by Sharon Sala
She knew what was going to happen, and she wanted it—as much as she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Giving herself up to the inevitable, she leaned forward, then closed her eyes.
At the same time, Nick was telling himself to step back, not to go there—but her lips beckoned. Then she sighed. He felt her breath against his face, and before he knew it, he was kissing her.
It was comfort where there had been chaos, pleasure where there had been pain. Amalie was lost in the moment and falling deeper when she suddenly heard Nick groan. That was when it hit her. She was kissing him back—and bordering on serious lust. What in hell was she thinking?
She panicked and pushed hard, trying to get away, which only aggravated her shoulder. It was the fresh wave of pain that ended the moment between them.
All of a sudden they were staring into each other’s eyes, afraid to speak—each of them afraid to be the one to make the next move and have it be the wrong one.
Nick’s heart was pounding. He wanted to carry her back to that bed and bury himself inside her. But from the look in her eyes, she wasn’t on the same page.
“I refuse to apologize for that,” he muttered.
Amalie hoped she was giving off indignant vibes. She didn’t want him to know how much the kiss had rattled her.
“Did you hear me asking for one?”
“No, but—”
She rolled her eyes. “Nor do I want to hear a ‘but’ come out of your mouth. How about we just pretend that didn’t happen?”
Nick glared. “You do what you want with your memories. I’ll do what I want with mine. Where are your pain pills?”
“In the bathroom.”
“I’ll get one for you,” he said, and strode out before he made a bigger fool of himself.
Amalie watched the play of muscles across his back and hips as he walked away, and tried not to think of what he would look like naked. In another life, he would have made a perfect model for a nude study—and, if she was lucky, maybe her lover. But in this life, he bordered on scary. Falling for the bad boy might have been okay in high school—even college. But falling for a bad man just wasn’t done.
Still cradling her arm, but refusing to admit that what just happened was as much her fault as his, she stomped out of the closet.
Nick was standing by the bed with a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other.
She took the pill and downed it neat.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m going to lie down now.”
Nick nodded and then headed for the door. “I’ll be nearby. Rest well.”
“Easier said than done,” she muttered.
Nick paused at the doorway. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she said, and then held her breath, afraid he would come back and she wouldn’t have the good sense to resist him.
He didn’t believe her, but he’d already stepped over a line and knew better than to press the issue.
Amalie didn’t breathe easy until the door closed behind him. Her LSU T-shirt was on the bed where she’d tossed it an eternity ago.
Determined to get comfortable before she lay down, she managed to get her shirt off, then put on the old shirt, wincing slightly as she thrust her arm through the sleeve. Then she pulled back the duvet, kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed.
The central air was on, and the ceiling fan above the bed was stirring the air just enough to lull her. Her eyelids grew heavy as the pain pill began to take effect, and she soon fell asleep.
Nick waited outside her door for a few minutes, then peeked inside long enough to assure himself that she was out. Confident that he had some time before she came to, he hurried downstairs. If the chopper had moved on, then maybe they could get in some more work time. As he reached the first floor, he heard a television and followed the sound.
Lou was in the living room with his feet up on the coffee table and the remote on the sofa beside him. He was finishing off a sack of potato chips and another liter of Pepsi, and from the amount of crumbs on his belly, he’d been at it for a while.
“If we run short of food, you’re the first one who’s going to be cut off,” Nick said.
Lou jumped, scattering crumbs and almost spilling his drink.
“Damn it! Stop sneaking around!” he yelled.
“I heard the TV from the other side of the house. If someone shows up at the door, we won’t know it until it’s too late,” Nick said.
Lou glared, but lowered the volume. He didn’t want to go back to jail, no matter what. “I’m thinking that hanging around here like this is a waste of time.”
Nick pointed. “There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you in the ass on your way out.”
Lou’s glare deepened. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Would I like not having to listen to you bitch? What do you think?”
Lou vaulted up from the sofa, so angry he was shaking.
“You bastard! Everything was fine between me and them until you came along. You better watch your back, asshole. Someone might shove a knife in it.”
All of a sudden Nick was in Lou’s face, pushing a finger against his chest as he fired back a warning of his own.
“I didn’t fuck up your love affair with Tug and Way. You’re the one who got drunk and busted up the bar. You’re the reason we all got arrested. You’re also the one who left the meth and paraphernalia in the car. And you’re the one who wanted to leave the two of them behind in Bordelaise. You watch your back, too, little man. That bayou is full of big bull gators that could roll you and drown you, then rip the flesh from your bones within minutes. And just so you know…that’s a hell of a way to die.”
Lou shuddered. The swamp and its inhabitants were his nemesis, and everyone knew it. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than dying from a snakebite or being eaten by a gator.
“Whatever,” he muttered, and stomped out of the room.
Nick watched him go, making sure he was moving in the opposite direction to the staircase, then glanced at a clock.
It was almost noon, and the others would be getting hungry again. He headed for the kitchen to see if Lou had left them anything to eat.
Eight
The day continued to pass with helicopter flyovers from the Louisiana Highway Patrol, as well as an occasional small plane, amping the tension as the sun began to sink into the west.
Lou kept monitoring the television for updates that might explain what was happening, but as far as he could tell as he wandered in and out, the media seemed to be focusing more on the structural damage to the city, rather than what was going on with the residents.
Later they gathered back in Tug’s room to see if phone service had been restored. Wayman pulled a phone out from under the bed and plugged it into a jack in the wall, but the absence of a dial tone sent him into a meltdown.
“Damn things still don’t work,” he said as he slammed the receiver back on the cradle, then kicked a chair against the wall.
“Don’t break shit,” Tug muttered. “We might need to use it later.”
Way blinked. “Oh. Yeah, sure, Tug. I’m sorry. I was just worried for you.”
Sweat beaded on Tug French’s forehead—a sign of his excruciating pain. His belly hurt. His head felt like it was going to explode, and the room kept going in and out of focus.
Nick was pacing at the foot of Tug’s bed, still trying to make the point that turning themselves in might be the only way to save Tug’s life. The bonus to that would be getting them away from Amalie Pope before something bad happened.
“You have a fever,” Nick said. “That means infection has set in. I’m serious, Tug. I don’t want to go back to jail, either, but hellsfire, man, we hadn’t even been arraigned. You know we would have bonded out. They didn’t catch us with anything that would solidly link us to distribution. A smart lawyer would have cleared this all up in a matter of days.”
“
But we ran,” Tug said, and then groaned as the room began to spin. “Damn it. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Way grabbed a trash can just in time. Tug vomited until he was gray and shaking, then fell backward on the pillow.
Wayman hurried into the bathroom to clean up the mess, leaving Nick and Lou at the bedside.
Lou shoved his hands into his pockets. For once, he was lacking a comeback.
Nick felt Tug’s forehead. It was dry and hot to the touch.
“Tug…Tug…?”
Tug didn’t answer. He had passed out again.
Wayman came back in the room, saw Tug and panicked.
“What happened?”
“He’s unconscious again. Damn it, man…this is your brother. He’s in no shape to make a decision, and you’re letting him play Russian roulette with his life.”
Wayman sat down on the side of the bed, helpless to act. He was scared out of his mind, but all his life, Tug had been the one in charge, and nothing had changed. As long as his brother drew breath, his word was law.
“Tug says he’s not going back, so that’s that,” Wayman muttered.
“I give up,” Nick said, and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Lou stared for a few moments, wondering how he could play this to his advantage, but without a getaway car or the means to contact the outside world other than to give himself up, he couldn’t come up with a plan.
Frustrated, he left the room, as well.
When Way heard the door open and close again and realized he and Tug were alone, he started to cry.
“Tug! Tug! You need to wake up now,” he said, and shook his brother by the shoulder, then by the leg.
Tug wasn’t moving or talking, and the silence was frightening. Wayman French had finally met a situation he couldn’t conquer with his fists.
The day dragged out, leaving the men in a constant state of frustration, but until the aerial search was abandoned, they were trapped.
It was later in the afternoon before Amalie came back out of her room and headed for the kitchen. She was stunned by the dwindling food supply and worried that they would run out long before the men were able to leave. Hungry men meant dissatisfied men, and that could mean trouble for her. She went through the motions of making a meal, dumping cans of vegetables together in an old pot until she had a passable soup simmering on the stove.
Nick continued to appear in the doorway every few minutes, as if he expected her to make a run for it. She ignored his hit-and-run presence for more than an hour before she lost her patience. She turned angrily, waving the soup spoon in his face.
“Yes, I’m still here! No, I didn’t try to make a run for it. Yes, my shoulder is still sore. No, I didn’t dope the soup. Yes, supper is nearly ready, although why I felt obligated to feed the lot of you is still beyond me.”
Nick blinked, then grinned.
It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.
“There’s nothing funny about any of this,” she yelled, and waved the spoon again.
“You’re absolutely right.”
His straight-faced answer was also unexpected.
“Then what the hell is it you’re hoping to accomplish by popping in and out like a jack-in-the-box? What do you want?”
For a fraction of a second Nick thought about telling her what he really wanted, then decided she wasn’t ready to hear it. She was what he wanted—and in the most basic of ways.
He shrugged. “I just came to make sure you’re okay.”
“But that’s just it!” Amalie cried. “I’m not okay. I won’t be okay until you all are out of my house.”
“Then can we look at the possibility that I’m just trying to keep my promise to make sure you stay safe?”
Amalie shoved the spoon into the soup, muttering beneath her breath, and didn’t answer.
“Well?” he asked.
Amalie spun, her eyes blazing, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, but the words out of her mouth were in direct opposition to her mood. As her Nonna would have said, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“You’re absolutely right. I can see how I misunderstood your behavior, and I apologize.”
Nick’s eyes widened. Damn, but she was a handful. If only they’d met under different circumstances….
“Then we’re good?”
Amalie folded her hands at her waist and smiled primly.
“We’re just ducky.”
“You are so full of it,” he muttered, then pointed at the stove. “Is that done?”
“Why yes…I believe that it is,” she said. “Would you care for a bowl?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push your luck, lady. I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”
“Do you see me laughing?” Amalie snapped. “Go tell your goon friends their supper is done. I’ll be eating in my room.”
She turned her back on him as she reached for a bowl. All of a sudden he was at her back. She froze. Had she pushed too far? Was he finally going to show his true colors and hurt her?
But he didn’t touch her. Instead he reached over her head, grabbed the bowl and then handed it to her.
“Just so you don’t strain your shoulder.”
She felt the breath from his words on the back of her neck, and then he was gone. Refusing to admit that he was getting deeper and deeper under her skin, she filled her bowl, grabbed a handful of crackers and a spoon and left the room, well aware he was watching her go.
It didn’t hit her until she’d closed herself inside her bedroom that she’d taken a big chance in calling his bluff. Still, she wouldn’t take back a thing she’d said or done.
She sat down at the writing desk and began to eat, and as she did, realized that, for the first time in weeks, she was beginning to feel like her old self. She scooped up a spoonful of the soup and chewed, absently thinking that it needed a bit more salt. But she wasn’t about to go back downstairs. She’d said her piece. No need diluting the fit she’d had for a little extra seasoning.
By the time the soup was gone, and the bowl rinsed and waiting to be taken back down tomorrow, Amalie had come to a very important conclusion, and it was oddly connected to the names she’d found on the hidey-hole wall. She’d been right to come home. The Vatican had not endured for nothing. It had been a refuge for all who resided under its roof, and she was no different. It was an empowering thought.
She glanced up at the wall between the two narrow windows to a framed quotation that had been Laura Pope’s favorite.
This, too, shall pass.
Amalie shivered. Hopefully she would live through this to prove Nonna right. Despite the intruders who’d taken her hostage, she was finding her true center and regaining her strength.
Night fell, and Amalie hadn’t come down from her room.
Way and Lou had been gathering floor lamps and extension cords since shortly after supper. The plan was to work through the night, get the tree off the car, and by daylight, attack the issue of raising the roof.
Way was in Tug’s room, feeding him some soup. Nick and Lou were in the living room, watching the local news in hopes of an update on what was happening in Bordelaise.
“Think they’re still looking for us?” Lou asked, as the program went to commercial.
Nick shrugged. “Probably. But they’re bound to move their air search to another area soon, although we don’t know where they’re still searching on foot.”
“Shit,” Lou muttered, then leaned forward on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees.
Nick could tell the man was stewing about something and figured whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good. When Lou stood abruptly, Nick knew he’d been right.
“Damn it, Nick. I need a piece of tail.”
Nick stood, too, well aware that he overwhelmed Lou in size and strength.
“Don’t go there,” he said softly.
Lou shoved a finger in Nick’s chest.
“She doesn’t mean anything to an
y of us.”
Nick’s fingers curled into fists.
“She’s not going to be collateral damage. The sooner you get that through your fucking head, the better off you’ll be.”
A dark flush spread up Lou’s neck and onto his face. His nostrils flared, and his lips went slack.
“You don’t call all the shots…and you’d better watch your back.”
“You want to get off…? Go fuck yourself,” Nick snapped.
Before Lou could react, the program returned from commercial, and the newscaster’s next story ended the fight.
“To continue our coverage on Bordelaise, the town hard-hit by last Sunday’s tornado, we’ve just learned that searchers have been unsuccessful in locating any signs of the four missing prisoners. There have been no sightings, and while a ground search is still under way, we’ve been told the air searches will, most likely, end. While authorities aren’t willing to come right out and say the prisoners were taken by the tornado when the jail was destroyed, rumor has it that they’re leaning toward that theory.”
Lou clapped his hands together in glee.
“Hot damn! They think we’re dead.”
Nick stifled a sigh of frustration. All this did was take the pressure off of them needing to get out of the area as soon as possible, which wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.
“What’s all the fuss?” Way asked as he walked into the room.
Lou spun, his anger at Nick forgotten as he delivered the news.
“We just heard it on TV. They’re discontinuing the air searches. They think we’re dead!”
“They didn’t say that for certain,” Nick corrected.
“But that’s what they meant,” Lou argued. “So the pressure to get away is off.”
“Only if you’re willing to let Tug die,” Nick said.
Wayman reeled as if he’d been punched.
“We don’t slack off on anything. You hear? We get outside tonight and get that stuff off the car. We gotta get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, right,” Lou said. “I only meant—”
“Tug’s asleep. I say we go outside now and get busy,” Way said.
