Soon I’ll have all that’s so precious to you. Soon it’ll be checkmate.
Harrison prowled through John’s house, now as familiar as his own. He thought about the information he’d gleaned from the boy and John. Both had spilled their guts as soon as a knife blade was held to the other. Titbits of how Ana would have been at work and the boy’s little sister, Alyssa, would be home with the nanny.
A nanny. Harrison ground his teeth together. Fucking spoiled rich kids, both of them.
But family was why it was so easy to convince Theo to leave the civil defense shelter yesterday. The kid was nauseatingly family orientated, desperate to get home to his sister and mother. Harrison had suggested Theo stick with him as he was headed in the same direction.
The boy led him like a docile little lamb to check on his poor old granddad, not realizing he’d walked straight into a trap. As soon as they’d stepped into John’s house and Harrison had ascertained the man was alone, Harrison grabbed Theo in a headlock and held a kitchen knife he’d lifted from John’s kitchen to the boy’s throat.
After that, John was unsurprisingly cooperative about being tied up. And the text he sent to reassure Ana that Theo was being a good Boy Scout looking after poor old granddad was the sweet lure that would draw the bitch right where he wanted her.
He stretched, feeling muscles ripple and complain along his shoulder blades. It’d been a long night, but then he’d had a lot to think about. Plans and contingency plans. Variables he couldn’t control. If there was one thing Harrison hated, it was not being in control.
He removed the hunting knife from its sheath strapped to his leg—another bonus he’d found in John’s man cave out in the back shed. Harrison lightly drew his thumb down the blade, a pearl of bright crimson appearing on the shiny metal. The old fella liked to fish and hunt. He chuckled.
So did he.
Chapter 17
Sunday, July 25. 10:29 a.m. Korokoro, a suburb of Lower Hutt, New Zealand.
* * *
The sun had abandoned Wellington overnight and cloaked its dismay at the destruction below with thick gray clouds and the scent of rain. Ana stared at the trail that led upward past clumps of scrubby bush and twisted behind an outcropping of rock.
A rivulet of sweat trickled down her back. So much for the brief sponge bath earlier that morning. By the time she reached the top of the next hill she’d feel like she’d been on one of her evening runs with Theo.
Ana adjusted the backpack’s shoulder strap, trying to redistribute the weight that seemed so minimal when they left Mrs. Wilcox’s two hours ago. Now it weighed approximately the same as a pallet of bricks. Her calf muscles pinged as the path angled upward again, but she matched the tempo of her stride to Daniel’s a short distance ahead. He stopped at one of the chunks of rocks, shucked off his backpack, and plopped down, waiting.
Earlier, disaster workers in bright orange coveralls and hard hats had blocked the entrance to the motorway that led to Wellington city. Polite but insistent, the men informed them the road was impassable to both vehicles and pedestrians due to severe earthquake damage and the risk of further landslides.
Expecting as much, she and Daniel had veered off up into the hills. Using the map found in her glove compartment they planned a longer but hopefully unimpeded route that bypassed the heart of the city. She asked one of the men if there was any information on the damage to the southern suburbs where her home was.
He’d shaken his head and flicked pages over on his clipboard, distracted. “Sorry, lady. Reports are pretty intermittent. I can’t say.”
Short of breath when she reached him, Ana grabbed the water bottle Daniel held out.
“Ten-minute break.” She dropped the backpack to the dirt.
The lukewarm water was liquid ambrosia on her dry throat. Tiny droplets of fine rain speckled her bare arms, refreshingly cool. She sat a short distance from Daniel on the rock ledge and stared back the way they’d come, the clouds now a dirtier shade of gray. Strained silence stretched between them, the hiss of breeze-ruffled long grass the only sound.
“We’ve made good time,” he said.
Ana glanced at her watch. Not even ten.
“Very good time.” She smoothed damp curls off her forehead and slicked them back into a ponytail. “I think it’s going to rain.”
State the obvious, why don’t you? Could she sound any gawkier? Her conversational skills had been painful since her first sip of morning coffee while listening to the chorus of birds who greeted the dawn.
Ana angled her body away from him, scanning the vista below. They had reached the apex of the last hill before the land flattened out, claimed by new, ever-encroaching subdivisions. Left behind, Matiu/Somes Island squatted in the center of Wellington harbor’s cerulean blue waters. Ana had been glad when it disappeared from sight. Strong wind gusts that constantly whipped hair in her face must’ve also spurred on fires that blazed in the city. Black smoke scudded across the harbor, and though the scent was faint, the subtle stench of it hurt her soul.
This was her city razed by nature’s fury. Her city, full of vibrancy and character. Alive with cafés, museums, and the seat of government. Her city, where friends, colleagues, and neighbors worked hard and raised their families.
It was the people who pierced right to her heart. Walls could be mended, glass refitted, plans redrawn, and buildings replaced. The lifeblood of this city, its people, couldn’t.
“Ana?” said Daniel. Until he spoke, she’d been unaware of the water dripping off her face. The rain that had threatened since yesterday evening had finally come. Ana raised her fingertips, only to feel the spill of warm tears on her cheeks. Tightness constricted her diaphragm and her fingers fell trembling into her lap.
Daniel scooped her off the rough stone and cradled her in his powerful embrace. She shivered as heavy droplets of rain splattered on her arms, then stilled with the heat seeping through his shirt and the steady bump of his heartbeat. She let the tears come and he held her, somehow knowing she didn’t want to hear undeliverable promises or token platitudes.
The rained pattered on the rock beside them and the scent of some wild plants she couldn’t identify mingled with the smell she recognized as pure Daniel. She sniffed and pulled her head away from his chest. An old-fashioned checked handkerchief appeared under her nose.
“It’s clean,” he said.
Ana laughed, a blocked gurgled sound. “Thanks.”
His arms tightened fractionally around her back then loosened as she twisted away to blow her nose. How come they never showed movie stars honking away like a goose after a crying jag? Her hair hung in limp tendrils around her face and her eyes stung like they’d been repeatedly jabbed with a mascara wand.
She stuffed the damp cloth in the pocket of her jacket. “I’m sure you don’t want it back yet. I’ll launder it for you later.”
Ana turned to see Daniel watching her the way she imagined a hawk would study a small furry mammal. His arms were still wrapped around her. Curled in his lap, she was tucked tightly into the core of his body. Rain turned his hair a darker shade of brown and droplets of it dripped off his head, soaking into his shirt. Swallowing became impossible around the wedge of desire that clogged her throat. If she sighed, if she even exhaled sharply, he was close enough that her breath would stir the wet strands of hair on his forehead.
Ana wanted to bridge that distance. She wanted to trace the strong angles of his face. She wanted to taste his lips one more time. She wanted to see if yesterday was just adrenaline-fueled lust or something more.
Much more.
He had a beautiful mouth. Yesterday’s shadow had grown into short stubble, darkening the hollows under his cheekbones and encircling his lips. She wondered if they would feel soft or have the effect of fine sandpaper, chafing and reddening her skin. Muscles flexed in his thighs as she tilted toward him, and his body helpfully accommodated. His hand slid from her back and gently encircled her upper arm.
Seconds from begging Daniel to kiss her, one of her mother’s favorite adages sprung to mind. A moment on the lips means a lifetime on the hips. The memory of Lily saying those words to her as a teenager rang clear in her head. Her brain was too addled to think of a way to change the adage’s rhyming ‘lips and hips’ to something that meant ‘lifetime of regret for letting this attraction go any further.’
But if she gave in to the temptation of running her fingers through Daniel’s thick hair, using it as leverage to pull those full lips hard against her own; if she indulged her want in that one moment and greedily took…she’d pay for it later. Not on her hips, but her conscience, self-respect, and heart would suffer the consequences of allowing passion to overpower her better sense.
Ana slid off his lap so fast she nearly pulled him with her. He released his grip, and she stumbled a few steps away from him, trying to gather the wispy threads of her composure. He stood up, towering over her—all muscle and pulsating frustration—and snatched his backpack from the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Ana blurted.
Daniel didn’t look at her but shrugged on the backpack. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
She slanted a glance in his direction. His expression had reassembled itself to cool detachment. She momentarily wished he hadn’t let her disentangle herself so easily from his embrace.
“You ready?” He had already stepped back onto the path.
“Yeah. Let’s move out.”
He took the lead since the path was only wide enough for one at a time. She was glad her damp hair whipped around her cheeks as the wind picked up. She didn’t want him to see the confused yearning on her face as shafts of sunlight broke through the cloud cover in front of them.
Chapter 18
Sunday, July 25. 11:05 a.m. Newlands, a northern suburb in Wellington, New Zealand.
* * *
Daniel didn’t want her apology. Dammit.
Ana had nothing to apologize for and he shouldn’t have thought of kissing her. Except she was in pain and he’d wanted to comfort her. Daniel hopped over a low chain guard that marked the end of the trail and the beginning of suburbia.
You’re such a liar, Calder. Giving comfort had been the last item on his mental list, because all he could think about was her. That mass of silky curls, the way her eye tooth worried her lower lip as she’d looked at him, the curve of her jaw. He’d been caught off guard with the mixture of tenderness and hunger that swirled inside him.
“Doesn’t look too bad up here.” He uncapped his water bottle as Ana stepped methodically over the same chain to join him. The water tasted flat. He screwed the lid back on again with a grimace. “If we stick to the road on areas less affected by the quake, we can make good time.”
Houses lined both sides of the street that stretched beyond their limited view into more and more houses in the distance. People pushed wheelbarrows and wielded brooms, sweeping up and shifting debris from their front lawns and the road. Ana and Daniel walked briskly, smiling and greeting people as they moved past, but never slowing their pace to encourage the start of conversation. Using the map from the car, they cut a direct path into the hilly suburbs that stretched along the spine of the hills running behind the two cities.
Nearing midday, Ana pointed out a green area on the map that served as a local park and kids’ playground. “Let’s aim for this and stop for lunch.”
“Sore legs?” He kept his tone light, in line with the easy banter that had crossed back and forth between them once the awkwardness of the morning had faded a little.
Her ponytail flicked huffily. “Not at all—though I’ve done twice as many steps as you, keeping up with your long giraffe legs.”
He grinned, reaching out to give her ponytail a quick tug. “Whiner.”
Still tossing gentle insults at each other, they strolled through the stone archway and into the park. The rain had passed them by, and weak sunshine crept between the cloud clusters and cast dappled shadows beneath the mature trees that ringed the park’s circumference. Birds darted among the deserted swings and wooden climbing frame, searching for any scrap of food in the grass.
Ana paced beside him as they walked. He caught her face tilted up to his in a rare unguarded smile, her words drowned out by a sudden gust of wind that soughed through the tree branches, whipping the leaves into a rustling frenzy.
He was distracted and dazzled by her, but it was a lame excuse for not paying attention to his surroundings. By the time he heard the men’s voices, they had stepped around the side of the climbing frame and into a cluster of picnic tables.
Occupying one of the wooden tables was a group of four men, cigarettes smoldering and fists clenched around dark brown beer bottles. At their sudden appearance, eight belligerent eyes zeroed in on them, the last dregs of conversation vanishing from both parties.
Ana lurched to a halt beside him. He could feel the tension spiking out from her like tiny electric shocks. A bullet of adrenaline slammed into Daniel’s system as his eyes met those of the man perched with feigned casualness on the end of the table. He had the stocky build of a laborer, and the metal-capped work boots and T-shirt with Jonno’s Builders in letters stretching over his barrel-like chest seemed to confirm this first impression.
The man blew out a steady torrent of smoke then flicked the butt toward them with latent hostility.
One of the men with greasy hair and a scraggly soul patch sprouting from his chin swung his legs out from under the picnic table. “Come and join the party, mate,” he said. “Or better yet, just your hot little friend there.”
Beside him Ana inhaled sharply, but Daniel kept his gaze on the other two men across from Soul Patch and behind Jonno the Builder. One looked like an advertisement for drug addiction, all skinny limbs in black denim with a ring of sad-looking barbed wire tattoos encircling his scrawny arm. Though you couldn’t judge an opponent from their appearance. Some skinny guys could kick your ass as thoroughly as a guy who resembled a puffed-up steroid-fueled weight lifter. Like the one sitting next to Tatt Boy, for instance.
He had a lethal buzz cut which only served to emphasize the crimson stain of sunburn that covered the back of his chunky neck. Bulging shoulders and swollen biceps poked out of a grubby white tank top. It looked like someone had poked a bicycle pump in each of his upper body muscles and then overinflated them.
Daniel could smell them from where he stood; a feral mix of rank, unwashed bodies, stale smoke, and beer fumes. A dangerous combination of rampant testosterone and edgy desperation. He calculated the odds of this unexpected confrontation getting physical. Pretty high.
Muscles and Tatt Boy eased their legs from under the table, but his gaze froze on Jonno the Builder. Gut feeling told Daniel he was the leader, and it would be he who would signal the others to strike.
“We’d offer you a beer.” Jonno lazily folded his arms. “But we’re all out of spares. Maybe you’ve got more in those packs of yours.” It was a flat statement, not a question.
“No beer,” Daniel said.
His heart rate sped up but his breathing deepened in preparation as years of combat training switched his reflexes into action mode. The army had turned the boy raised on a farm into a soldier, disciplined and cool-headed in combat. Turned him from the quiet teenager who’d presented a target to every local thug because of his height, to a man who could and would take care of business with force, if force was the only option open to him.
He’d just never been in a situation where a woman that he was beginning to care for immensely was in danger of being caught in the crossfire. If they put their filthy hands on her…he smothered the thought with glacial ruthlessness.
Jonno’s dark brows rose in a parody of surprise. “Really? Well you’ve sure got a lot of something in those bags, so hand ’em over.”
“Give them the bags.” Ana whispered the words behind him.
If he thought handing the bags over would end it there and then, he’d release them without blinking.
But he’d known men like this. Had seen firsthand the switch from guys having a friendly drink to an antagonistic pack mentality that was destined to explode like a Molotov cocktail with little or no provocation. These guys were already loaded and ready to burn when he and Ana had struck the match by stumbling into their midst. So he’d get her out of their reach before he called their bluff.
He didn’t look at her but said, “Give me your bag.”
No way would she be able to run fast enough or far enough with the weight of the backpack dragging her down.
Nylon straps rustled as she removed the bag. There was a pause and the sound of a zipper opening before it nudged against his hip. His eyes locked with the other man’s, Daniel slid the straps off his shoulder one at a time in slow motion.
“Ana, back away slowly.” He spoke quietly, hoping the wind would whip the words away.
He sensed her taking a tentative step backward.
“Where do you think you’re going, bitch?” Jonno pushed himself off the table. “Think we invited you to party. You wouldn’t want to be fucking rude now, would ya?”
Catcalls and sniggers of agreement rumbled from the others. Muscles stood up, crossing his ridiculously enlarged forearms to appear more intimidating.
“You can have the bags.” Daniel sidestepped in front of Ana, hoping his bulk would block her from Jonno’s view. “Then we’re leaving. The lady is coming with me.”
“I’m trying to find my kids. Please leave us alone.”
At the sound of Ana’s voice something snapped inside him like the handle breaking off a fragile china teacup. Jonno took another step forward. He smiled, exposing a tobacco-stained overbite. The three other men moved away from the table, flanking his rear.
“We’re gonna have your bags, mate, and you’ll be leaving—”
Quake Page 9
