrew his hand. That wasn’t in any first-aid course.

  He pondered getting his suitcase of dry clothes from the trunk, but the rain pounding on the roof and windows settled the matter for him. He next pondered the uncomfortable-looking armchair in the corner of the room, and then the woman’s wet mound of clothes. Sighing, he picked them up and hung them over the shower rod in the bathroom.

  On his way to the chair, he checked on her. She didn’t look good. Her lips still had a bluish tinge and her shivering hadn’t ceased. He cursed, shot back into the bathroom and returned with all the towels, right down to the washcloths for her head. He spread them and his leather jacket over her, then flipped the remainder of the duvet on top for good measure, but she kept shaking so badly the coverings trembled.

  He hesitated, then took off his shirt and slid beside her. “This had better work,” Brian muttered in her ear, “or you’re going to the hospital, whether you like it or not.” He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his body close, and shared his warmth. Her shivering gradually subsided, her lips flushed a pale pink and her breath blew calmly against his neck. Brian became acutely aware of her soft body against his, and eased himself away before any embarrassing reaction could occur. He’d lie here until she was completely out of the danger zone and then retreat to the chair. He’d just rest for a moment…close his eyes for a while…

  * * *

  Delta Fox slowly woke, weak, feverish, hungry and…naked. She snapped upright in bed, and when her head stopped spinning, woozily took in her surroundings. The light slanting in told her it was morning, she was in bed, and—oh, shit!—with a man. She recoiled, horrified, but then her leg rubbed against the roughness of the his jeans. Reaching down, she tentatively checked herself. Okay, he might’ve copped a feel but that was all.

  She was under a heap of laundry—sheets, blankets, towels, and a man’s leather jacket. Her eye on him, she slipped her fingers into the jacket pocket, finding his wallet as she had hoped. She flipped it open, and inside found a respectable amount of cash and platinum credit cards, as well as his California driver’s license and a number of other pieces of identification.

  The name was Brian Chanse, born thirty-five years ago and a resident of Hollywood. He was a member of the Screen Actors Guild, had a first aid certificate and an organ donor card. She could’ve fallen into worse hands, but not by much.

  Returning the wallet, she laid back, trying to let memories of the previous night solidify in her fevered mind. She’d been hitch-hiking ever since she’d run out of money in Little Rock, and been dumped by a surly trucker out in the middle of nowhere when she’d refused to “pay” him for the ride. Given her luck, it had started raining, and without any real options, she’d been forced to endure the storm. From what she remembered, Brian had been a gentleman and decent enough to respect her request not to call anyone.

  She considered taking his cash and car, and heading for the hills. He’d be insured. Except then she’d have the local police on her tail as well. How far could she get sick, exhausted and with an APB on her? Not far enough to avoid either prison or a bullet to the brain.

  Okay, first things first. Find clothes.

  Her body aching, she draped her legs over the edge of the bed and wrapped a towel around herself. With a steadying hand on the end table, she stood and took a step.

  Her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor with a yelp. From her belly-down perspective, she saw the bed give a bounce, the yank of a sheet and then Chanse was standing above her. Crap, he was hot, all smooth muscles and lean lines. Probably knew it, too. His gaze skittered to her naked backside and Delta grabbed at her towel, doing what she could to salvage her dignity.

  He didn’t say a word. He bent down, that muscled chest and stubbly jaw up close, and suddenly she was in his arms, the towel twisted between them, and then just as quick, she was back in bed with the covers over her. His hand cupped her forehead.

  “You’ve got a high fever. I’ll take you to a doctor.”

  No, no, no. “No doctors,” she said as strongly as she could, but even at that, it came out mewling.

  “Look, you were hypothermic last night. You could have died. You really need to at least go to a clinic or something.”

  “No. I’ll be okay. I’ll just sleep some more.”

  His lips in that stubble thinned. “Yeah, but checkout is at noon. I have places to be.”

  “Listen, I have to get to Los Angeles…I can pay my way….”

  “That’s nice, but I’m not looking for a traveling companion.”

  Delta clenched her fists. She needed him. She hated that, hated needing anyone, much less a stranger, much less a gorgeous stranger who probably thought she was some homeless skank. Fighting a wave of dizziness, she forced herself to say, “Then I’ll hire you, okay? Get me to L.A. and I’ll pay whatever you think is fair.”

  He snorted. “Sure, and it’s because you're rich that you were out hitch-hiking last night. All I want is to get going. If you want to stay here that’s fine, but….”

  Delta heard his voice fading, his athletic form blurring before her eyes. No, no. She couldn’t black out, she had to persuade him somehow. What could she give him…?

  * * *

  Great. The chick passed out while he was talking. Again. He should up and leave, before he got stuck looking after another train wreck. Hard and recent experience had taught him that people in a mess were usually there for a reason.

  She was tiny, and white as the sheets. Dammit. He could go and then he’d spend the rest of the day—hell, the rest of his life—wondering how she’d made out. In the end, he was a soft-hearted sucker. This was going to be Marcia all over again.

  She needed rest, lots of liquids and some decent food, and something for her fever as well. The sooner she was on her feet, the sooner he could get back to what constituted his life in L.A.

  He pulled
on some clothes, then headed outside to ask the motel clerk where the nearest grocery store and pharmacy were. It was ten-thirty in the morning, and already the blazing sun and thirsty earth had almost erased any sign of the night’s downpour. The parking lot was empty save for his Mustang and an expensive Acura sports coupe, and as he approached the office he saw a pair of hard-faced Asian men emerge. Both were wearing dark suits despite the summer heat, their shoes flecked with mud.

  He made room for them to pass, but one turned and gave a stiff and unnatural smile, as if breaking it in. “Excuse me, we looking for lady.” The man’s voice carried a pronounced Japanese accent. “You seen short lady with blonde hair, okay?”

  Brian looked the men up and down. A good three inches shorter than him but from their build and stance, they were fighters.

  “No, I can’t say I have,” he drawled. “If I do, who should I say is looking for her?”

  “She is friend of ours. You see her walking on road?”

  The truth seemed inconvenient. “Sorry. I got in late last night and didn’t see anyone. There are a lot of truckers going through here. She could’ve caught a ride with one of them.”

  The smile dropped from the man’s face. “Thank you, okay?” He nodded to his partner and they headed for their car. Brian strolled on to the office, but not before he mentally noted the license plate.

  * * *

  When Delta awoke again, it was to the sound of a key turning in the lock. The actor had returned, his arms filled with two large bags of groceries. She pulled herself up against the headboard, tucking the sheet around her as she went, right when a bottle of water and a large ham sandwich landed in her lap.

  “Thanks,” she said to his back.

  “You’re welcome,” he said and started to unload a pile of food onto the table. “By the way,” he said, over his shoulder, “I’m Brian.”

  She drank down half her water, considering. He’d not left her. He’d gotten her food. He’d…taken care of her. “I know. I read your driver’s license when you were asleep.”