by Joss Ware
“Not that I remember. I didn’t even know he had the stone until he gave it to me. Did Ana say what the Mother crystal was?”
“According to her, it’s the key to the Atlanteans’ power,” he replied, trying to remember exactly how Fence had described it. The man wasn’t terribly verbose in his electronic messages, which was how they communicated between Envy and Yellow Mountain. But he guessed he couldn’t complain, because the two settlements were more than three days’ journey apart—if one wasn’t going in circles trying to lose someone—and there was no other way to efficiently send messages.
Theo and Lou Waxnicki, two geeky brothers who’d lived through the Change, had been secretly building an underground communication network that was meant to be the infrastructure for a resistance against the Strangers and, now, the Atlanteans. They’d hoarded every working electronic device or hardware they could find over the last half century, utilizing what they could to build a sort of cobbled-together Internet and far-reaching network.
“My crystal seems awfully small to be something so powerful. But . . . you just used the word ‘key.’ The key to the Atlanteans’ power. It could be a coincidence that Grandfather described it that way, or it might not be.”
“Good point,” he replied, reaching over to pet Dantès again. Their hands didn’t clash this time because he kept his hand closer to the tail. “But when we get to Envy, you can ask Ana yourself.”
He felt a sudden wave of tension, and her hand stopped moving. He supposed he’d be wondering, too, if he could trust Ana and Fence if he were in her position. Twenty years of hiding would make anyone suspicious. Especially if you didn’t know who or what you were hiding from. Remington Truth was a bastard.
“How did you ever come to name this guy Dantès?” he asked, and realized with an ironic grimace that he was continuing the conversation. Willingly. “It’s an unusual name.”
“From The Count of Monte Cristo,” she replied. “It was a book I found—salvaged—once, and I started reading it. I didn’t realize I only had part of it, even though it had over eight hundred pages. So I don’t know how it ends.”
“It’s a very long book.” Wyatt didn’t see any reason to mention he’d spent a god-awful amount of time in Iraq with few entertainment options other than reading . . . and he’d devoured many of the classics, including Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, and Moby Dick, as well as a large number of Clive Cussler and Ken Follett novels. The war had done one good thing, helping him acquire a love of reading he’d never had while in school.
“I always wondered whether Dantès and Mércèdes got together in the end,” she said, her voice a little wistful.
“It depends whether you read the book or see the movie,” he replied.
Her reply was cut off when Dantès shifted and groaned in his sleep. Then his legs moved, obviously chasing another rodent in his dreams. Wyatt stifled a chuckle of affection and removed his hand.
“I don’t think he’ll be ready to leave tomorrow. He was bleeding again tonight, after he tried to jump through the window and save you.”
By the obvious pause, Wyatt suspected Remy was trying to determine whether he was poking at her or not. He didn’t care which conclusion she drew.
“What happened to you in the trailer today, Wyatt?”
Oh Christ. If she was looking for a way to poke back at him, she’d found it. He couldn’t help it; he shifted his position against the wall, edging away from her and Dantès as a variety of responses ran through his mind.
None of your damn business.
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Nothing—I just got tired of looking through rotting shit.
So he was shocked when the words tumbled from his mouth: “I found something that reminded me of my children.”
Sonofabitch.
He let his head tip back against the truck again, closed his eyes, and waited for the barrage: the interrogation, the pity, the sympathy.
But she didn’t say anything. There was stillness; she’d stopped petting Dantès. He could hear her breath, steady—maybe a little faster than before. If she was waiting for him to continue, she was going to have a long wait.
“They’re dead,” he said from behind closed eyes, once again surprising himself. Ah hell. Might as well get it over with. “My wife too.”
Still silence. Maybe she’d fallen asleep. That would be a gift.
Yet, he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. “I used to read them stories on the nights I was home, just before they went to bed. I wanted them to learn to love books.”
Silence. A blessed lull. But her question brought back the bleakness and desolation he fought earlier today, and now he couldn’t help but slip back into the ugly darkness.
“And you blame yourself. Why?”
Her question surprised him—not only because he hoped she wasn’t listening, but because it was so unexpected, yet so damn sharp it stabbed. A rush of nausea overwhelmed him, rising bitterly into his mouth. Must be the whiskey. Goddammit, he wished he hadn’t finished the bottle. No, he wished he had a whole ’nother bottle.
Hell. He just wanted to be left the hell alone.
“Go to sleep, Remy.”
“Angry, guilt-ridden, closed off, and cold. You’ve got a lot in common with my grandfather.”
He laughed bitterly. “Not really. Your grandfather didn’t want to die. Me? I wish to hell I could.”
Chapter 6
When Remy awoke, she found herself alone in the truck. Surprised that she’d slept through Wyatt and Dantès rising and going out to do their business, she was nevertheless glad to have some privacy.
The sunlight seemed dimmer than usual, and a quick peek through the open window told her it was a cloudy day. But the temperature was still warm and humid, and she happily pulled out one of the new, long stretchy tank tops along with an equally new bra and panties to bring with her to the lake. Might as well take advantage of the proximity to wash up while she had it. If they began traveling again tomorrow, she might not have the time or convenience.
She tucked her gun in its place at the back of her pants and finger-combed the tangles from her hair. She was just about to climb out of the truck when she heard Dantès and Wyatt outside, his voice hardly more than a rumble as he spoke to the dog. To her consternation, a little clutch of something caught her in the belly, and she paused to consider its meaning. Something had changed in how she felt about facing Wyatt again, in the daylight.
Sympathetic, of course, now that she knew why the man was so dark and angry. Or, at least, she knew part of the reason.
And, okay, there was a little nervousness, too, knowing she’d have to interact with him after he’d had his hands all over her bare skin. A shiver took her by surprise, fluttering in her stomach. All right, so she was acutely aware of his maleness now that she’d seen him bare-chested and he’d touched her so intimately, but she needed to get a grip.
He’s the same rude, arrogant dickhead he’s been ever since you put a bullet in the wall above his shoulder.
The sounds of Dantès barking outside broke into her thoughts, and, wanting to appear busy, Remy turned to look in one of the cupboards as Wyatt helped her pooch climb into the truck.
“Were there any other pairs of rubber gloves?” she asked, rummaging through the plastic bin he found the first night. “I want to go back to the trailer and see if there’s anything else there, and mine ripped yesterday. They’re still usable, but not perfect.”
“There might be another pair of gloves in the first aid kit. I’ll go with you. We could probably dig in that truck for a week and not find everything.”
Huh. He sounded surprisingly amiable.
“Okay, I’ll look,” she said as he clambered into the cab room next to her. Dantès was there, too, swiping her with his tongue and nearly knocking her over in his pleasure at their reunion. It was a good distraction.
“I’m going to see if I can catch a couple trout in that lake,
” Wyatt said, standing as tall as he could in the low room. He opened a short, long cupboard that ran along the separator between the driver’s seat and the rest of the cab and pulled out a fishing pole. “They were jumping like crazy this morning. How are you at cooking fish?”
“Great, if they’re cleaned. But I was going to walk over and wash up—uh—first. Do you mind?”
“Hell no. Knock yourself out.”
Well, now, didn’t they sound domestic? And not one cross word or cross-eyed look.
Remy turned back to the plastic bin and pulled out a purple cardboard box. “Trojan,” she said, reading the label. “What’s this for?”
“Nothing,” Wyatt said, and snatched the box from her hand before she had a chance to finish examining it. “We don’t need that.”
Well, okay then. Back to his normal self. She stood. “I’ll go swim. Maybe you can find more gloves?”
“I’ll look.”
The lake was great. Remy felt better after washing up, and even better after she poured herself into a pink and white bra sporting more lace than anything she’d ever owned. It was different because it hooked in the front, and the straps crisscrossed in the back. And it also made her breasts seem a lot bigger than usual, lifting and pushing them together a little. She wasn’t lacking in boob size to begin with, but pulling on a new, tight white tank top over this bra made her curves look even more pronounced.
At least, from her perspective it did: looking down. It might not be so obvious from a different angle, and of course she didn’t have a mirror. She braided her damp hair in a single over-the-shoulder plait and was just getting ready to hike back to the truck when Dantès loped into the area.
Fair warning that Wyatt was not far behind. Obviously, he was making certain he wouldn’t accidentally encounter a naked woman swimming. Heaven forbid.
Remy mentally rolled her eyes, but just as quickly her ire faded. What was wrong with her? She should be thankful he wasn’t Seattle. Or even Ian, whose come-on had been nothing more than practicality: Everyone thinks we’re lovers. We might as well make it a fact.
Not that she had complained. Ian was handsome and had a great body. He definitely knew how to push a woman’s pleasure buttons . . . in a mechanical sort of way.
“You decent?” Wyatt shouted from a safe distance.
“Yes,” she said, picking up her gun and clothing, then the one towel she had and the small bottles containing soap and hair wash. “I’m going back to the truck. Then I want to go to the trailer and scavenge some more,” she told Wyatt when he came around a tree carrying fishing equipment.
His eyes swept over her and his face changed. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it and pivoted, turning to look out at the lake. He shielded his eyes from the pasty sun filtering through the clouds. “You’re going to get sunburned,” he said in an odd voice.
Frowning, Remy looked down at herself. In lightweight nylon pants, she was completely covered except for her tanned arms and the U-neck of her tank top . . . although there was a lot more pale breast skin showing than usual. She tugged the neckline up a little as Wyatt added, “Trout aren’t jumping right now. I’ll wait till later in the day to fish.”
“Okay.”
He was still looking out over the water, as if trying to count the nonexistent jumpers. “Did you say you wanted to go to the trailer?” he said, turning back toward her. His expression could only be described as irritated.
“That’s what I said,” she replied, looking at him closely. He was almost babbling. “Whether you’re coming or not.” She turned and started back the two miles to the truck rig. Dantès came along with her, his tongue hanging out happily.
To her surprise, Wyatt followed. They dropped their things off and, at her suggestion, emptied out their packs to carry back their loot.
“This isn’t exactly traveling lightly,” he lectured. “Don’t forget, once we bring it here, we have to get everything back to Envy.”
“I’ve got plenty of things I can get rid of if I find replacements,” she told him, adjusting the gun in the back of her waistband. Aside from that, once Dantès was recovered, he could carry a pack too. He enjoyed helping that way.
They were halfway to the trailer when Remy realized she forgot her water bottle. She wasn’t about to ask Wyatt to share his, so she decided to go back and get her own. He made a disgusted sound when she told him, but waved her off without argument.
“Take Dantès,” was all he said as he climbed into the trailer.
The round-trip took almost twenty minutes, but it was hot and she was glad she’d gone back for the water. Dantès would appreciate it, too, although Wyatt would have shared his with the dog, at least.
When she got back to the trailer, she called out, “Wyatt? You decent?” and snickered to herself.
No surprise, he didn’t respond. She didn’t think anything of it until Dantès went stiff and his ears went up. He was looking into the trailer.
Shit.
The dog gave a low growl, edging toward the opening. “What is it, boy?” she asked, walking closer, using a hand motion to halt him. She could see only a little of the inside: dark shadows, a faint light. Wyatt’s silhouette standing near the back, frozen, arms half extended as if surrendering.
“Keep him out of here.” Wyatt’s voice was tight and low.
Remy’s adrenaline spiked as she peered into the candlelit interior. She didn’t see anything threatening yet, but there were lots of shadows. “Dantès, sit. Stay. Guard.”
The dog whined then growled, but did as he was commanded, which left Remy the freedom to get closer to the entrance. It was off the ground about five feet, but she’d used a tree stump yesterday after Wyatt left, and it was still in place.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?” Still tight and low and now furious, Wyatt’s exclamation bounced off the steel walls when she climbed onto the stump and peered into the space. “Get out of here!”
She ignored him. Now she could see the raccoon, who’d been obstructed from view because he was short and amid piles of trash. The creature was about a third of the way into the trailer and he was angry. Spitting, drooling, foaming at the mouth. He’d trapped Wyatt, who couldn’t get past the beast. The raccoon’s eyes gleamed with a red tinge in the flickering candlelight and his black claws were raised and menacing. He looked as if he were ready to attack at any moment, dividing his attention between the two humans.
“He’s rabid,” Wyatt said from between clenched teeth.
“I can see that. The foam at the mouth and red eyes gave it away.”
“If he charges at—”
“Stay.” She spun to glare at Dantès, speaking in her firmest, most serious voice even though the dog hadn’t moved except to give another low growl. Then she directed her attention to Wyatt, reaching behind to the small of her back. “Are you okay? Did he—”
“Christ, Remy, what the hell are you doing? Get out of here before he turns on— What the hell?”
But she’d already aimed the gun at the raccoon. One, two . . .
“Are you insane?” he shouted as much as one could from between gritted teeth.
Three.
She pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed sharply in the metal cavern.
The raccoon dropped.
And Wyatt vaulted out from the back of the trailer, leaping up and out into daylight before she even put the gun back in her waistband.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” His brown eyes blazed as he stood over her, toe-to-toe, fury vibrating from him.
“You said you wanted me to prove my sharpshooting accuracy,” she reminded him. “So I—”
“Not like that! Jesus Christ, what if you’d missed?”
“I wouldn’t have missed, but even if I did, I wouldn’t’ve come close to you. Totally wrong angle, Wyatt. You were off to the right and—”
“Christ, Remy. If you missed, the bullet would have ricocheted around inside
that damn trailer and God knows who would’ve been shot. You or me.” He looked as if he wanted to strangle her.
“Did you have a better plan?” she retorted, realizing that, well, yeah, he had a point. But it didn’t matter because after all she hadn’t missed. The animal had been a really close target. Dantès whined and gave a little yip, clearly disconcerted. She gave him the silent release signal and he hurried over, butting his nose against her thigh.
“Yes, goddammit, I had a better plan. I was just about to throw a blanket over it when you and Dantès arrived and fucked everything up. The last thing we needed was for him to get into a fight with a rabid raccoon.”
“I know that, Wyatt. I’m sorry I shot the damn raccoon, okay? Maybe it wasn’t the best plan, but it worked. I was at very close range, he wasn’t moving, it would have been impossible for me to miss—”
“There is no such thing as ‘impossible to miss,’ ” he said from between his teeth.
“And I didn’t know if you’d been bitten, or if he’d scratched you. And for all I knew, he could have scented Dantès and charged out after him, or me. I acted quickly—”
“Without thinking—”
“—and I bet that part of your pissed-off-ness is because, yes, I am a woman and I happen to be a damn good shot—probably better than you—and yes, this is the second time I saved your ass in two days, and yes, I am cool under pressure, and yes, I probably scared the shit out of—”
His hands closed over her arms, yanking her up and off the ground. The next thing she knew, her chest slammed into him and his mouth covered hers.
Remy’s eyes went wide, her breath catching as his lips fit to her parted ones. Then the shock faded, replaced by heat and pleasure barreling through her and she kissed him back. As the kiss deepened, their tongues twined, sleek and easy, their mouths molding together. She closed her eyes and sank into the delicious taste of him as he devoured her in return. His lips were sensual and erotic, and she realized her hands had settled on his warm, solid shoulders. One of them found a lock of silky hair, then slid up into more thick waves as she felt her toes touch the ground again, his hands releasing her shoulders.