“The leftovers,” Fiona repeated gently. “Demi said to go ahead and pick the food up today. I hate to bug you guys while you’re so busy, but Anton’s agitating for lunch, so I thought now would be as good a time as any to pick up that food.”
“Ah. Um, yes,” she mumbled. “Excuse me. I zoned out. Let’s see, I’ve got squash soup and black bean soup in the fridge, barbecued pulled pork, prime rib, honey ham, eggplant parmesan, moussaka, and a whole bunch of lasagna.”
“Sounds great,” Fiona said. “All of it. Load me up. I’ll take whatever you give me. None of it will go to waste the way Anton eats. He’s the big foodie. I’m not much of a cook myself, but I can heat up leftovers like a pro.”
“Hold on just a sec,” Elisa said. “I’ll go fill up a box for you.”
Elisa went back to the storeroom freezer, grabbed a big box and started filling it with the leftover food that Demi had set aside for Anton and Fi. She packed the heavy, frozen aluminum containers into the box like bricks.
Thinking about Gil gave her a cold, heavy ache in her belly. That constant, grating fear that she was making a terrible mistake, no matter what she did, or didn’t do. She just couldn’t shake that feeling, night or day. She went to sleep with it, woke up with it. Dreamed with it. It was exhausting. So was pretending to be normal.
Though Nate had certainly seen through the ruse.
She had to let it all go, she lectured herself as she packed in quart-sized plastic containers of soup. Her decision was made. Her friends’ problems had brought too much attention to this place. The local and state police, the Feds, the CDC, all trying to figure out what Kimball was up to, and what the story was with this virus. And then there was the media frenzy. Some of the intensity had faded, but Shaw’s Crossing was still swarming with law enforcement, and an army of virologists.
She’d been here about four months now. Felt like longer. It was time to bounce. Long past time.
Her bus ticket was bought, and zipped into the inside of her coat, along with her fake IDs and her stash of cash, saved over months of wages and tips. She was packed and ready, and her bus left at seven AM the day after tomorrow, the morning after Demi’s wedding. From Tacoma, she would pick a destination. Whatever bus left soonest. Maine, Florida, Louisiana. It didn’t matter, as long as it was far away.
She piled containers in the box, slapping them angrily, one on top of the other. Leaving Shaw’s Crossing made her feel cheated and miserable. She actually felt at home here, more at home than she’d ever felt. They accepted her and all of her quirks. It was clear that Demi suspected that Elisa’s life story didn’t quite add up, but she had enough troubles of her own to not fixate on it.
And though she was sorry for their troubles, they did make her feel a little bit less of a freak somehow. Like her crazy tale of woe was in good company, even if none of them knew it. The Trask brothers had a bizarre history, and Fi and Demi both had their own checkered pasts . And they were all so busy fending off Kimball, they didn’t have time to ask inconvenient questions.
Which had worked out fine for her—until Nate Murphy came along.
Nate’s intense interest in her dated from the mortifying box-cutter incident. She’d practically severed the guy’s brachial artery with the box-cutter in her apron pocket immediately upon meeting him. Hey, welcome to Shaw’s Crossing.
Eric had called on his brother Anton in Seattle for help after the first attacks on him and Demi a few weeks ago, and Anton had come that same night, bringing his friend Nate for back-up. No one had expected Elisa early that morning. She’d let herself in using the key Demi had given her, to deliver a tray of breakfast pastries. She saw strange men, guns. She’d panicked—and out came the box-cutter.
Luckily, Nate had fast reflexes. The only harm done had been to the sleeve of his leather coat. And to her lacerated nerves and dignity, of course.
It was a hell of a first impression, but Nate wasn’t put off. Far from it. He wore that jacket around with the long slash in the leather all sewn up with a heavy black thread, like a decoration. A perverse badge of honor.
It was getting harder and harder to evade him. He’d reawakened her awareness of herself as a woman, and he’d done it at the worst possible time. She couldn’t be teased or tempted or allured right now. It was distracting and stupid. And dangerous, both for herself and for Nate. She reminded herself of that every time she caught herself straining to hear his voice, or ogling him as he passed by.
When she came out of the kitchen laden with the heavy box of food, Nate strode over and took it from her arms. “I’ll take this out to the car.”
Fiona waited until Nate was outside before moving closer to Elisa. “This is none of my business, and I’m way out of line,” she said. “But, ah, when are you going to put that poor guy out of his misery? You know you want to.”
The heat in Elisa’s face deepened. “You’re right, Fi. It’s none of your business.”
Fiona sighed and made a lip-zipping gesture. “Yeah, yeah. I know. These things are complicated. Not another word about it, I promise. My bad.”
Fiona’s apologetic smile made her feel guilty. Elisa liked Fi, and wished she could confide in her. The woman was tough and smart. So was Demi. And she missed confiding in her women friends. The normalcy of it. Giggling, laughing, joking, commiserating.
But that was a luxury she did not have. Knowing Elisa’s story would put Demi and Fi in danger, even more than they were in already.
God knows, compared to Demi and Fi’s, her own tale of woe had taken on some perspective. The Trask guys, Fi and Demi all faced trouble on much the same scale as she did, and just look at them, handling it. They fought back like demons. They never gave up or ran away. They never cowered or whined or felt sorry for themselves.
It wasn’t a comfort so much as a stern reality check. She wasn’t the only one living under a shadow. These people did it with style. Thriving, even. Seizing love, sex and happiness in the face of fear. The ultimate fuck-you to their enemies.
Which was great for them, but damn. It set the bar freaking high.
It would be selfish and irresponsible to burden them with her past. They were stretched to the limit already. She had to deal with this herself. Feeling lonesome and scared was not a good enough reason to put her friends in more danger.
No matter how Nate coaxed her to confide in him.
He flirted, too. Oh, God, how he flirted. Constantly making his interest clear. He was classy about it, of course. Understated. Gallant. Relentless. Delicious.
It was so hard to resist that deep, magnetic pull. She felt it right now, deep inside her body, and he’d barely said a word.
It was like gravity. Constant and all-encompassing.
Nate came back inside, smiled at her, and gave Fiona a questioning look. “Shall I run you back home?”
The bell over the door jingled again and kept jingling as a people filed inside.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” Elisa called out. “Special event. We’ll be back in two weeks.”
“Oh, we’re not here to eat!” A diminutive, heavily made-up blonde with big hair turned her blinding smile on Fiona. “We’re here to talk to her!”
A guy with a video camera lifted it up, just as Elisa recognized them, with a stab of dismay. It was one of the tabloid e-zine crews. They still showed up from time to time, following the news blitz about Fiona and Anton’s near-death experience. The first big flush of media interest had passed, thank God, but the smaller outfits popped up regularly, fishing for lurid tidbits of follow-up.
“This is Fiona Garrett,” sang out the blonde, holding out a big microphone toward Fiona. “Ms. Garrett, would you like to tell our viewers more about growing up in that cult at GodsAcre? Is it true that you were forced into marriage when you were just a child? How long were you married? Did you escape?”
“The café is closed!” Elisa insisted. “Please leave. Right now.”
The cameraman’s lens swung toward her, as did t
he blonde’s microphone. Ice cold panic rushed through her, as if the cameraman had put a gun to her head.
2
“Would you like to comment?” the blonde asked. “Were you part of the cult, too?”
Elisa’s blood pressure dropped, and her stomach flopped. She spun around and headed for the kitchen. People tried to talk to her, but she brushed past them, speeding through the back room and out onto the concrete steps that led down to the alley, gasping for air. Her vision had dimmed. Her chest was constricting. Her heart raced frantically.
God, how she hated this. Her legs buckled and she sank down onto the steps, shaking all over. She heard noise in the kitchen. Yelling, shouting. Crashes and bangs. Nate’s deep voice, calmly responding to them.
The sound of his voice calmed her down slightly. Nate would keep them away from her. He would get the situation in hand.
She struggled to talk herself down. It was silly to get so paranoid. It was unlikely that Gil would ever see this media outlet. It was tabloid trash, and Gil was a busy man with high standards, lofty ambitions, better things to do, and he made sure everyone knew it. All the time.
They probably wouldn’t even use that bit of video that might or might not have her face in it. She hadn’t said anything all that interesting. Besides, she looked different now. Nondescript. She was thinner, and she’d taken to wearing glasses, just frames with plain glass lenses. She’d dyed her hair back to its original dark brown and let it spring back into its natural fuzzy state of long, corkscrewing curls.
Back in the old days, when she was trying to fit the image of an up and coming DA’s wife, she’d lightened and streaked it and straightened it with expensive blow-outs twice a week. Back when she was killing herself trying to be Ms. Perfectly Put-Together. Trying to shoehorn herself into Gil’s life. Trying not to embarrass him.
Never quite getting the hang of it.
If Gil saw her, even for an instant, even with the dark curly hair and her weird, nerdy glasses, he would recognize her. The man was as sharp as a tack.
She should have left when the TV crews first showed up for Eric and Demi’s business. She’d been sloppy. Not ready to go. She’d talked herself into staying a little longer because she liked being around people she cared about. She liked having friends nearby. She could no longer bear the solitary odyssey to nowhere she’d been on. Four long months on the run.
But she’d been over four months here. Too long.
Goddamnit. She liked this place. She liked who she was with these people.
And oh Lord, did she ever like Nate Murphy’s long, smoldering glances. The constant pull of his curiosity. The hot, shimmering buildup of anticipation.
It felt so good, but she needed to abandon the anticipation. She was being self-indulgent. It was time to grab her suitcase and fucking go, already.
The door creaked behind her. She turned, and saw Nate on the top of the steps, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.
Elisa forced the quaver in her voice to calm. “What was the noise all about?”
“Had a difference of opinion with the cameraman,” Nate said. “He followed Fi into the kitchen. I objected. I invited him to leave the restaurant.”
“And did he?”
“He did, but his camera got damaged before he left,” Nate said. “Big shame.”
“Really? His camera?”
“Yeah. Funny thing, but somehow, the broken pieces of the camera ended up in a bucket of bleach water. Big mess. Gomez is mopping it up now.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “He must have been pissed.”
“He certainly was.” Nate came down the steps “But in the end, he took my words to heart. Very smart decision on his part. I don’t think he’ll be back.”
Her lungs filled with air, and her vision slowly cleared. “So, ah…they didn’t shoot any video inside the restaurant today, then,” she said cautiously.
“They did not.” Nate sank down to sit on the steps beside her.
He took up all the available space. His hips were lean, but muscular. His thighs strong and steely. The big leather coat made him look even bigger. She looked down and saw the black stitching on the sleeve again, then looked away swiftly.
The alley was a mini-wind tunnel, ruffling his shaggy dark hair, and hers.
Nate reached out and delicately brushed aside a lock of hair that had blown across her face. “Your hair’s down. I’ve never seen it that way. It’s so long.”
“Yeah, well.” Her face heated up. “I wasn’t serving customers. Or cooking.”
“Of course,” he said gently. “Try to relax.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed,” she said. “I just didn’t want to be filmed. Thanks for getting rid of them.”
“You’re publicity shy. I’ve noticed it ever since that day in the hospital. You ran away from those FBI agents who came to talk to Fiona. And you’ve been essentially hiding out in the restaurant kitchen ever since then. You won’t even wait tables or seat people anymore.”
Her tension started to build. “I prefer to do food prep in the back right now.”
Nate waited for more. “Come on, Elisa,” he prompted, when she didn’t elaborate. “I drowned that asshole’s camera in bleach for you. Tell me what gives.”
“I appreciate the gesture,” she said. “And I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
Nate let out a sigh of resignation. “Right. Will you at least come back inside the restaurant now that they’re gone? The last time a woman I was protecting came out into this alley she got abducted by a mass murderer.”
Undeniably true, but Elisa cringed inwardly at thought of confronting Fi or any of the restaurant staff in her raw emotional state. “I’m not coming in quite yet.”
“Please.” There was steel in Nate’s voice. “It’s not safe. Indulge me.”
“Actually, I’m not going back in at all.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going up to my apartment. I’ll see you later. Don’t worry about me, the door’s right around the corner. Nobody’s going to abduct me between here and there.”
“I’ll walk you.” He stood up, towering over her.
In her rattled state, Elisa could think of no way to dissuade him, so they walked in silence down the narrow alley and around the corner. Down the breezeway between the buildings.
They stopped by her entryway and Elisa inserted her key. Nate put his hand gently on top of hers, and she suddenly stopped breathing.
“Elisa,” he said softly. “Tell me something.”
“If I can,” she hedged.
“Are you uptight with me because of what happened with the box-cutter?”
She flinched at the memory. “I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t,” he said. “It’s not your fault. We startled you. I’m a combat veteran, and so are Eric and Mace. We’ve all had issues with combat stress. Nobody’s judging you.” He paused. “At least, not about the combat stress part of it. You won’t tell me what’s bothering you. I do judge you for that.”
“Oh, please.” She put on a light tone. “There’s plenty of drama around here. You guys don’t need mine. Trust me on this.”
“That’s exactly what I want,” Nate said. “For you to trust me.”
Elisa’s reply evaporated as she was pulled into the hypnotic depths of his dark eyes. Tendrils of warmth slowly stole around her like an invisible embrace. Subtle and seductive. She ached to give him what he asked for. To just tell him her troubles.
Then she saw Willis in her mind’s eye. The awful memory of what happened to the last person she’d asked for help. The image stung like a whiplash.
Willis’s death would be on her conscience to the end of her days.
She looked down at Nate’s big hand resting on hers, imagining how this would go if things were the way she wanted. How she’d turn her fingers around and grab his long, warm, callused fingers. She’d twine them through hers and yank him in the door after her, right up the narrow flight o
f stairs and into her apartment. Her bed up there was just a narrow cot, but she had no intention of lying next to him anyway. She wouldn’t waste time. She’d climb right up onto that guy and let the delicious buzz of desire push all the fear away. She’d ride him into screaming oblivion. Let the pleasure wash away the terrors in her past. And the terrors yet to come.
It would be such a fucking relief, to just breathe. Even for a couple of minutes.
She swallowed hard…and shook her head.
No. She would not put Nate in Gil’s sights just for sex.
“Tell me who it is.” Nate’s low voice was caressing. “I’ll fuck him up for you.”
Elisa laughed. “Aw. That’s sweet. Is that your idea of seduction?”
His breath caressed her ear as he leaned closer. “No,” he murmured. “That’s just my idea of common, baseline courtesy. Believe me—when I start seducing you, you won’t need to ask me if it’s happening or not.”
The air hummed with tension. She looked up at him, searching for the right words to put him off, push him away. She didn’t have the words. Or want to say them.
She felt the warmth of his hand against her neck. Stroking her hair, fingers sliding through it. Cradling her head. She was pinned between those two opposing forces. The hunger in his eyes, and the huge, cold fear holding her back.
She drifted closer, not opposing his gentle pull…and their lips met.
Emotion jolted through her like lightning. His lips were warm, moving gently over hers. Seeking, asking for entrance, then as she opened to him, slowly daring more. The flick of his questioning tongue got bolder, entering her mouth, probing delicately, like he was inviting her to come out into the light. Drawing part of her soul right out of her body. It rushed out to meet him like a fountain of color, out of control. The seductive invitation of his kiss blossomed into a hot carnal promise.
Yes. Now.
People walked by on the sidewalk. She heard muffled laughter, and pulled away from him, pressing her hand to her tingling mouth, her burning cheeks.
“God, Nate,” she said shakily. “What the hell was that about?”
Heedless: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Four Page 2
