Savaged

by Mia Sheridan

  “Meaning you only thought there was bad in the world?”

  “I . . . wasn’t sure. Driscoll thought so.”

  “Driscoll?” She frowned. “What else did Driscoll think?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t care.”

  He turned his head away. He obviously wasn’t interested in talking about Driscoll any further. After a moment though, he looked back at her and Harper tilted her head, her gaze moving over his features. He had such beautiful eyes—that blue and gold, sunset blue, and almond-shaped with long, full lashes. His eyes were a contrast to the stark masculinity of the rest of his face—his sun-darkened skin, sharp cheekbones, his square, scruff-covered jaw. And the obvious masculinity of his strong, muscular body. But she wasn’t looking at his body. She refused to do that. She was already distracted enough as it was. Shaken up. Confused. He didn’t want to talk about Driscoll, so she wouldn’t continue questioning Lucas about him. “In some ways . . . you might know my mother better than I do. Or at least . . . a different side of her,” Harper said, returning to the subject he’d seemed comfortable talking about. “But to me, she was comfort and home, and the things I haven’t had since.” She looked behind him, considering her words. “I don’t know, maybe I’m afraid that reading those”—she nodded her head toward the notes—“will dim my other memories of her somehow, and so I’m afraid to.”

  He regarded her, and she couldn’t read the expression that had settled on his face. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re an honest person. I can tell. I’ve wondered . . . if I’d be able to.”

  Harper didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she felt it was a compliment. Even so, he wasn’t completely right. “I’m not always honest,” she blurted. “I keep things inside sometimes.” She paused. “A lot of times.”

  “You do?” He looked confused about that, and she laughed quietly. “Sometimes I talk the most when I’m avoiding a topic or keeping something to myself.”

  He appeared to think about that and then smiled as though she’d cleared something up that had confused him. He was so very sweet, he really was. “Keeping your feelings to yourself is different than lies. Isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. What do you keep to yourself, Lucas?”

  He released a breath that may or may not have contained a chuckle. “What don’t I keep to myself? I don’t have another choice.”

  She blushed, grimacing slightly at her insensitivity. “That was a stupid question. I’m—”

  “It wasn’t stupid. The trees and the birds and all the forest animals know my secrets. I go outside and shout them to the mountaintops sometimes. They all stop to listen.”

  She laughed softly. “Does it feel better to get them out? Even to the forest?”

  “Yes.” He grinned and her heart tripped all over itself. “Try it sometime.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  They sat there smiling at each other, the moment heavy with whatever the thing was that flowed between them. Chemistry. Awareness. Deep curiosity. All elements of the undeniable lure that had been flowing between men and women who were attracted to each other since the beginning of time. At dances and in restaurants. At bars and in offices. In caves and in cabins in the middle of the deep, dark forest.

  “Anyway,” Harper said, standing and grabbing the purse she’d dropped on the floor next to the bed she was sitting on. “I brought something, and I hope you’ll help me? And a bribe so you won’t say no.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “A . . . bribe?”

  She smiled. “A payment of sorts. But I was just kidding. It’s more of a gift and there are no strings attached.” She pulled the bottle of Orange Crush from her bag, grinning at Lucas when she held it up.

  His eyes widened, lighting up. “Orange drink with bubbles. Crush.”

  “Yes.” She twisted off the cap, slowly so it wouldn’t explode, and handed it to him. He looked at it for a second and then tipped it back, taking a big sip. He lowered it, the expression on his face . . . less than impressed. He held the bottle before him, studying it again as he swallowed with obvious effort, cringing slightly. Obviously revolted.

  “Not as good as you remember?” she asked, holding back a giggle.

  “Not . . . quite.”

  She laughed then. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to kiss him and taste the Orange Crush on his lips. She moved that thought aside rapidly. “Anyway, about this thing I need your help with.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a map.” She stepped to the table they’d eaten at the last time she’d been there and sat down on one of the stools, spreading the map over the tabletop and setting a pen next to it.

  Dusk had fallen, and Lucas took a moment to light the two candles by the window, bringing them to the table so they could see better. He sat down on the stool next to her and looked at the map. “What do you need my help with?”

  “I thought it might be helpful to mark this up for Agent Gallagher. I need to do something to help solve my parents’ murders.” A chill went down her spine. She still couldn’t believe she was saying the words, or that the words were true. My parents were murdered. It didn’t exactly make the loss sharper, didn’t make her suddenly grieve them more than she had. But it lit a fire under her. She’d answered the question of where that she’d been asking all her life, and now she had another two she hadn’t expected: who and why? She gave her head a small shake, attempting to bring herself back to the moment. “But, um, I’d like your input before I do.”

  “Okay.”

  She picked up the red pen and brought it to the map that was folded to show Missoula and the surrounding areas. “Okay, so this is the highway from Missoula to Helena Springs.” She used the pen to trace the highway. There were also unnamed caverns a few miles off that highway that she’d always assumed had been the ones the hikers had been looking for, but she supposed that wasn’t necessarily accurate, considering where her parents’ car had been found.

  She moved her eyes to another area on the map. “This is the approximate location of Driscoll’s cabin.” She drew a square over the green area of wilderness. “And this is yours,” she said, drawing another square near Driscoll’s. Harper glanced up at him and he had a small crease between his brows as he concentrated on what she did.

  “All right,” she went on, “this is the Owlwood River. She traced the long winding line that represented the river, going from the highway that connected Missoula to Helena Springs, down past Lucas’s house and beyond. “And this is where my parents’ car was found,” she said, drawing an X far downriver, near the base of a group of mountain ranges.

  “Okay,” Lucas said, bringing his head slightly closer to hers. The candlelight flickered, and it suddenly felt intimate, the way their heads were bowed together, the way they were speaking in hushed voices, the way it was only them and no one else for miles and miles. She wondered what his lips would feel like if he kissed her, wondered if he’d know what to do.

  “Okay,” Harper repeated, her voice emerging on a whisper that was far more breathy than she’d meant it to be. She cleared her throat, heat moving slowly up her neck and then sweeping through her limbs with a suddenness that made her break out in chills.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, when she rubbed at her arms.

  “No. No. Ah . . .” She focused on the map again, trying to get her mind on what they had been doing. “All right, so up here”—she tapped at the wilderness area between the highway connecting Helena Springs and Missoula and the Owlwood River—“is where I generally do my guide work. And where I’ve focused my own search efforts for my parents’ car.” She put the end of the pen to her lips, biting softly at the tip.

  “Why?” he asked, and when she glanced at him, she saw his gaze was focused on her mouth. She pulled the pen from her lips, their eyes meeting, his widening slightly before he glanced away.

  “Why? Ah, well, because it’s good for camping and hunting, but also because the
road that I assumed they’d been traveling is close by.

  “The hikers who found me couldn’t say exactly where, but the authorities picked us up here,” she said, tapping the map. “It all pointed to my parents’ car being in this area. I’ve never typically searched any farther than this because the river veers off here”—she tapped the map again—“into Amity Falls. I obviously didn’t tumble into a three-hundred-foot waterfall or I’d be dead. The helicopters focused their initial search here too.” Harper tapped the pen against her teeth again, thinking. After a moment, she released a frustrated breath. “In any case, I still don’t know what any of this has to do with my parents being murdered. I just thought maybe drawing it all out might help in some way.”

  Lucas was quiet, his eyes remaining on the map in front of them, the candle flickering over it, casting the peaks and valleys that might hold answers to the many questions swirling around them both, in light and shadow. When he met her eyes again, his expression was grave, a hint of apprehension in the set of his mouth.

  “I think I saw the helicopters that were looking for your parents. And if I did, then I was left here on the same night your parents were murdered.”

  A spear of shock arrowed through Harper. “How is that . . . Are you sure? That seems highly . . . I don’t know, coincidental?”

  “I’ve never seen helicopters again. And they were flying right over this spot.” He pointed to the place on the map where she’d said she always thought her parents’ car had crashed.

  Harper’s gaze stayed on the spot where his index finger had tapped for a moment before looking up at him. She was completely bewildered. How was it possible that they’d both ended up out here on the same night? Her rescued. Him . . . not.

  “I, uh . . .” He pressed his lips together, his eyes deep and dark in the flickering candlelight. “I’ve been lying to you. Lying to the agent.”

  She blinked. “Lying?” she whispered, fear spiking. “About what?”

  “About my name. My name isn’t Lucas. It’s Jak.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Harper blinked at Jak, her pink lips taking the shape of an O as she took the pen from between her teeth. He was nervous, but even still, his blood caught fire at the look of her mouth parted that way.

  “Jak? I don’t understand. Why did you call yourself Lucas?” She looked worried, and it made him feel . . . he didn’t know the word, but he knew the last thing he wanted to do was scare her when she was alone with him. Especially when he kept thinking about her lips and how much he liked sitting right next to her, inhaling her sweet, woman scent and—

  He stood quickly, moving away from her, leaning against the wall by the window. “I told the truth when I said I don’t know my last name. I think a woman named Alma or Almara or Almina named me, but I don’t know for sure. She did raise me, though, until I was almost eight, and I called her Baka. She talked in a different language sometimes. I don’t know which one, and I don’t know where we lived or why I was taken from her.”

  Harper’s mouth stayed in the same surprised O, her eyes wide as she listened. “What do you mean you were taken from her?”

  “I mean, I ended up out here, and I don’t know how or why.” That much was true too. He wasn’t ready to tell her the rest, not yet.

  “Do you think she, your baka, dropped you off here?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  She looked so confused. “It doesn’t make any sense. Who was your mother? Your father?”

  He paused. “My mother gave me up to my baka, I think. I don’t know. And . . . I don’t know anything about my father.”

  “Why did you lie? Don’t you want help figuring this all out?”

  He let out a breath, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to tell her about the cliff, and the war that wasn’t, and how he’d been lied to, but he didn’t know yet what was okay to hold back and what was okay to tell.

  Don’t tell anyone I’ve been here, okay?

  “I lied because I don’t know who to trust,” he admitted. He wanted to trust her, he realized, and part of him already did. It was the wanting that surprised him when he’d only trusted himself for so long. But he did, he wanted to watch her large, dark eyes fill with . . . understanding. He wanted to share his worries and troubles with another person. He just wasn’t sure it should be this woman, who made him feel unsure of himself, made his blood run hot in his veins.

  The woman he wanted to call his own.

  Her eyes ran over his face like she could read the answers to the questions she had by just looking at him. Not yet, an inner knowing told him. But soon if you let her. He turned away, grabbing a can of food she’d brought with her the last time and turning around. “Are you hungry?”

  He didn’t know if he could—or should—fully trust her, but he could feed her, even if she had been the one to bring the food.

  Harper glanced at the can and then back to him. “Yes,” she murmured. “Lucas . . . Jak . . . which do you prefer?”

  “I’ve lived my life as Jak. Until . . . I went to the . . . sheriff building.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Then . . . Jak, I want you to know that you can trust me. I’d like to help you if you’ll let me.” She looked back at the can he was still holding. “And yes, I’d love some dinner.”

  It was dark outside now, and the candles were making shadows on the walls. How many times had Jak sat at this table, eating a meal, and it’d felt cold and lonely? Especially after Pup died. Especially then. But now, he felt a closeness with another person that he’d never felt before. It made him feel peaceful. It made him feel terrified. It made him think of the family who had been taken from him, or that he’d watched walk away, and the memories made an icy-cold knife slice slowly through him, cutting, tearing, just like all the cuts and wounds that had made scars on his skin. He shouldn’t get attached to this woman, because he didn’t want to feel pain when she left.

  She smiled around a bite of food.

  “What?” he asked.

  “This is a first.”

  He tilted his head as she let out a happy laugh. “A date of franks and beans by candlelight.”

  “A date?”

  Her smile faded. “Oh, yes. No. I mean, not that it’s a date. But . . . I mean, it could be. I don’t want you to think . . . Not that . . . anyway, it’s nice is what I mean.” She lowered her eyes but then peeked up at him.

  He remembered what she’d said. “You’re talking a lot, which means you’re not saying something.”

  She laughed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given myself away.” But her eyes were warm and she smiled. “I like spending time with you is what I was trying to say.”

  “Why?”

  She blinked. “Why do I like spending time with you, Jak?”

  He sat back slowly. He loved hearing his name—his real name—on her lips. “Yes.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds, tilting her chin a little. “Because I find you interesting and kind. You surprise me, but in good ways. I like the things you say, and I like watching you discover new things. I admire how you’ve survived out here alone for all of these years.” She looked off to the side. “No, admire isn’t strong enough a word. I’m in awe of how you’ve survived out here all of these years, and I’m sure I don’t know the half of it. I hope someday you might trust me enough to tell me. You value truth, Jak, so that’s it. One hundred percent.”

  His lips tipped. I like you, he thought, amazement rushing through him. He remembered it—the feeling of . . . affection, was that the word? Yes, he thought it was. The warmth for another human, the . . . liking of them being with you. Not a wanting to mate—though that was there too. The feeling of . . . affection was a good one, a liking that couldn’t be taken away by leaving. It would stay whether she did or not. It made him feel good knowing there was another thing no one could steal from him.

  He liked her. It was his. That was all.

  At the same time, he felt guilt. How could he va
lue truth like she’d said, and also be a liar? He had so many questions about the world, about life, and humans, so many things that confused him. Did he believe what he’d said when he’d told her keeping information from someone was different than lying? Was there any difference? No, he thought. He knew there wasn’t, because both had been done to him, and in the end, the pain was the same.

  So many doubts and questions swirled inside him. His mind was a tidepool, thoughts rushing here, there, in, out, going in circles. So fast he couldn’t get his balance. These new feelings that had only come because he cared what this woman thought. Human feelings. Human questions. He wanted her trust. He wanted her to like him. “What do you value?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Above all else,” he said, repeating her words.

  She was quiet, looking like she was thinking hard about his question. “Stability I think . . . love.” Her cheeks got pinker and she looked away.

  Was she embarrassed to want love? He wondered why. She had lost people she loved too. If she still wanted it, it was brave. “Do you have it in your life . . . love?”

  She breathed out a laugh. “You’re very straightforward when you want to be.”

  “Am I asking the wrong questions?” He felt ashamed. He didn’t know how to do this, talk about the things inside him with other people. Sometimes he didn’t even know how to talk to himself.

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. Your questions aren’t wrong. Yes, I have love in my life. I love my friends, and I love the kids at the group home I work at.” She smiled again but something sad came into her eyes too.

  “Do you love a man?” Please say no.

  “No,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his. “No.”

  She stood suddenly and leaned close to the window. “Oh my gosh,” she said, bringing his attention to the weather outside. Snow was falling quickly—the big fluffy flakes that meant it would snow for a long time—and ice crystals stuck to the glass. Jak had seen this before, many times. He knew what it was. “That looks bad.”