by Unknown
What if he had joined the bounty hunters, the MITs? What if he worked for the Strangers? What if this was all a ruse to—to—
To what? No one alive knew about this room and its contents. No one…except Marisa and the two Waxnicki brothers.
“So who are you hiding from, and what happened? To your head?” she asked, keeping her eyes averted from that sleek, golden torso. She yanked up the shirt from the floor and flung it at him. “Here.”
Luke caught it easily and, with an odd glance at her, pulled it back on. But when he started to speak, a grimace tightened his face and he wobbled a little. “I think I’d better…sit down,” he said, and staggered a bit as he sank onto the sofa. “Maybe you have something to sop up the blood? I don’t want to mess up your place.”
Marisa’s mouth tightened as guilt thrust at her. Damn. The guy had fainted, and was unsteady on his feet from loss of blood and who knew what else—and here she was interrogating him.
No, wait, she had the perfect right to interrogate him—but she could get him a bandage first. Maybe some cold water…something to press against the wound.
“Sure. I’ll be…I’ll get something.” She didn’t want to leave him alone in the room, so she went to the small kitchenette area and found a clean towel.
When she turned back, she saw that he’d collapsed onto his side on the sofa, head pillowed in his arms in a poor attempt to keep from soaking the upholstery with blood. His breathing was unsteady, and his eyes were closed. She didn’t think he’d passed out again, but she wasn’t sure.
How bad was the wound at the back of his head? Did he need a doctor?
As she approached, his eyes fluttered. “Thanks. I’m sorry, Marisa. I’m sorry to do this to you. I know I…owe you an explanation.”
“Let me look at your injury. You might need a doctor—”
“No, I’m…sure it’s fine. Maybe stitches. Probably just a…something to stop the bleeding. You know what they say about head wounds. How much they…bleed.”
By now she had edged next to the sofa, perching on its arm so she could examine his head. His blond hair, though matted with blood, was soft and thick, curling in complete circles at the tips. Despite the rusty smell of blood and an underlying tinge of perspiration, there was also the scent of pine and some other aroma that made Marisa think, This is a man.
Oh, indeed. Luke Desmond was all man.
Crap.
She gritted her teeth, ordered her fingers to stop trembling and her belly to stop fluttering, dammit, and gingerly pulled the hair away so she could see his scalp. It was split in a jagged line at the base of where his skull jutted out a little in the back—precisely where one would land if one fell. It didn’t appear too deep, and he clearly knew who he was, where he was, and what he wanted…so she doubted there was anything like a concussion going on.
There was crusty blood around the wound and the dark blood was already starting to congeal. A little pressure and some rest, and he should be—
Marisa and Luke both tensed at the same time. Loud voices outside—just outside the brick wall of the building.
“Every building. Every resident. Search them all!” came a loud, tight voice that became indistinct as the speaker moved away. “We…find…before…”
She stumbled away as Luke twisted in his position on the sofa. “Are they looking for you?” she demanded. “Is that it? They’re here looking for you?”
Dammit.
His blue eyes were steady. “No one knows I’m here. You’ve hidden me well, right, Marisa? No one can find this place…right?”
“Right. I’ll…I’ll just go out there and let them search. They won’t find you.” She was already stumbling toward the door—the entrance she’d tried to keep hidden from him for some silly reason. “And when I get back, you’ll tell me what the hell is going on. And then I might not kill you.”
CHAPTER 3
T he minute the so-called hidden door closed behind Marisa, Luke spewed out a long sigh of relief.
Tinged with guilt.
Laced with consternation.
Damn, he was in one hell of a pickle.
If Ian Marck and his bounty-hunter crew didn’t kill him, Marisa Bengotti was sure as hell going to do the honors…unless Luke somehow snagged a miracle.
Which, given the situation, was pretty damn unlikely.
He waited just long enough to make sure Marisa was really gone before rising from the sofa with speed and energy that belied the fact that he’d fainted only a short while earlier. Or, rather, pretended to almost faint.
Sure, his head throbbed like a bitch. And yeah, he’d lost some blood. But common knowledge said even minor head wounds bled heavily, and he had gotten a pretty good slice across the back of his skull while riding stowaway on the rear of Ian Marck’s truck. A damned rock had come flying up and caught him, splitting the skin like an overripe grape. He nearly lost his grip from where he crouched on the solid back bumper, his muscles frozen taut and tight for far too long as he took care to keep his head out of sight of the rear window.
In fact, Luke was in more pain from the awkward position of holding on for dear life while jouncing along on the back of the damned vehicle than he was headachy or dizzy from the blow at the back of the head and loss of blood.
But, as he’d hoped, once Marisa saw the blood and he staggered a little, she stopped asking questions and looking at him with loathing and suspicion and went straight into female-motherly-action mode.
Though he had to admit—it had been a bit of overkill when he leaned so heavily on her as she helped him through the corridor. But Luke hadn’t been able to resist getting that close.
He still smelled the fresh, definitely-not-floral-but-arousing-as-hell scent that clung to her tightly bound ponytail and skin. The glasses were new since he’d left, and damned if she didn’t look ridiculously sexy yet a little dangerous when she was glaring at him over top of the lenses. He basked, just for a minute, in the memory of her petite, sturdy, soft body tucked under his arm. Wishing…
He shook his head sharply, then winced—for real—at the stab of pain that shot along the back of his head and down over his shoulders.
Focus, asshole.
He looked around. The minute she’d pulled the t-shirt/blindfold away—which, by the way, had been so threadbare it had done little to obscure his vision—Luke had begun to examine the room.
What the hell was this place? A library’s secret chamber? Hmmm…hidden and closed up, Batcave style. What the hell was in here, anyway?
Luke couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been, getting Marisa to take him to this place. He’d had no idea such a secret room existed—and considering the fact that he and Lainey had pretty much been everywhere in the Shelby Library/Bengotti home, trying to avoid being caught with their hands down each other’s pants, that could be considered a miracle in itself.
So that made the chances of a second one even more remote.
He had no idea Marisa would share such a secret with him; he simply didn’t want to be taken to her living space—or worse, her freaking bedroom. Not only would he be discovered much too easily, but, well…it just wouldn’t be a good idea to be in either place. For all he knew, she could be sharing it with someone.
Hell, she probably was. She’d take off those damned glasses, unfasten her ponytail, and let all that thick, dark hair fall loose and free…
Focus, asswipe, he reminded himself again.
He’d stopped bleeding by now, which was good because then he wouldn’t leave a trail of blood around the room to let Marisa know he’d been snooping. In fact, he wouldn’t even have been bleeding at all, except he’d had to take extreme measures back in the exterior hallway. He’d swiped away the blood that had begun to clot over his injury so it would start bleeding again. Just to make sure Marisa was properly concerned.
A niggle of guilt spiraled through his gut, ending in a sharp stab. Pretty much not one thing he’d said or done since grabbing Marisa Bengotti i
n her own home had been aboveboard or honest.
Yeah, well, he’d already burned that bridge five years ago…so what did it matter now? She already thought the absolute worst of him. Lainey’s married now. She moved away. She wouldn’t take you back.
Thank God for that, at least.
He wondered how much time he’d have to look around here, to see what was what. But everything in this room was clearly meant to be hidden…probably from the likes of Ian Marck and his bounty-hunter bastards.
Luke detested Ian Marck, the rest of the snoot, and the immortal Strangers with equal passion. And any information he found, he’d deliver to the city of Envy and into the hands of the Resistance as soon as possible. Theo and Lou Waxnicki had begun to form an underground group with the intention of learning who and what had caused the Change fifty years ago, and how to combat the immortal Strangers and their zombies. Though new to the group, Luke was determined to become part of the inner circle, and the torn photograph he’d stolen from Ian Marck was just one of the pieces of information he’d soon deliver to the Waxnickis.
Assuming he completed his mission and got out of here alive.
“I wonder if there’s anything here that might be of interest to them…” he muttered, moving to stand in front of a ceiling-high bookshelf.
From the time he’d begun to visit Lainey and Marisa here at the Shelby Library, Luke had found the place surprisingly comforting. With high-ceilinged, well-lit, open spaces chock-full of books and filled with the scent of old pages and crisp newer ones, the library had been a draw for him—even aside from the allure of the Bengotti sisters.
Everyone assumed it was Lainey who attracted his attention, and for a while she certainly had. She was the obvious temptation, with her bright, coppery hair, pouty lips, and generous rack—not to mention her outgoing personality, sense of humor, and slyly flirtatious manner. There wasn’t a straight guy in River Vale who didn’t want to find a way down the vee of her shirt, or up the back of it, or wherever the opportunity allowed.
And for a while, Lainey and Luke had been a couple.
The Couple.
Through their teenaged years, from the time he arrived in River Vale at the impressionable age of sixteen until he left—no, escaped—five years later, they’d had an on-and-off, hot-and-cold thing going.
Mostly cold.
But hot often enough that it was hard to quit the habit.
And then he began to notice—really notice—Marisa. The bookish, serious younger sister who never let her hair down from its ponytail and beat his ass at Scrabble every time they played. She was smart, and she didn’t care what other people thought of her, and—because she read so much—she was also very interesting. Though she wasn’t a fan of fishing, she’d at least tried it without squealing and refusing to touch the worms (unlike Lainey).
Luke sighed and pushed away the memories, the regrets, the guilt. He wasn’t going to be here long enough that what happened five years ago would matter. As long as Marisa didn’t kick his ass out of here before he finished the job, he’d be golden.
He wasn’t about to stew on the regrets…even if he was at her mercy.
Focus, he told himself, with real irritation this time.
The room was filled with row after row of shelves, and countless volumes. In spite of his urgent need to search the place, Luke found himself reading the titles…and becoming more and more astonished by the subjects of the books. These were subjects he’d never seen during his visits here.
Holy shit. No wonder they’ve got them hidden away. He curled his fingers into the top of a spine and pulled the thick and heavy Basic Automobile Mechanicals and Electronics: 2010, vol. 30 from the shelf. Next to it was Brimfort’s Encyclopedia of the Mechanical Engine and on the other side was The New Fuel Efficiency. Across the aisle were volumes titled Programming Basics for Dummies, How the Computers Were Hacked, and Building a Secure Computer Network: From Hardware to Code.
The hair at the back of his neck stood on end as he flipped through the pages. This was precisely the sort of resource the Strangers did not want readily accessible—according to the Waxnicki brothers.
The books were enough of a threat, but it was the presence of so many computers that really told the story of this hidden chamber. It even rivaled the Waxnicki brothers’ underground lair back in Envy. Someone had taken a great risk over a long period of time to collect and keep these pieces of hardware safe. And clearly, Marisa was in the know.
And just as clearly, Lainey hadn’t been.
He walked over, brushing his hand over the keyboard of the nearest computer. He’d only ever seen live, working electronics like this in Theo and Lou’s laboratory in Envy. He sure as hell didn’t know how to use them, or even what the different parts were called…yet. But he was going to learn.
The way Luke understood it, in the weeks and months following the devastating events of the Change—the horrific earthquakes, tornados, tsunamis, and other natural disasters that annihilated the earth in June 2010—the survivors were simply happy to be alive. They found shelter, scavenged for food, created makeshift settlements, and tried to stay away from the zombie-like creatures, as well as wild animal refugees from zoos and circuses, that came out at night.
By the time the survivors—a minuscule percentage of the population—began to live a life that resembled something like normal, they realized their computers were either completely destroyed or missing.
And the ones that weren’t missing were taken by the Strangers when they came driving into the settlements in Humvees and other trucks. The way Lou Waxnicki explained it to Luke was: the Strangers wanted to make certain what was left of the human race didn’t have the opportunity to rebuild their—what was it called? Interstructure? No, infrastructure. That was the word.
The Strangers, theorized the Waxnickis, had caused the devastation of the Change. And now they wanted to make certain the surviving people lived simple, disconnected, repressed lives. And so vehicles, computers, and other communication devices were confiscated and destroyed.
Why the Strangers had done what they did, and why they wanted to keep the rest of the human race in a state of primitive living was anyone’s guess—though the Waxnicki brothers, who immodestly described themselves as “fucking computer geniuses” had plenty of opinions on that as well. One of which had to do with them somehow finding the lost city of Atlantis—for the Strangers wore special crystals embedded in their skin in order to make themselves immortal.
Luke might not have believed any of their crazy theories if he hadn’t seen firsthand the actions of the Strangers after escaping River Vale. And the destruction of their bounty hunters, who acted in the name of the Strangers.
And then there were the zombies, who roamed free…and who somehow were controlled or influenced by the Strangers. Luke would never forget the stench…and the sight of the sagging, green-gray flesh, the glowing orange eyes, the rotting teeth as the zombie reached for him.
It was two years ago…and he still dreamed about it. Still heard the sounds of their eerie cries echoing in his mind: Rrrrruuuuuthhhhhhh…rrruuuuttthhhhh…
He resolutely pushed away the memories, the guilt, the realization of how damned lucky he was that a crabby, foul-mouthed female archer had saved his life from a pack of zombies, and returned his attention to the matter at hand.
Theo Waxnicki had sent him here on a mission.
And Luke was damned if he was going to feck it up.
MARISA SLIPPED out the side door of the library and gasped aloud when she nearly ran smack into a man standing there.
He turned to look at her, and the cold, steady expression in his blue eyes pinned her in place even more effectively than the sight of the gun in his hand. But the gun was what made her belly drop like a heavy stone.
He was not a resident of River Vale.
“Is this your place?” He gestured to the building.
She swallowed hard and pushed up her glasses. Show no fear. “Yes, I live
here.”
“I need to see inside.” He reached out and took her arm as if to forestall her escape, then turned and gave a short, sharp whistle.
Her ears still ringing from the ear-piercing sound, Marisa replied, “You don’t need to grab me like that. I’m not going anywhere.”
He turned back, training those unsettling blue eyes on her. “That’s an excellent decision.” He released her arm, but kept the gun trained casually in her direction.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, and he needed a shave. He might have been considered handsome if he hadn’t worn such a cold, forbidding expression. His hair was thick and dark blond, lighter at the ends than at the roots, and she was close enough to see how his stubble glittered in a mixture of red, blond, and brown. He was rangy and muscular, with high, sharp cheekbones and a square jaw that moved as if he was clenching his teeth.
“Are you looking for a book?” she asked, trying to remember whether she’d seen any blood on the floor from Luke’s injury.
“A book?” His lips flattened in an unpleasant smile.
“This building—it’s a library. My family have been the keepers of the books since…”
For some reason, she didn’t want to mention the Change. There was something about this man—something brittle and desperate, and dangerous—that warned her he wouldn’t appreciate the topic. “For years.”
Before he could respond—if indeed he meant to—two other men came into view. They, like the blue-eyed man, were dressed in cargo pants, scuffed boots, and black t-shirts. They all carried guns, and one wore a bandanna tied around his forehead.
“What’d you find, Ian?” asked the one with the bandanna.
“This lovely young woman is going to show us her library,” he replied. Then, without warning, he speared her with his eyes again. “We’re looking for something. If you can help us, I suggest you do so.” The warning was abundantly clear.
Something…not someone? Marisa felt a waver of relief trickle through her. She reached back and tightened her ponytail, trying to maintain a semblance of innocence. “Of course. What are you looking for?”