As Amber left with the medicine, Greg knelt next to Carrie’s mattress again. He bent down as if to kiss her, but she held up a hand.
“You told Amber no kissing,” she said.
“I meant no kissin’ for people who weren’t vaccinated.” He smiled his crooked smile. “Lucky for me, I’m immune.”
“Greg…”
“Oh, come on.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You just said I was irresistible.”
“No, you said you were irresistible.”
“Only ‘cause you were thinkin’ it.”
She shook her head, amused. “Still, you’re not sure they immunized you during training in Naperville. Plus, you look exhausted, so it’s my turn to take care of you. Go home and sleep. If I need anything, Zach can run across the street and get you.”
“Alrighty,” he relented. But instead of moving away, his finger slowly ran along the skin of her cheek across to her lips. She felt every move, every warm ridge of his fingerprint, still not accustomed to his touch. His green eyes locked on hers, and he whispered something. At least, she hoped he had whispered it because she didn’t catch a word.
Shifting, she said, “What?”
“You’re so soft,” he said louder. “You know, Miss Ashworth, you still owe me a midnight walk around the pond.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said while thinking, I love you.
He leaned down as if to whisper something in her good ear, but at the last second, he darted left and stole a kiss right off her startled lips.
“Greg!”
He grinned again. “You like kissing me. Admit it.”
Her lips tingled, and her cheeks went hot, answering for her.
“Alrighty,” he said, standing. “ I’m gonna let you sleep now. Unless you want—” He stopped, craning his neck toward the open window. “What is that?”
Carrie strained, but obviously heard nothing. “What?”
“No way.” He peered outside and suddenly turned to stone. “Why is she here? And Dylan’s with her? What is going on?”
“Who?” Carrie said, trying to sit.
He turned. “I’ll be back later. Try to sleep.” Then he flew out of her room and down her stairs. She heard the front door open seconds later.
Curious, her thirteen-year-old brother, Zach, came into her bedroom and went to her window. Zach’s brows also furrowed as he peered outside.
“Who’s that with Dylan?” Zach asked.
That did it.
Carrie struggled to sit, but she pushed through the dizziness. Using the wall for support, she worked her way to the window and saw Dylan Green escorting a twenty-something blonde down the street, a woman Carrie had never seen before. Under normal circumstances, that was strange enough. But in the last six years—more specifically the last three—their clan had cut off all contact with the outside world. They never had visitors in their neighborhood.
Ever.
With a jolt, she wondered if that was Greg’s old girlfriend from North Carolina, come to find him. Carrie tried to remember her name. Nicole something.
The woman was crying, but even from a distance, Carrie could tell that she was beautiful. At the same time, Carrie noticed that beyond her reddened eyes, one cheek that looked rosier than the other, almost like someone had slapped her. Dylan Green gripped the woman’s arm as they walked down the street, looking furious. Dylan wouldn’t have hurt her, would he? Even a trespasser?
It was a sign of Carrie’s sick state that it took her that long to notice what the woman wore. A dark green government uniform. That wasn’t Greg’s old girlfriend. That was a government employee.
In Logan Pond.
With thirty-four illegals.
“Oh no,” Zach said, backing away from the window. “They found us.”
two
GREG PEERED AROUND THE BRICK of Carrie’s porch. His mind raced with a thousand questions. First and foremost, why was Ashlee Lyon in their neighborhood?
Six years of hiding.
Week after week of precautions.
Gone.
He didn’t know how much Oliver Simmons had told Ashlee about their clan. Enough to get Carrie legal, but more than that? Enough for Ashlee to pop in for a visit? No. Not after so many safeguards. Nobody more than Oliver knew what would happen if the government discovered them.
Frantic, Greg scanned the street.
People had scattered at the sight of the government clerk. How far they’d run, he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. Ashlee’s blonde head whipped back and forth, searching the homes that obviously weren’t abandoned. Dylan Green, as illegal as anybody, looked ready for war as he marched her down the street. Her face was flushed from crying, but Greg had the feeling she’d been crying long before she got to their neighborhood.
Oliver had driven Carrie and Greg home from the hospital maybe only thirty minutes before. What could have gone wrong in that short of time? Why had Oliver risked everything in sending Ashlee to them?
Or had he sent her?
Either way, the last thing “dead” Greg needed was to be resurrected and forced into serving in Commander McCormick’s unit again. But Dylan seemed to have one destination in mind. He and Ashlee headed right for Carrie’s house.
For Greg.
Greg slunk behind the brick.
As Dylan and Ashlee turned up Carrie’s driveway, Greg’s eyes zeroed in on something. Not only was Ashlee’s face flushed, but one cheek was redder than the other and her lip was swollen and bloody. Which meant one thing.
Jamansky!
Greg stepped out into the early evening sun, resurrecting himself. Startled, Ashlee jumped back and let out a piercing cry. Her hands flew to her mouth, clamping off the sound, but it still took her a second to regain her composure.
“Greg?” she said.
“Ashlee,” he said evenly. “Why are you here?”
Tears streamed down her splotchy, mascara-smeared face. “You’re not dead? They told me you died in the line of duty. David showed me the death notice himself. How are you not dead?” Hiccupping a sob, she ran forward and threw her arms around him. “Federal patrolmen came. They told us, and I thought…I thought you were…”
As she entered full freak-out mode, Dylan gave Greg a strange look. Greg patted her convulsing back, unsure how to explain. The last time Greg had seen her had been the day Jamansky stormed into the township office and ordered Greg to be handcuffed and carted off to training. The day his mom died. That had been a lifetime ago. Even then, Greg hadn’t known You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee very well. Certainly not enough for this kind of reaction.
Her tears soaked his shoulder.
“Why is she here?” Greg asked. “What happened?”
Dylan threw his hands in the air. “Don’t ask me! I spotted her near the entrance. I thought she was from another clan until I noticed her uniform, so I confronted her. She said she was looking for Oliver. When I told her that he’d just dropped off Carrie a little bit ago, she started freaking out. She says she has a message for Carrie that’s life or death. She knows all about our clan and situation, but look at her. She’s one of them!”
Greg peeled Ashlee off him. “Ashlee, what’s goin’ on? What happened?”
She hunched over, hands covering her face. “He’s gone. I missed him. He’s gone.”
“Who?”
Her eyes, swollen and overflowing, lifted. “Oliver! Please, Greg. I have to talk to Carrie. Is she home?”
“Yes,” a weak voice said behind them. “I’m here.”
Whirling, Greg saw Carrie slowly working her way downstairs. “Go back to bed,” he growled. “We’ve got this.”
Either she couldn’t hear him or chose to ignore him because she pushed toward her front door, looking whiter than snow. “You’re Ashlee. You work with Oliver, right?”
Nodding, Ashlee wiped her eyes, smearing more mascara as she appraised Carrie’s haggard appearance. Neither woman looked too great. “And you’re Carrie. Are you…
are you okay? Oliver said you were dying.”
“I’m getting better, thanks in part to you,” Carrie said, even as she leaned against the door to keep from falling over. “Oliver told us you helped get me legal. Thank you.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say.
Ashlee dissolved into tears again. “Oh, Oliver.”
“Ashlee,” Greg said, losing patience, “try to focus. What happened?”
She took a shuddering breath and looked up. Her gaze locked on Carrie for a moment before shifting back to Greg.
“Jamansky knows, Greg,” she said.
Greg’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean he knows?” Yet even as he said it, his stomach clenched. David Jamansky, Chief of Patrols. Oliver’s boss, and Ashlee’s boyfriend.
Jamansky knew.
Ashlee’s chin lowered, and they lost her to emotions again. It didn’t matter. More and more pieces fit together. Ashlee was there, swollen lip, beaten. You-can-just-call-me-Ashlee, who had never stepped foot in the Logan Pond subdivision before, had trudged all the way from Downtown Shelton on foot to give Carrie, a woman she’d never even met, a message.
Life or death.
“Ashlee,” Greg said slowly. “What does Jamansky know?”
Through heart-wrenching sobs, she was only able to manage one word:
“Everything.”
* * * * *
David Jamansky’s car rolled to a stop by the south entrance to the Logan Pond neighborhood. He should have brought a map. He’d barely glanced at the map in the station in his haste to get out the door. Now he wasn’t sure he’d come to the right spot. Trees and debris blocked the entrance into the subdivision, almost like tornado damage, but the debris was too perfectly situated to block the road. Anger coursed through him. Of course the illegal squatters had blocked off patrolmen’s access to their subdivision. They couldn’t drive. They hadn’t owned cars for years. The only people left with transportation could end their pitiful lives.
David pounded the steering wheel, wondering why it had taken so long to piece things together. An entire illegal clan living right under their noses.
Six years!
He thought about hopping the curb but didn’t want to risk the patrol car’s alignment. Pressing the throttle to the floor, he sped toward the other entrance to the subdivision. If they blocked off the north entrance as well, he’d go in on foot. They would not keep him away. Not now.
Thankfully, the north entrance was open and clear.
He started to turn into the neighborhood but slammed on the brakes with a sudden thought. He knew nothing about this clan. They could be violent or part of the rebellion. They could ambush him the second he stepped foot inside their territory.
But as soon as he thought it, he dismissed it. He’d done plenty of sweeps through here, and they’d never attacked him before. Even when he ransacked the place back in March, they let him have free rein. This clan was a peaceful one, a weak one that had befriended an even weaker patrolman in Oliver Simmons. They wouldn’t want an altercation with a truly skilled—and heavily armed—officer.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed how red and sweaty he still was. His jaw throbbed and ached like crazy, and every muscle in his body still felt tight with fury from the scuffle. If Oliver Simmons had broken his jaw, David would personally visit him in prison and slit his throat. Luckily Oliver had only got in a few punches before the other patrolmen took him down. David had finished him off after that, hopefully breaking a few of his ribs. That had felt good. And while Ashlee hadn’t inflicted any injury on him—at least not physically—their argument had affected him just as much. His girlfriend’s part in all this, her betrayal and schemes, were yet to be punished. She claimed to know little of what Oliver Simmons had been involved with, but David knew better than to believe that lying wench. He’d finish her off later.
First things first.
Carrie Ashworth.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his nerves. He couldn’t look ruffled for this meeting. The way he figured, Oliver had turned David’s girlfriend against him. Now he’d repay the favor. Only David Jamansky planned to take it much, much further. Oliver Simmons would spend the rest of his life paying for what he’d done. Jamansky had decided that on the first night he spent sleeping on a hard, smelly, cement prison floor. It had been solidified when the prison gang cornered him and beat him to a pulp.
And now…
Ever since Mayor Phillips had sprung David from prison, David had been biding his time, waiting for payback. Now to find out that Oliver’s crimes hadn’t stopped at squealing on him for working the black market? No, the hypocrite had a secret far darker and illegal.
David ground his teeth so hard, pain shot up his temples.
For years, Oliver had been hiding a girlfriend—the beautiful, young Carrie Ashworth—plus an entire clan. He’d neglected his sweeps, lied about patrols, stolen supplies to give to them, enlisted Ashlee to his cause, and sent Jamansky to prison.
Yes, Oliver Simmons would pay dearly.
But never had revenge been so sweet or involved someone so enticing.
David pictured Carrie’s soft face to slow his breathing. He’d only met her once and only for a brief minute in that diner in South Elgin. But it had been enough. Carrie Ashworth was the quiet, innocent-looking type: freckles, blushes, and all. But she’d been stuck on a date with lame Oliver—a guy who was at least a decade older than her. The moment David had introduced himself, he’d felt her beautiful blue eyes follow his every move. She had been attracted to him, he could tell. Sure, she blushed and tried to hide behind her hair as they spoke, but he had understood her game. She wanted him to pursue her.
Now he had.
A slow smile crept over his face.
Oliver Simmons had done at least one thing right by getting Carrie legal. That would simplify things. Oliver hadn’t left her house that long ago, either. David just had to figure out how to approach this—how to approach her—while she was surrounded by two dozen illegals. What excuse could he give to keep her and the others from scattering like they had so many times before? Because he didn’t want Carrie to hide anymore. She was legal now. Legal…and his.
Revenge was sweet.
Stretching up to the rearview mirror again, he finger-combed his light hair. His coloring was nearly back to normal. His jaw didn’t look swollen, and any bruising wouldn’t show for another day. He was wearing his Chief of Patrols uniform, which was fine. Carrie liked a man in uniform—especially a man of his power and rank.
Good enough.
Putting the car into drive, David Jamansky pulled into the Logan Pond subdivision.
three
CARRIE SAT ON HER OLD, torn couch as Ashlee talked a thousand miles a minute. How Jamansky found the deed to Carrie’s home. How he’d seen Oliver’s name on the paperwork and pieced everything together.
Turning her neck made Carrie feel fuzzy, so she twisted her whole body to face Ashlee. Even then, she rested her head on the couch, begging herself to hold onto consciousness a bit longer. Because, according to Ashlee, Jamansky didn’t just know about their illegal clan, he knew about the raid in March—something that made Carrie sick with dread. Jamansky knew Oliver had been behind his arrest.
Greg ran both hands over his hair. “Jamansky had been paging Oliver all morning at the hospital. Oliver ignored him, but…” He looked at Ashlee. “What will he do to him?”
Ashlee started crying again. “I don’t know. I’m too late. He attacked me today, and you that one day—and your mom! Look at what he did to your sweet mom when she hadn’t even done anything wrong, Greg. What will he do to quiet, sweet Oliver who he hated even before everything?”
Carrie’s insides caved.
Oliver.
“You’re worried about Oliver?” Dylan Green yelled through the open window. He stood on Carrie’s porch to minimize the germ exposure. “What about the rest of us? The Chief of Patrols? How could you have told him?
”
“He was hurting me. I couldn’t breathe, but he wouldn’t stop.” Ashlee covered her face again. “He was hurting me.”
“She didn’t tell Jamansky anything he hadn’t already pieced together,” Greg said.
“That’s not what it sounds like,” Dylan shot back.
Ashlee Lyon cried harder.
Carrie rubbed her arm. “It’s okay. It’s going to be fine,” she said, shooting Dylan a warning look. Making Ashlee more hysterical wouldn’t help anything. They needed information, not an interrogation.
Greg blew out his breath. “We better call an emergency meeting. Dylan, go tell the adults to meet at my grandparents’ in five minutes.”
Carrie jerked around—a bad move. The world flashed black. “People can’t go to their house. May and CJ are quarantined.”
Dylan threw his hands in the air. “I knew it. Everything’s ruined.” He glared at Carrie through the screen. “Jeff and I told you this would happen. You’ve ruined everything!”
Carrie’s cheeks burned with shame. Jeff, Jenna.
Greg whirled and pointed out the window. “Don’t start. I’m serious, Dylan. I’m way too sleep-deprived to deal with your garbage right now.”
Dylan folded his arms. “We warned you and Carrie. Two stupid lovebirds, and now we have a whole patrol squad—”
Greg stormed across the room, threw open Carrie’s front door, and came nose to nose with Dylan on the porch. Startled, Dylan fell back a step. They were nearly the same height, but after six weeks of rigorous military training, Greg had twice Dylan’s bulk. Greg’s whole body was lines of deep, clenched muscles.
“Go around and warn all the adults,” Greg said, low and deadly. “Now. Let them know we’re on high alert until further notice. Have all the healthy ones meet by the pond in five minutes. Make sure they keep a safe distance from each other.”
Muttering, Dylan headed down the sidewalk. When Greg came back inside, he looked even more rigid. He started pacing Carrie’s living room. Ashlee gave Carrie a questioning look, but Carrie didn’t even know where to start. Too much history. Too much pain.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 89