“So am I.”
Zach threw a fast ball, trying to mimic Greg’s pitch, but it flew too fast for Tucker. The ball sailed straight into the woods.
“What the heck, Zach!” Tucker yelled. “You lost the ball!”
“Well, why didn’t you hit it?” Zach shouted back.
The boys darted into the trees to search for Greg’s baseball, yelling and hollering about whose fault it was.
“Carrie,” Greg said, ignoring them, “I’m sure Richard’s fine. He’ll know what to do with Jamansky. Don’t worry about him.”
Those words. Richard would know what to do, but she wouldn’t have?
She set her cup aside. “I better help the boys.”
Without waiting, she headed across the field away from him. She saw Greg start after her, so she changed direction.
“Zach!” she called. “I think the ball went off this way.”
Heading into the trees, she scanned the ground for anything white. The boys darted around her, climbing in and through and around the thick underbrush. Twigs and branches tugged her jeans, but she kept searching.
She saw a flash of light blue a dozen yards to the left—Greg’s lucky shirt. He was searching further down, pushing branches and foliage back to find the baseball he’d had since high school.
Zach found it first.
“Got it!” Zach called, holding the ball up high.
The boys whooped and darted past Greg, heading back to the open field. Carrie wanted to return, too, but Greg moved over to block the path out.
“Call me crazy,” Greg said, “but I’m pretty sure you’re mad at me. So out with it.”
Carefully, she stepped over a fallen log. She would have kept going, but he caught her arm again.
“At least tell me where you think you’re goin’ Wednesday.”
“Into town.” She lifted her chin, daring him to disagree. “To get Amber and Zach’s citizenship cards.”
His mouth dropped before clamping shut. For a moment, he seemed to search for a response that wouldn’t get him in more trouble. He should have thought longer because he said, “You should take Richard with you.”
“Really?” she said. “And how many times did Richard go with you into town?”
“Not enough.”
His blunt comment cut off her next reply. Could Richard have stopped things from escalating with Greg, Mariah, and Jamansky, or would Richard have ended up another victim? Was Richard in trouble even now, pretending to be her father?
“Look, Carrie,” Greg said, holding up his hands in surrender, “try to understand where I’m comin’ from here, why I might not want you home right now. If situations were reversed, would you want me there, talkin’ to Jamansky?”
She stared at his upheld hand and the ragged pink scar running down his left palm. That scar was her fault. Back in March, she’d tried to save Jeff and Jenna Kovach’s things and, in the process, knocked over Greg in the woods.
“You taught me a valuable lesson that day,” Greg once said. “Stay outta Carrie’s way when she’s tryin’ to save the world.”
Her gaze dropped to his faded UNC t-shirt that covered horrific crisscrossed, whipping scars on his back. And beyond those were emotional scars she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“It’s not like I want to see David again,” she said.
Greg’s eyes narrowed. “David?”
“Jamansky,” she said. “Part of me is relieved to not be there right now.” And honestly, the young patrol chief looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl, like he was examining a feast to devour.
So why was she so upset?
It was the lack of control. Oliver was in trouble, and the only way she knew to help involved talking to David Jamansky.
Her headache tripled.
She pulled off a small leaf from a nearby branch. “It’s just that Richard’s never met Jamansky before. Jamansky won’t tell him anything. I hoped to find out where Oliver is tonight, but now…” She swallowed. “Now…”
Oliver could be dead, and they wouldn’t even know it.
Her throat swelled.
Greg watched her playing with the leaf. The longer he watched her, the harder the emotions pounded against her.
“Oliver sacrificed six years of his life to protect this clan—and me. I have to do something. But instead I’m playing baseball on a beautiful summer evening. Baseball, Greg.” Her voice caught on the words. Eyes burning, she dropped the leaf to the thick foliage below.
“Come here,” he said, tugging her to him.
In the safety of the trees, he wrapped her up in his arms. She let him, needing his strength supporting her and assuring her that she was just overreacting. Oliver was fine. He would be back any day, any time.
“Wherever he is,” Greg whispered into her hair, “I’m sure he’ll find a way to contact us and let us know what’s goin’ on.”
“But that’s just it,” she said, pulling back. “We don’t have phones. We don’t get mail. We don’t have computers or texts or anything. The only way Oliver can contact us is by coming here or sending someone for him.”
“Somebody like…Jamansky,” Greg said slowly as if he finally, finally understood.
“Yes! I know you don’t think Oliver sent Jamansky, but what if he did? What if he had no choice? If Oliver had to suddenly leave for Virginia, if they took his car or something, he might not have had time to warn us and had to use his boss as a last resort. I mean, it’s a long shot and probably wishful thinking, but what if? Only Jamansky has never met Richard before. Heck, Oliver barely knows Richard. Jamansky will never tell Richard a thing.”
Greg tipped his head back and stared up into the thick canopy of trees. When he looked at her again, he sighed. “Do you wanna go home? Jamansky might not have shown up yet. Just…” He ran a hand down the side of his face. “Do you wanna go back right now?”
“No,” she said.
“No?”
She shook her head, feeling the depression return.
He grunted. “I’ll never understand women.”
She smiled sadly. “I don’t want to go back because, unfortunately, you’re probably right. It’s not safe. But…maybe we can do something else while we’re waiting. Something that might get my mind off everything.”
“Yeah?” He looked confused for a second before he broke into a slow smile. “Ah, good thinkin’. Nobody can see us back here.” Sliding forward, he wound an arm around her waist. “Sorry for bein’ bossy.” Then he leaned down to her.
“Wait,” she said, heat rushing to her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You sure?” He traced her lower lip with his thumb. Chills followed his touch, muddling her thoughts, but she nodded. They’d been in the woods longer than the boys. Someone was sure to notice. And while Greg had no problem worrying about what people thought, she was too self-conscious. Her relationship with Greg had caused issues in the clan before.
His hand dropped away. “Alrighty. What’d you have in mind?”
“First, I’m going into town with Amber and Zach Wednesday, and I don’t want you to fight me on it—or get the clan to vote against me. Please?”
His brows pinched again. “Why now? Why with so much other stuff goin’ on?”
“That’s just it. Did you wait to get your yellow card? You and your mom went the day after you arrived in Illinois. My biggest fear since my parents died has been losing Amber and Zach. With all this craziness, I need to know that, at the very least, they’re safe.”
Though it seemed to pain him, he nodded. “For the sake of my sanity, will you at least take Richard with you? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?”
“Fine,” she relented. “If he’s feeling up to it.”
“Good enough. But just so you know…” He leaned close and whispered, “that doesn’t exactly affect right now.”
He gave her a look that dissolved the last of her defenses: part mischievousness, part longing, and all gorgeousness. The shado
w from the leaves danced across his face, yet his eyes were light and alive. He might hate his untrimmed hair, but his Yankees hat pushed it down until it brushed the tops of his dark, thick brows, giving him an almost boyish look.
Definitely irresistible.
His arms slid around her waist to lock behind her back. “So…” he said with another smile, “what do you want to do right now?”
“Actually…” she started, but his face was so close—all of him was—that she struggled to think clearly. She could make out every angle of his jaw, every whisker, every dark eyelash in the dappled sunlight. He might be comfortable with this closeness, but she didn’t know where to put her hands. Resting them on his chest seemed too familiar, but suspended mid-air made her look awkward. It’s not like Greg hadn’t kissed her before. He had. A few times even, and it had been unbelievable and—
“Actually…?” he prompted.
“Sorry. Actually, I thought we could…” She let her hands drop to his chest. He didn’t seem to notice, so she told herself to stop obsessing about touching his sculpted muscles. The hours of rigorous training he’d endured. The heat of his t-shirt from the sun. Why didn’t he notice?
“Are you blushing?” He peered down to study her face and grinned. “Oh, man. This must be good.”
“I want to talk to Terrell,” she blurted. “Right now. As in, now now.”
“Terrell?”
“And Zach.”
“Terrell,” he said again, as if trying to digest it.
She nodded.
“Now?” he asked in a whine.
Her head bobbed again, sure that her cheeks, ears, and neck were a splotchy mess of red.
“What do you wanna talk to them about?” he said, arms barely loosening around her.
“Finding other clans. If I remember right, the teens meet tonight.”
“Oh? Oh.” He took a deep breath that she felt beneath her hands, making her self-conscious all over again. “Good thinkin’. Don’t you want to wait to hear how it went with Jamansky first?”
“Who knows how long Richard will be, and the teens only meet once a week anyway. I feel like that should take priority.” Plus, sitting around and waiting for news was driving her crazy. “I know Terrell’s not feeling well, and Richard’s not here, but maybe they won’t mind if you and I search for other clans without them—that is, if you want to go with me.”
“Oh, I’ll go.” His arms tightened around her again. “But first, can I request somethin’? It’s real fast, or rather”—that look returned, that mischievous look of his—“mostly fast.”
“Um…’’ She bit her lip. “What?”
Slowly, he tilted her chin up until his nose brushed against hers.
“I was kinda thinkin’ that I wanna know what it feels like to fly,” he whispered.
“Fly?”
Cradling her face with infinite tenderness, he leaned down the last few inches and closed his eyes. Her stomach flopped as his lips met hers. Then the world fell away.
His kiss was soft, almost careful. Then his fingers wound through her warm hair and he pulled her tighter in. She melted into him as the last of her worries floated away. A few gentle kisses became several longer ones, and she couldn’t seem to think about anything except how unbelievably soft his lips were.
When he pulled back, she was definitely flying. And dizzy. And—she gulped—clutching his t-shirt. She opened her fingers and patted his shirt down flat.
Stupid.
She was so stupid.
“That…” he said a little breathless, “was awesome.”
Somehow those words meant more to her than his kiss had. For a long minute the two of them stood, smiling, just staring at each other.
Then she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go find some clans.”
twelve
DAVID JAMANSKY’S CAR REEKED of Szechuan chicken, making his stomach growl. It had been a long day filled with whiny, wussy patrolmen. Oliver Simmons had only covered a tiny portion of their precinct. He’d been virtually useless, yet Bushing and Portman acted like he’d asked them to cover the eastern half of the United States.
But would the feds send a replacement for Simmons? Not with the civil war brewing.
Add to it the mounds of paperwork and the scathing email Mayor Phillips had sent this morning, and David felt ready to snap. He needed this evening. Carrie’s health better have improved. She better not look so sickly either. They had things to discuss—things to do.
Carrie.
Picturing her innocent face helped him relax. It was going to be a good night. He’d make sure of it.
Distracted, he took a turn too fast. The brown bag with the bottle of wine tumbled onto the floor. Swearing, he reached down to grab it. The car jolted as he hit a pothole, flipping the Chinese bag onto its side. Szechuan juice spilled everywhere. Screeching to a stop, he searched for napkins. When he found none, he swore loudly and pounded the steering wheel.
This day had just been one thing after another.
By the time he reached the Logan Pond subdivision, his nerves were strung tight. But he couldn’t afford to be distracted any longer.
His gaze swept back and forth, searching for any illegals wandering the yards or sidewalks. He checked houses and windows, too. This time Carrie’s clan knew he was coming. He’d nearly brought Bretton and Felix with him, but he wasn’t sure how the German Shepherds would respond to Carrie. They weren’t exactly the cuddly type. They’d been trained for precision and intimidation, not strangers, so he’d left them home. Now he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing as he scanned house after house. The neighborhood looked as dead as ever.
At some point, he needed to find out how many illegals lived here. Maybe he would weasel that out of Carrie tonight. Plus, if this clan had contact with others in the area, he could score huge.
All these years they’d been fighting against the illegals, hunting them down, which only forced them further into hiding. All they really had to do was befriend a few.
Let them come to him.
At this rate, the feds would promote him to Central Headquarters. Plus, the bonus money would be nice. They paid by the head these days, which was perfect. Mayor Phillips didn’t even know about the group either, so all the money would be David’s, and his alone.
He just had to find a way to get Carrie away from her “friends” before he wiped them all out. She hadn’t been as thrilled to see him yesterday as he had hoped. Tonight, he planned to do better.
Turn up the charm.
As he turned onto Woodland Drive, he half-heartedly wondered where Ashlee had run to hide. He’d checked everywhere for her. All the information he’d forced out of her had been useless, blubbering drivel, proving she knew less about Carrie and this clan than he did. So where had the lying, backstabbing wench run off to? Ashlee probably went all drama and hung herself.
If only.
He parked in Carrie’s crumbling driveway and did a quick check of his blond hair, button-down shirt, and breath. All good. Then he adjusted the pistol tucked inside his belt. He’d brought it because her clan could still ambush him. But why would they? He was their last access to the patrol sweep calendar. They had to think he was on their side now—especially since he’d restored Carrie’s power. Still, he felt better with his gun.
Grabbing the bottle of wine and bag of Chinese food, he hopped out of the car, pasted on his best smile, and strode up Carrie’s sidewalk. He was looking forward to her overwhelming gratitude. Being without power for six years would make her putty in his hands.
Knocking on her peeling front door, he stood back. To his surprise, an older gentleman answered.
“Hello,” the man said. “Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” David said more brusquely than intended.
“I’m Richard O’Brien.” The man extended a hand.
“O’Brien?” The guy was twice Carrie’s age with a graying ponytail and sickly, pale skin that made it look like he’d caugh
t the virus from Carrie.
Her father?
Not with that last name.
O’Brien. That name rang familiar, but he wasn’t sure how.
Unaccustomed to shaking hands with illegals—especially sick ones—he ignored the germ-infested, outstretched hand and said, “I’m Chief Jamansky from the Kane County district. I need to speak with Carrie. Please,” he added as an afterthought.
Mr. O’Brien eyed the wine bottle and the bag with a dark Szechuan stain down the side. “I’m afraid Carrie’s not home right now.”
“Not home?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
A twinge of nervousness shot through David. Something was off. He could feel it. He’d specifically told Carrie he was coming back tonight at 6 p.m., so where was she?
She was an adult.
Her dad had no business keeping her from him.
Then it occurred to him: Oliver wouldn’t have deeded a house to Carrie if her dad lived with her. So who was this guy? Illegals tended to bunch together in groups, shoving as many as thirty people under one roof. This guy could be anyone.
“When will she be home?” he asked. “I know she’s been sick. I came to check on her.”
“I’m not sure, but she’s feeling much better today—thankfully. She actually wanted me to ask if you knew anything more about where Oliver Simmons was, her friend.”
Hopefully rotting on a smelly prison floor.
“He’s in Virginia,” he said coolly. “Like I told her.”
The man nodded. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll tell her you stopped by.” He started to shut the door, but David slapped it back open.
“Actually, I’ll just wait.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It could be quite late. Can I give her a message for you?”
David’s patience snapped. He could offer to come back tomorrow, but he wasn’t even in Shelton tomorrow. He’d have to wait until Wednesday. He craned his neck to see inside of Carrie’s house. It looked empty and dark. Not a single light on.
He glared at the man. “What’s going on? Where is Carrie? Who are you really?”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 96