Cruz splashed around until his clothes were soaked. The pool wasn’t deep enough to submerge fully, so he stretched out on his back and tried to float. Penny dipped her scarf into the water and used it like a washcloth, sponging her arms. The air was so hot and dry, even in the shade. The cool trickle was a revelation against her dusty skin. She didn’t protest when Cruz used a palm stem to ladle water over her head.
Owen made a bed of loose palm fronds, snapping off the sharp stems and tossing them aside. Refreshed, Cruz started helping him. He dragged a half-dozen more fronds over to Owen. Soon they’d built a soft place to rest.
“Try it out, Mommy.”
She stood, wringing the excess water from her hair. When Owen averted his gaze from her body, she looked down. Her dress was almost indecent. The wet fabric clung to her like tissue paper, revealing everything. But it wasn’t as if she was naked underneath. Her bra and panties covered as much as a bikini.
Crawling on to the pile of leaves, she declared it comfortable. “We should take a nap.”
Cruz settled in next to Penny and closed his eyes. Too warm to snuggle, she simply stroked his damp hair, smoothing it away from his forehead until he drifted off. He was a quick, deep sleeper. She waited beside him for a few minutes to make sure he stayed down. While they rested, Owen kicked off his shoes and climbed into the pool. She watched with interest as he knelt in the water and removed his shirt, keeping his back to her. He still had the clover tattoo, among others. His shoulders looked wider, his muscles harder. His ink-sleeved arms flexed as he dunked the shirt in the pool, soaking the fabric.
To her disappointment, he didn’t linger. He put his shirt back on and stood, dripping. Rolling his pant legs up to his knees, he returned to his guard post.
Penny looked up at the swaying trees, filled with a mixture of peace and dread. They were alive. For now, they were safe. But they had a long way to go before this was over. She didn’t know if they’d make it.
She reminded herself that she’d survived a worse situation during the San Diego earthquake. But what were the odds that she’d get lucky again? How many chances did people have in life? How many hours before time ran out?
Inching away from Cruz, she sat up and studied his precious face. It satisfied her soul to see him sleeping comfortably, lost in dreamland. Maybe because she’d spent so many nights rocking him as an infant, taking care of his illnesses, singing him lullabies. Heart aching, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. It was still baby-soft.
She rose and tiptoed away to find Owen. He was nearby, sitting under a tree with his back to a flat rock. He had a pair of binoculars.
“Where’d you get those?”
“In the barrel. A bird-watcher probably lost them.”
She examined the trail they’d ascended. It had taken them all morning to hike up here, and she could see far into the distance, even without binoculars.
“You should lie down,” he said, not looking at her.
“So should you.”
“I can’t.”
She sank down beside him and turned her face to the breeze. Although warm, it felt pleasant now that she was wet. “Where did you shoot him?”
“In the foot.”
“Will he die?”
“Not from the wound.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted him to elaborate. “What about the man I hit over the head?”
“What about him?”
“Is he okay?”
His blue eyes slid to hers. “Did he touch you?”
“No.”
He let the binoculars drop, resting his arm on a bent knee. “He’s fine.”
There was a faint reddish band around his neck—strangulation marks, in addition to the old tattoo scar. She thought back to the disturbing scene by the campfire. The leader seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. It occurred to her that he looked like Owen. “Who are they?”
He didn’t answer.
“You know them, don’t you?”
“I only know one.”
“Which one?”
“My brother. Shane.”
“He’s the man who choked you?”
He inclined his head.
Penny recoiled in shock. Owen hadn’t told her much about his family. She was aware that he’d grown up near here. His brother was a convicted killer. Their sibling relationship added weight to all of the decisions he’d made so far. Owen had chosen Penny and Cruz over Shane. “When did he get out of jail?”
“Prison,” he corrected. “Last month.”
“Did you see him?”
“No.” He kicked at the dirt, making a sound of frustration. “I never suspected he’d do anything like this.”
“Why would you? It’s not your fault.”
“I’m supposed to protect you and Cruz.”
“And you have.”
His mouth twisted with self-derision, but he didn’t argue.
“Does your brother know about this place?”
“Yes.”
“Then he knows where the railroad is.”
“Of course.”
“Is it safe to rest?”
He shrugged. “We have to conserve our energy during the day. You don’t want to get heat sickness out here.”
“What if he catches up?”
“Just because he’s familiar with the area doesn’t mean he can guess my every move. He might assume we’re hiding. It would be a smart strategy. If you weren’t in such good shape, I’d suggest that.”
“You think I’m in good shape?”
The question invited him to take a closer look, which he did. Her dress was still damp, her skirt hanging in tatters. Once long and layered, it was now short and thin, riding high on her thighs. He tore his gaze away without answering, but the attention went beyond casual regard. There was a different sort of tension between them, as if this experience had stripped away the first layer of his defenses.
She examined his profile, replaying their exchange from last night. He’d kissed her on the cheek less than twenty-four hours ago. Would he do it again, if she asked nicely?
This wasn’t an appropriate time or place to tell him how she felt. The conversation was bound to make him uncomfortable. There was a reason he put distance between them, and she doubted he’d volunteer the information. Maybe he was aware of her father’s machinations, and accepted them because it was easier than moving forward. He wanted to stay in this limbo.
Close to her, but not quite touching.
She didn’t think she’d imagined his desire after the kiss. She wasn’t imagining it now. His eyes were gleaming, his shoulders taut.
“Cruz asked me if you were his father,” she said.
He turned to stare at her. “When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“You’ve talked to him about his real father before?”
“Yes.”
“How did that go?”
Her chest tightened at the memory. “He asked...why Tyler didn’t want him. I said it had nothing to do with him. Tyler just wasn’t ready to be a dad.”
“Did he understand?”
“I guess not,” she said wryly. “Maybe he understands, but he doesn’t want it to be true. He likes to play make-believe. And he adores you.”
Owen fell silent, soaking this in.
“Cruz also knows you were there when he was born. I think he decided you might have been there for the conception, as well.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Have you told him how babies are made?”
“Just the basics,” she said, smiling back at him. He’d never looked better to her, despite a dark bruise on his cheekbone and a scrape along his jaw. His wet shirt was semitransparent, blurring the lines of his tattoos. He had a lean, well-muscled physique. Even his feet were handsome, his calves dusted with hair.
He’d been twenty-one when they’d first met, boyish and awkward. Now, at twenty-six, he was
all man.
His easy affection for Cruz made him more attractive to her. Owen avoided physical contact with just about everyone except Cruz. She wanted Owen to make an exception for her, too. She wanted him to want her.
He seemed interested in her sexually, but he wasn’t easy to read. They’d been friends for years, and he’d never tried anything. Their most romantic moment had been that slow dance at Sam’s wedding. She remembered the feel of his hard body, his heart hammering against hers. She’d imagined he would kiss her, right there on the dance floor. Or even better, take her out to the garden and press her back against the stone wall.
But when the dance had ended, they’d drifted apart. She’d had no idea what he’d been thinking. Her father had offered him a job a few months later.
Maybe he’d experienced nothing more than a mild panic attack when they’d danced. Maybe he’d have the same reaction to any woman pressing herself against him, showing off her legs...begging for a kiss.
She flushed at the thought, unsure of herself.
“Tell me about Salton City,” she said. “The truth, this time.”
His brows rose at this request. “Some of what I told you before was true.”
“Which part?”
“The sea is blue.”
“Like the sky?”
“Darker.”
“What else?”
“It’s beautiful from a distance.”
“Not up close?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Some of the beaches are pristine-looking, with what appears to be fine white sand. When you get closer, you see what it really is.”
“What?”
“Bones. Crushed bones. Thousands of fish die on the shore every summer.”
“Why?” she asked, stricken.
“It’s too hot. The oxygen levels drop, and they can’t breathe.”
She frowned, unable to fathom such a thing.
“One year there was a really bad heat wave,” he said, glancing across the desolate landscape. “Shane and I rode our bikes down to the shore to check it out. There were piles of tilapia. Mountains of them. The sea was silver with floating bodies. They said eight million fish died that day.”
“How could there even be that many fish to begin with?”
“It’s a big sea.”
“Did every single fish die?”
“I don’t think so. The next year there were plenty.”
“That’s unnatural.”
He laughed softly, not disagreeing.
“Why is it so toxic?”
“Lots of reasons. It’s an ecological disaster.”
“What do you mean?”
“About a hundred years ago, there was a flood. The Colorado River busted one of its canals and filled up the salt basin.”
“What’s a salt basin?”
“A place where they used to mine salt. By the time they rerouted the river, the Salton Sea was forty miles wide. Some real estate developers came in with dollar signs in their eyes. They figured a huge lake in the middle of the desert would be a perfect vacation destination. And it was, for a while. But the water salinity kept increasing, and something went wrong with the fish. Then the birds got sick. The stench and decay attracts flies, not tourists. When the resort area washed out, they never bothered to rebuild it.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yes,” he said. “Now you see why I lied.”
“I can handle the truth.”
He didn’t respond. She’d been scared, eighteen, and in labor. He’d chosen to spin a tale of fiction rather than disturb her.
“What can be done to fix it?”
“I don’t know. They can’t control the heat. Decreasing the salt content would cost a lot of money. The sea level gets lower every year. If they let it dry up, the sediment will make huge dust clouds over L.A.”
She wondered if her father knew about this. He probably did. “So Salton City is hot and dry and it smells bad. Why does anyone live here?”
“It’s cheap,” he said flatly. “And the weather’s nice in the winter.”
“How is your mother doing?”
“She’s okay,” he said, setting the binoculars aside.
His father had died last year. Owen had gone to take care of things and pay his respects. When Penny had offered to accompany him, he’d refused. “Does she miss your dad?”
“I don’t know why she would.”
“Do you?”
He picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingertips, considering.
“You told me he worked on cars.”
“He was a welder.”
“You said he rebuilt a Chevy for you.”
“That was a lie.”
“You lie a lot,” she said, smiling.
He tossed the pebble away, his jaw clenched. She hadn’t really meant it, but she could follow his train of thought. He’d also said he’d joined the Aryan Brotherhood by choice, not for self-preservation. They both knew it wasn’t true.
“I rebuilt the Chevy,” he said, glancing at her. “I worked on it by myself for months.”
“Why?”
“He brought it home for me. It was a rusted piece of shit, but it was the only thing I remember him giving me. He said we’d work on it together. Then he got arrested for stealing auto parts and went to jail.”
“So you did all the work?”
“Yes. I liked it. He taught me everything he knew about mechanics and welding, which was quite a bit. He let me borrow tools. We didn’t get along in the house very well, but he tolerated me in the garage.”
“Did your brother help?”
“No. Shane didn’t have the patience for fixing things. It was the one area where my dad and I saw eye to eye, instead of Shane and him.”
“What happened to that car?”
“He sold it for drugs.”
She bit her lip, hurting for the boy he’d been.
“At the time, I was crushed. I was seventeen and I’d just gotten my license. I hadn’t even driven it yet.”
“And now?”
“Now, what stands out to me is how impressed he was when he saw the work I’d done. He was proud of me.”
Owen hadn’t lied to her about everything. He’d been honest about his father’s physical and verbal abuse without going into detail. The story about the car disturbed her, but she was glad he’d shared it. She didn’t blame him for loving his father despite his flaws. It wasn’t the kind of relationship a child could opt out of—even though so many fathers did.
Owen’s ability to find a scrap of good in everyone was a reflection of his kind nature. The tears he blinked away were a testament to his strength, not a sign of weakness.
Instead of pretending not to see them, she lifted her hands to his face. The hours she’d thought he was dead had been excruciating. She wanted to be with him, and she didn’t care what anyone else thought about it.
Turning his head toward her, she brushed her lips over his scraped cheek. Tasting salt, she kissed the corner of his tense mouth. Her fingertips trailed down the side of his neck, grazing his tattoo scar and the tender bruise. She longed to twine her arms around him and press her breasts against his chest.
Instead of giving in to her, he grasped her wrists and held them tight, as if her touch pained him. She met his gaze and saw the want. The need. It was in his taut muscles and ragged breaths. But his hands said don’t.
She retreated a few inches, stricken. He released her wrists.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her throat tight. “I thought...”
“You thought what?”
“I thought you wanted me.”
His gaze moved from the trail to the place where Cruz was taking a nap. Then he returned to her, considering. “I can’t touch you, Penny.”
“Why not?”
“My contract, for one. I’m not allowed to have a relationship with you outside of work.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.
”
“I doubt that stipulation is in anyone else’s contract.”
He didn’t argue.
No wonder he’d been so reserved. Even casual friendship was off the table. “You should have told me.”
He fell silent for a long moment, studying her. “Did you sleep last night?”
“Not much.”
After a short silence, he put his arm around her shoulders. It was a conciliatory gesture, not the passionate embrace she’d hoped for. But she appreciated the attempt to step out of his comfort zone and console her.
The emotions she’d been holding back caught up with her. Now that Cruz was asleep, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t scared anymore. Leaning on Owen, she buried her face in his damp shirt and cried.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JANELLE STARED AT the unlisted number on her phone, wanting to scream.
She’d tried to call the stranger back, to no avail. His curt orders rang in her ears. Take Jamie and go to your mother’s.
It was Shane. It had to be Shane. Every problem in her life could be traced back to Shane. The fact that he was also responsible for giving her Jamie, the best thing that had ever happened to her, didn’t excuse the rest. Shane was a worthless excuse for a father and an all-around jerk. He didn’t even have the decency to speak to her himself. She’d told him not to call, but she’d have made an exception in this case.
She should contact the police and report his sorry ass.
Her thumb traced the emergency numbers, not pressing them. What could she say, except that she suspected her recently paroled ex-boyfriend was up to no good? The cops wouldn’t care about this “anonymous” message. Her car had been broken into a week ago, and they hadn’t even bothered to make a report.
She rubbed her weary eyes, glancing at the clock. It was already ten, and she’d agreed to do a double shift. Her mother’s house was an hour away, in the opposite direction of the club. If she was going to drop Jamie off before work, she’d have to leave now. “Shit,” she groaned, reaching for the cigarette pack on her nightstand.
It was empty.
Tossing the trash on the floor, she rose from the bed and padded down the hall, barefoot. She could hear her son playing video games in the living room. The sound of rapid-fire assault weapons amplified her hangover.
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