Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles)

by Jody Wallace

  Adam wasn’t sure he had the energy to talk, anyway. Weariness had seeped into his bones, and lead had lined his skin.

  Once they reached Chanute, Claire immediately began to issue orders to everyone, ignoring him. The blond—wait, Dixie—grabbed his hand before he headed for the room.

  “I’m going to come get you for breakfast,” she said. “We’re having it in the mess hall. I’m putting bets on Claire trying to force you to stay in the room, and I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “She’ll be pissed.” He didn’t like the idea of going against Claire, but he liked the idea of remaining confined to the room less. His weariness clouded his recollections of recent events, but he was able-bodied and had a lot of stamina. He’d run fast, without tiring, in…that place. Riverbend. With the shade horde. God, how could he have forgotten that? And he had a lot of strength, too, based on…other things. That he couldn’t recall. But he knew he could help. If nothing else, he could lift heavy things and dig latrines. “I’ll talk her into letting me shadow her tomorrow. I think that’s a good compromise.”

  “Nobody can talk Claire into things she doesn’t want to do,” Dixie warned. “If you manage it, you’ll be the first. Well, except for Frannie.”

  “He’s not leaving the room.” Claire had come up behind them as they talked. Her gaze took in their clasped hands, and she scowled.

  Dixie patted his hand before she dropped it and faced Claire. “Rumors have been flying around all day. With the added stress of what happened to Riverbend and Fort Berthold, it has the potential to blow up in our faces. Our people aren’t comfortable with the fact that we don’t have an explanation for where Adam’s been. People need to see that he doesn’t have anything to hide. They need to know what he’s like now.”

  “Now?” he asked.

  “You’re very different. That’s all I’m saying,” Dixie said. “But it’s okay, I like you better this way.”

  “Amnesia’s an improvement.” Claire watched her deputies disperse. “Look, I distributed a memo about the situation, and Elizabeth signed it. I told everyone the Shipborn’s most advanced technology can’t find anything wrong with him. Most of the people here trust Shipborn tech, so they’ll settle down. Eventually. Or they can get the hell out of Camp Chanute.”

  Dixie whistled. “Laying down the law, Claire?”

  “You’d kick people out of their homes because of me?” Adam asked, surprised. “Don’t do that. I’ll talk to your people myself.”

  Claire opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again before answering. “It’s not because of you—it’s because of discipline. If I tell them to settle down and they don’t, then they can leave.”

  “Claire’s a bit of a control freak,” Dixie mock-whispered. “I recommend using your movie star charm to get on her good side. But I’ll still come get you for breakfast.”

  “No, you won’t,” Claire repeated with a disgusted sigh. “Adam’s not supposed to have his history tossed at him all at once—doctor’s orders. People might not try to beat him up, but who knows what they’ll say to him? Good God, what if they try to show him his movies?”

  “My movies. Which one should I start with?” Adam rocked on his heels. Claire’s defense of him, trying to protect him, warmed him more than his coat. “I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about the…” The name had been there a minute ago, and now it was gone. “Some guy who throws knives.”

  “Guy Lassiter. I will personally confiscate every copy of that Hollywood testosterone shit if I have to.” Claire twitched her head toward the barracks. “Adam, let’s go.”

  They reached the barracks quickly and entered through the main door, not the secret tunnel. Other people wandered the halls at this hour, and everyone who saw Adam stared. Some tried to greet them, but Claire was too gruff to encourage conversation.

  He concentrated on presenting a completely average, as-Terran-as-the-next-guy aura. He couldn’t blame people for being weirded out by his reappearance. He was, too. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t a danger. He had zero reason to harm anyone who wasn’t a soul-sucking monster from another dimension. Now that the scientists were getting their hands on a pod, they’d hopefully confirm it was a stasis chamber, and he’d been stuck in it by…somebody.

  Would he ever remember what had happened to him? What if finding out was worse than not knowing?

  Claire slammed the door of her quarters behind them like a final gong and stalked to the bathroom. The cat no longer seemed to be present. “I’m taking a shower. You’re going to bed.”

  Some people needed to organize the chaos around them to feel secure. Claire, for example. In a post-apocalyptic world, that probably made her even more hardheaded.

  But enough was enough.

  If he could deal with complete uncertainty, she could deal with him having some of that free will Ship kept mentioning.

  Adam slipped ahead of her and forced the bathroom door shut. They faced off. “I’m not a child, Claire. Don’t speak to me like I am, and don’t order me around like one, either.”

  Claire blinked several times. Her chin tilted up. “I know what’s best for this town. You don’t. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

  He didn’t want to antagonize her, but he didn’t like to be dictated to. He’d add that to the list of things he’d learned about himself. “I’m the same person you trusted to help save all those people in Riverbend, with one day of memories. Can you imagine how useful I’ll be with three days of memories?”

  She crossed her arms. “No.”

  “Wherever I was before, I’m here now. On this planet, caught up in the fight against the entities along with the rest of you. I’m going to help. Apparently I need to make up for nearly destroying the world.” He’d never be able to erase the fact that he could have stopped the apocalypse and hadn’t, but he could dig some damned latrines and shoot some damned shades.

  “A lot of people will try to hurt you because of that.”

  “Let them try. I’m not afraid. I’d rather talk to them, even fight with them, than hide from them.” How much of her protectiveness was for him, and how much for her people? Was she afraid of him? Not on the surface, since she was willing to bunk with him rather than toss him in a cell, but did she trust him? “If you plan to lock me up and keep me from being productive, you’re going to have to take me back to the jail.”

  Breaking off first, she half-turned from him. “If you continue to be a pain in my ass, I will. It’s what I do to troublemakers.”

  “I have yet to be a pain in your ass.” He took her shoulders gently and forced her to face him. “I’ve been cooperative, and I’ve helped you. What are you afraid of? Me?”

  She shook her head. “You’re harmless.”

  “Harmless. That’s different from not dangerous.” He toyed with the idea and decided she was wrong. He could cause harm. He knew he was strong. Fast. He might be stronger and faster than anyone realized. A vivid recollection of what he’d done to her desk with his bare fingers slipped back into his mind.

  And he definitely had sexual urges.

  “I may not be dangerous, Claire, but I’m far from harmless.”

  “Semantics. My favorite.” She removed his hands from her shoulders with noticeable force. He let her. “It’s up there on my things-I-love list right after people manhandling me.”

  “You have a large personal space.” He should respect that, though every fiber in his body insisted that he touch her. His ego rebelled at being deemed tame and biddable by this woman who intrigued him and challenged him. He wanted to be an equal, a partner, not some bothersome side note. “Why is that?”

  Claire threw up her hands. “Seriously? Why do men always think they can get up in women’s business when they’re not literally shoving them aside?”

  “I’m not trying to shove you anywhere.” He fully intended to stand beside her. She didn’t get to discount him.

  “That’s not the first time you’ve touc
hed me without permission,” she said, but she didn’t move away from him. “Stop doing it.”

  “Okay.” He stared her down, and she didn’t blink. Was it a test? A dare? “If you stop treating me like I’m pathetic. I’ll fight my own battles, and then I’ll be right beside you fighting the war.”

  “Beside me,” she muttered. She might have complained about him being handsy, but she was voluntarily close to him. Close enough to smell her soap. Close enough to see the tic of her jaw as she clenched her teeth. Close enough that she could kiss him—if she wanted. “I have no idea how much of your training you remember. You’re as likely to get in the way as not.”

  “Test me and find out,” he suggested. “I don’t remember my life. I don’t have preconceived notions, and I don’t have ties to other people and other agendas. I’m 100 percent committed to you.”

  She held up a finger. Her nails were trim and clean. “Not to me. To killing entities, sure, but not to me. This isn’t personal. I’m not a cult leader.”

  But it was personal for him. He just wished belligerence wasn’t her immediate response. “That’s clear. If you were a cult leader, you’d be a lot less rude.”

  She laughed. “I’m always rude. It’s who I am.”

  “Dixie said you’re worse than usual. I assume it’s because of me.” Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be self-centered. He may have been narcissistic before, but he didn’t have to be now. “Or are you worried about your daughter?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Oh, shit, I need to call Frances on the view screen. I’m late. You take a shower first.”

  “Nope. I want to see your kid.” He was done letting Claire boss him around. Being accommodating wasn’t getting him on her good side. Perhaps standing up to her would work better, like it did for Dixie. “I’m going to wait while you call her, because kids come first, and then we’re going to finish this conversation.”

  Claire stared at him for a long moment. “We’re done with this conversation.”

  “Do you expect me to stay in the room tomorrow and pet the cat?” he asked. “Do you plan to keep treating me like I’m an irresponsible child?”

  “We don’t know how you’re alive,” she said defensively. “You’re a scientific anomaly. You could be dangerous and not know it.”

  “Do you really think I’m going to hurt anyone?” Superstrength or no superstrength, he could hurt people. Any man his size could hurt people.

  But he didn’t want to.

  What he wanted was to see Claire interact with her daughter. He wanted to see her less guarded, less worried about her town. He wanted to see her relax, just for a moment.

  “Well, you can’t wander around poking your nose in wherever you feel like it,” she said decisively. “You’ll have to stay with me until you learn the ropes. The rules of the town. Or would you rather be with Dixie?”

  “Why would I want to be with Dixie?”

  “You two seemed to get chummy in a short amount of time.” Her gaze averted, she continued. “She’s nice. Pretty. Available.”

  She might be jealous, or she might be stating facts. He had no way of knowing.

  “Apparently I don’t like nice, pretty women,” he said, stating some facts of his own. “Apparently I’m drawn to rude ones who never take off their battle vests and blaster bands.”

  “You need to stop saying that. That you’re drawn to me,” she admonished, but not with the same passion as the rest of their argument. Whatever he’d said, she seemed to be defused for now. “You don’t know enough women. Before the amnesia, you had…a lot of experience. You had a type. It wasn’t me.”

  “I don’t have to remember my history to know what or who interests me.” He shrugged. “Call your daughter, Claire.”

  Almost challengingly, Claire instead stripped off her parka, hanging it on a hook by the door, and then her vest. He wasn’t sure how the closures worked; she peeled a finger along the front, and the thin, silver mesh slid off. She hung that on a different hook, along with her radio belt.

  Beneath the vest she wore a fitted T-shirt that clung to her spare curves almost as tightly as his own T-shirt fit him. He hadn’t needed to know the lines of her figure to be attracted to her, but the shape of her small breasts and trim waist made him want to kiss his way down her body. Her camo pants concealed her legs and hips, but based on the fitness of her upper torso, he was guessing she was long and lean all the way to her toes.

  His pulse accelerated at the thought of those long, lean legs bared to his gaze. He imagined tiny black underwear concealing her femininity, but not her tight ass. Maybe a thong.

  He remembered thongs.

  Fondly.

  With some showiness, she pushed up her sleeves and unclipped the blaster bands. The skin beneath them was more pinkish than the rest of her, where she hadn’t entirely healed. She rubbed her arms slowly, the shush of her fingers on her skin audible.

  “I need some lotion,” she said, but she wasn’t looking at her skin. She was looking at his face. “I’m getting ashy. All over.”

  Clearly, she expected him to say something sexual. Instead, he joined her and added his parka to the hook. She watched him as blatantly as he’d watched her, checking him out, but he didn’t make a show of it.

  “If you’re done ogling me, I’m going to call Frannie now,” she had the audacity to announce. She indicated one of the twin beds. “You stay out of the way. That one’s yours. I’ll be in my own bed tonight. If the cat poops in here, you’re cleaning it up.”

  “I’m not ogling,” he lied pleasantly. “I’ve just never seen you without armor before. Meanwhile, you’ve seen me naked.”

  “I don’t plan on returning that favor.” She swung into her chair and shot him a sly grin, posture more casual than he’d seen her all day. “But feel free to parade around nude. After I call Frannie. She doesn’t need to see your junk.”

  He smiled. “Now you want to see me naked? That wasn’t how you responded last night.”

  “I’ve gained some perspective. And I don’t think you’ll do it.” She manipulated the view screen at her desk, flicking it on. A ringing tone filled the room. “It’s too damned cold.”

  He was tempted to start stripping down to see what she would do, but that would be juvenile. He ’d protested that he didn’t want her to treat him like a child, so he wasn’t about to press the reset button. He idled on the bed, an arm across his knee, while he watched her talk to Frannie and the doctor—Sarah. He remembered her name now.

  A dark-haired man he assumed was General Nikolas made a brief appearance, though the guy seemed more interested in the Shearers’ deaths, the shade residue, and the silver pod than exchanging pleasantries.

  Adam also heard Ship interject on occasion. He’d been surprised by how much personality the toneless, mechanical voice had exuded today and had enjoyed their interactions. Ship was more patient with his amnesia and more willing to explain things than any of the people. Claire was polite but cool toward the AI, almost as chilly as the temperature in the basement level of the barracks.

  But when talking to Frannie?

  Her demeanor changed. Softened. She grinned, laughed, made funny faces. Did voices. The toddler was cute and smiley. Adam didn’t know anything about babies and had no idea if he ever had, but Claire’s response to her daughter fascinated him.

  She had multiple facets. Protectress. Mother. Defender. Warrior. Sheriff. Collaborator.

  He’d like a different facet turned toward him.

  Friend. Lover.

  Would he be more appealing to her if he did regain his memories, or if he didn’t?

  Or did he not have a chance in the world with her regardless?

  Adam was still pondering that when they turned in for the night. He listened to her calm, even breathing, mesmerizing him until he fell asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Claire’s radio blared much earlier than she’d intended to get up, considering today was supposed to be a four-hour shift fo
r her, the closest thing she got to a day off.

  “Claire. Wake up, Claire, please.”

  She sat up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing her eyes. The floor was covered by rugs, but it was still cold enough to make her long for a pair of fluffy slippers. She’d never been a morning person. Yawning and stretching, she reached for the radio, forgetting momentarily that she wasn’t alone.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” she said into the mouthpiece right as she met Adam’s eyes from the other bed.

  His intense, green gaze drank in her messed-up hair, her thin tank top, her underpants, her bare legs, like he was dying of thirst and she was an ice cold glass of…root beer.

  Claire was conscious of the dual urges to cover up and to spread her legs, daring him to respond. She did neither, because she had business to tend to.

  “Some government types just showed up in helicopters, and they’re acting like they’re going to arrest Adam,” her deputy Will hissed over the receiver. In the background, she could hear shouting. “Elizabeth told them where your room is. Better get out of there. Rendezvous four-oh-nine.”

  “Shit. Adam, get up.” She’d known the rest of the world would be curious about him, but she hadn’t thought anybody would take such an immediate action. Sarah’s clean bill of health must not have convinced people that Adam was no threat. The way things had been going with the untraceable shade hits, it was a huge deal for anybody to venture into the buffer zone if they didn’t have to.

  Adam, she noticed, was already dressed. How long had he been awake? “What’s wrong, Claire?”

  “Military goons are here to take you into custody or some shit.” She cursed roundly, shoving her legs into pants, her feet into boots. “Will, did Elizabeth call them?”

  Elizabeth Newcome was persona non grata in D.C., what with the treason and all, but she could still pull strings on occasion. Damn the woman.