by Jaime Rush
“Furious.” Except that he didn’t look or sound furious.
She wadded up her clothes in a ball as she walked back to their table, then shoved them into the plastic bag.
At least he had clothes on now. She grabbed her bottle of Jovan musk from the duffel bag he’d bought to store the gun and their toiletries and dabbed some on. It was a popular fragrance back in the eighties, and she was glad they still sold it.
He waited for her to put the bottle back in the duffel bag and walk closer to him. “Oh, and we are working together.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. First we have to get a vehicle. I’ve got a lead on that, though I’ll have to do a little groveling. I was sort of responsible for their father dying when I set the estate on fire—which, by the way, I only did because Darkwell was about to shoot us. It’s splitting hairs, I know, and I don’t blame them for being pissed. But I hope they’ll help. They need to know what’s going on, anyway.” He gave her an odd look, as though something of great interest had just occurred to him.
“Give me the gun,” she said, and held out her hand. “Sounds like you can get more, and I don’t know how easily I’ll be able to get money.”
“What do you need the gun for?”
“Uh, psychic creeps who like to squeeze my head. Duh.” So there, a duh for you.
“The gun will be in here.” He tapped the bag. “If we need it, whoever can get to it first grabs it. Not that it seems to do a lot of good with this guy, but it’ll buy a few minutes while he heals. Come on, let’s go.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not listening. I am not going with you.”
“Don’t make more out of it than what it is. We should stick together until we know what we’re up against.”
She raised one eyebrow. “What, you afraid to be alone?”
His mouth quirked in a smile. “Terrified.”
Ooh, when he did that . . . If he wasn’t so cute, it would really annoy her. And the thought of Eric being cute was annoying enough.
“So what’s the benefit of us staying together, exactly?”
“For right now, what binds us—people out to kill us—is bigger than what tears us apart. Twice now we worked together and did not get killed.”
“Out of pure necessity,” she added quickly, remembering she’d had that thought, too. “We only forgot that we’re enemies because of the bigger enemy on our asses.”
“Exactly. You go out there, and you’ll die. Is that what you want?”
“Maybe I don’t care.”
He tilted his head at her. “You acted like you wanted me to kill you at the motel. You dared me to.”
Pain tightened her chest and she looked away. “What good am I if I can’t avenge Jerryl’s death? If I can’t kill the man responsible for destroying everything?”
“I’m more than twice your size. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
She looked up, her eyes moist. Was he actually trying to make her feel better about not killing him? She swiped at her eyes. “That wasn’t why I couldn’t do it.” Crap, she’d said too much. She walked over to throw the bag of clothes away, but he was standing beside her, his hand on her arm.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Not a damned thing.”
She tried to move away, but he held her in his grip. “You’d been crying when you came out of the bathroom. I didn’t pay much attention then; I had other things on my mind. But I remember, your eyes were all smeared and you looked defeated.”
She tried to shake him loose. “So what?”
He turned her to face him. “You couldn’t do it, could you? You couldn’t kill me.”
That seemed to fascinate, no, cheer him. She didn’t want him either fascinated or cheered. “Sure I could. I was crying for Jerryl.”
He shook his head. “That’s what you meant about not being able to kill me.” He actually laughed!
She shoved him away and walked off. “I’m glad it amuses you that I’m so worthless that I can’t even accomplish the most important task of my life.”
Worthless! Slut! Connie’s words echoed.
He grabbed her and spun her around to face him, his hands gripping hers. “If you’d killed me, you’d be dead now. So you would have felt worth living, vindicated, whatever. Then that guy would have come in and killed you. You lived because of me.”
Too damned true. She gritted her teeth. “At least I would have died with honor.”
He looked into her eyes, and she thought he was probing her soul. Could he do that? “Do you still want to kill me? Would that make you feel better? More worthy?”
She shook her head so slightly she wasn’t actually sure he saw. “I’ve already failed.”
“Then let it go. Right now we need to find out who’s hunting us and why. Come on.”
He hefted the bag and walked toward the road. Paused. Looked back at her.
Being reckless, taking chances . . . that’s what made her feel alive. But maybe she wasn’t ready to have her head crushed just yet. Maybe she’d find out what was going on instead. Having a big strong guy around, even if it was Eric Aruda, well, that was just practical. She stiffened her shoulders and walked forward.
Chapter 7
Eric breathed an internal sigh of relief when Fonda walked toward him. He didn’t want to have to throw her over his shoulder, but he wasn’t going to let her go off on her own. She did stay a few feet away from him—in protest, he was sure—arms tight around her body. He hid his smile at that. Even at that distance he could smell the light, crispy scent of her perfume.
He pulled out his phone and called Magnus. He hoped Lachlan didn’t answer.
A man said, “Magnus.”
“It’s Eric Aruda. We have another problem.”
“What is it?”
That’s what he liked about dealing with men. They didn’t get emotional, freak out, crack their knuckles. They just wanted the facts.
“It’s not over yet. I don’t think they know about you, and we’re going to keep it that way. But you need to know what’s going on, and I need a vehicle. You don’t owe me a damned thing, especially after what happened. On foot, we’re seriously hampered, and I don’t have any other options.”
“Hold on.” He heard another man, probably Lachlan, in the background. Not surprisingly, his objections were clear, even though Magnus had covered the mouthpiece. He returned a few moments later. “I’ll pick you up. I’ve got an old truck that’s registered in my name, but it’s going to need some work. I’ll have Lachlan get a battery, fill the tires, and get it running. You can stay here until then. Probably a day.”
“I don’t want to involve you any more than I have to.”
“Neither do we. You’re trouble, Aruda. But my father inadvertantly created this situation, and we won’t turn our back on you. Do you need weapons?”
“We’ve got one gun. We could use another.”
“What about the rest of your people?”
“They’re trapped in the shelter, a phony police raid. If we show up, they’ll know they’re on to something. For now, nonaction is the best course of action. I’ve got Fonda Raine with me.”
Silence for a moment, which meant they likely knew who she was. “Wasn’t she working for the enemy?”
He looked at her. “Yeah, but she didn’t know any better.”
She frowned at him.
He gave Magnus their location and they made plans to meet within the hour. They were nearing the entrance of the park. He remembered this place. It was where he’d torched one of Darkwell’s men who was about to take out Amy.
A family was packing up their car, and Eric headed to the gazebo they’d vacated. He glanced back to see Fonda reluctantly following. He sat at one of the tables, nodding for her to sit next to him. She took a seat across from him instead.
He had a history of being blunt, blurting out his thoughts before thinking. The hell of it was, he should have no problem dumping
life-changing information on Fonda. But something about her, despite her tough, angry exterior, softened him.
“Tell me about your father.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“Just tell me, and then I’ll tell you why.” If her father was some loving guy, he would come up with some reason why he’d asked and leave it at that.
She looked away, her mouth tightening into a stubborn line.
Eric said, “We all have a history that was damaged by Darkwell. We were damaged. Maybe I can give you some missing pieces.”
Fonda’s body was as closed as it could be, legs crossed, arms tucked around herself. “After my mother died, he married Connie, who got him into meth.” Her big brown eyes gave away her pain. “He was pretty much useless after that.” She stood, walking to one of the columns, still facing away from him. “But I survived. I didn’t need him. Why do you want to know?” A lock of hair fell over her left eye. She didn’t brush it away.
He knew there was more to the story, much more, but she wasn’t about to share it with him. Which was cool, because he didn’t need to know her shadows. He had his own.
He stood, leaning against the edge of the table and stretching out his legs. “My mom died when I was young, too. Accidentally burned herself to death in a lab accident, or that’s what they told us. She was out of her mind by then.” A stab of fear pierced his chest. Had it been psychosis? Had she gone through a bout of sleeplessness before that? He focused on Fonda, whose eyes were now filled with the horror of what he’d just said.
“My father also married a woman not good for him,” he went on, “but in other ways. Lucas was living with us. They’d already killed his mother. And our stepmother wanted us out of the way. She almost had him convinced that sending us to boarding school was a good idea.” He swallowed. He hadn’t realized how much he would have to tell her, how much he had to reveal about his own pain. “I hated my father for being so weak, letting her manipulate him.” It was why he’d sworn to never let a woman get hold of his soul. “I always felt disconnected from him. I don’t look anything like him. I was definitely not his favorite child. He doted on Petra. I think he even liked Lucas better than me. Granted, I was a pain in the ass.” She nodded in agreement, but he ignored her. “Always getting into trouble, doing things that made him crazy, like jumping off of buildings and stuff.”
Her face changed at those words, eyes widening, mouth softening. She didn’t say anything, but she was listening at least.
“But it seemed to go deeper than that. When I realized the government was after us, Petra and I went to him for answers about what our mother was doing before she died. He refused to answer. He accused me of being paranoid, which I am, and which is why I even realized someone was following me. Then he threatened to call the police on me. I called his bluff. He wouldn’t call the police on his son. That’s when he told me the truth: I wasn’t his son.
“My mother had an affair with someone in the program. The substance that boosted their abilities boosted their sex drives, too. My mother and Amy’s father had an affair. It was a shock to realize the man I thought was my father wasn’t, that he knew all along and resented the fact that he’d raised me as his own. But his loyalty vanished at giving us the truth, at helping us. I’m an Ultra, born of two participants who got the substance. Ultras are more powerful. They are also more susceptible to going crazy.” Again that spear of panic. He took a breath, letting his words sink in.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you telling me this? You want sympathy?”
He chuckled at the thought of Fonda pulling him to her and stroking his back. Poor baby. Except the image, as unlikely as it was, tugged on something deep inside him. He cleared his throat and the fuzzy emotions. “That’s not why I told you.”
It didn’t take her long. Her expression changed again, tensing as the implication became clear. “No. I don’t believe you.”
They had so much in common, their pain, the shock of learning the truth about their heritages and why their families were shattered beyond repair so long ago. He nodded. Bizarrely, the image of him holding her now flashed into his mind. Instead he reached over and tucked the lock of hair behind her ear.
“Richard Wallace, the man I asked you about earlier, he’s a botanist who was obsessed with slime molds, collecting them and stuff. He also chased meteors and sometimes found something called powdre ser, which is some kind of slime found where a meteorite has landed.”
“The alien DNA you told me about.”
“Yeah. Alien as in foreign, not green men. Wallace accidentally ingested some of the slime mold, and it boosted his psychic abilities. He was working with Darkwell on the program at the time, and he got a hard-on at Wallace’s new power. So Darkwell gave it to our parents without telling them what it was. When the shit hit the fan, Wallace became a target, too, and went into hiding for over twenty years. He had two sons, the men we’re meeting shortly. They’re your half brothers.”
She loosened the lock of hair, letting it cover her eye again. “What kind of game are you trying to play?”
“Wallace could astral project. Your mother couldn’t. She could only freeze time. So we’re pretty sure you inherited that from him, especially since he’d had a onetime thing with your mom. According to Amy, he was happily surprised at the prospect of having a daughter.” No need to tell her that at the time, Fonda was his enemy as well.
She paced, working through it if her expression was any indication. She stopped after a few moments. “This man who’s supposedly my father . . . he’s the one whose death you’re responsible for?”
Damn, he hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah.”
“So you killed my lover and . . . my father.”
“I didn’t mean to kill Wallace. When I set Darkwell on fire, he tossed his jacket toward the drapes in his office, which set the whole place on fire. He was holding Wallace prisoner in his basement. Magnus and Lachlan couldn’t get him out.”
“Do Wallace’s sons know? About me, I mean?”
“I think so.”
She released a long breath. “Why did you tell me this? You could have just taken me there and never said a thing.”
“I wanted you to be prepared. And to know the truth. We’ve all been shut in the dark long enough. Having felt disconnected from family for so long, other than my sister and Lucas, who’s like a brother to me, it was nice to discover I had a half sister. And it was nice to know my real father wasn’t a wimp who’d served his balls to his wife on a silver platter. I won’t ever know my father, but I respect him. That’s more than I can say about Rick Aruda.”
He grabbed up the duffel bag. “And it explained a lot, like why he never really cared about me. Why we never connected.”
Her face went pale and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. She knew what he was talking about. They had so much in common, and yet, they couldn’t be further apart.
He said, “By the way, you’re an Ultra, too. Just so you know.”
She came up beside him. “Let’s go.”
With all the new information in Fonda’s brain, that psychic creep might as well be squeezing her head, she thought. They walked in silence toward the park entrance. Part of her wanted to scream and cry and scratch Eric’s face. The other part wanted to sink into the numbness that had been her cocoon the month she’d stayed at her dad’s place.
Her dad. Or not.
That was her life, ping-ponging between drama, feeling alive, and numbness, never feeling what hid in the darkest recesses of her soul.
She slid a glance at Eric beside her. Why had he told her about his childhood, how his father had rejected him? She didn’t want to see his pain at that. It triggered hers.
She wasn’t about to tell him that she, too, took risks. She’d never jumped off a building, mostly because the ones she’d walked along the edge of were several stories high. Once, someone had called the police because they thought she was going to jump. She’d gotten a big lec
ture and the next day was back on the ledge.
No, you’re nothing like Eric.
Another voice asked, Weren’t you willing to become a murderer? He killed Jerryl in the name of war, and you were going to kill him for the same reason. Wouldn’t the people who care about him feel the same about you as you did about him?
She choked on that realization, looking away from him in case there was anything in her eyes that gave away the horror of that.
He slapped her on the back, sending her stumbling forward. “Sorry. Just trying to help.”
She regained her footing. “Well, don’t. Don’t help me. Ever.”
He raised his hands in surrender and kept walking. She maintained the distance between them, determined not to let her anger at him lessen. No, she wouldn’t try to kill him again, but she wasn’t going to soften toward him. Sure, it made sense to stick together, but that’s as far as it would go. She dug her nails into her palms, feeling the bite of the edges. It helped keep the anger close.
They reached the shopping center where Magnus was going to pick them up. Magnus, who might be her half brother.
Within a few minutes a black BMW tore into the parking lot and screeched to a stop in front of them. The passenger window slid down, and the man driving lifted his sunglasses and took them in with his brown eyes. He leaned over and pushed the door open. “Get in, mates.” He nodded toward the backseat, sending his wild brown curls dancing. “In the back, Eric. I want to chat Fonda up.”
Eric’s mouth tightened in annoyance, and she fought a smile watching him squeeze into the backseat of the coupe. Magnus looked as solid and muscular as Eric. She slid into the front seat, her amusement gone. What did chat her up mean, exactly?
He tore out of the lot as soon as she closed her door. With a glance in the rearview mirror, he asked Eric, “You told her?”
“Yeah.”
About her possible paternal heritage, no doubt. Good thing he had told her; otherwise she’d have been slammed in the face with it.
