"You're not," she replied. "You're still as hard as ice."
He nudged his cockhead deeper, rocking, pressing. "I'm supposed to be hard," he said. "Just like you're supposed to melt. Biology."
"Don't play word games. You know damn well what I mean."
He caught her clit between his fingers, squeezing tenderly, and swirled his cock against her sweet spots, making her light up, squirming and shimmering for him. "Let me in." His voice was rough, like a command, but she could feel the rigid control of his body. He wouldn't move until she opened for him. And she was dying to give in.
He knew it. He was counting on it. Arrogant, complacent bastard.
She turned, looked over her shoulder. "Let me in, too."
His eyes narrowed. The air hummed with tension.
"You, first," he whispered. "Then we'll see."
A final instant of resistance, and hell with it. They didn't have a chance in hell of a future together, and she wanted this. Pride and dignity be damned. They wouldn't do her much good in the grave.
But he had to look her in the face. "Let me turn around."
He let her flip onto her back, and settled himself between her legs. He paused, as he ran his hand down her body, from throat to thigh. His face was grim and tense. He reached out, switched off the lamp.
"Hey!" Edie jerked up in protest. "That's a dirty trick! I wanted to see your eyes! Turn that back on, right now!"
"No." He folded her legs up, high and wide. "I can't look at your bruises while I fuck you. It bothers me."
She propped herself onto her elbows. "They're not your fault!"
He nudged himself against her tender folds, easing inside. "No? The day I met you, you didn't have a single bruise. I know, because I inspected every last goddamn square inch of your body myself. You hang out with me for four days, and now you're covered with them. Conclusion?"
"But I--"
Her voice cut off as he surged inside her, in one hard thrust.
She forgot what she was going to say, clutching at his chest, wiggling to find the perfect angle that let him slide deeper.
He began to move, arching over her. He started slow, but not for long. They were both too desperate for that. They picked up speed, force. Heaving and rocking. It wan't their usual shining fusion of souls. He was so far from her, but his desire and hunger were no less because of that. If anything, he was more desperate.
They fought to get closer, clawing for each other on every level. Thunder and lightning. Pounding and gasping. He drove deep and hard. Her nails dug into him, lifting herself. Slamming thrusts, frenzied kisses, clutching hands, whimpering and gasping.
Both earned more bruises. Neither cared. She turned herself inside out for him as the blinding orgasm blasted through them--
He cracked open. His guard fell, and she saw everything.
This time it really was a kick in the head, like the early, bad old days, when the unwanted visions would blindside her. Images, impressions, shocking and horrible. Merely the echoes of what he'd been through that day, but they jolted her to the bedrock of her being.
Fear, horror, grief. A dead girl, staring out of a plastic bag. A live one cuffed to a wheelchair, weeping. A hideous, bulbous black widow spider with a woman's gloating face and long black hair, laughing as she wrapped sticky fibers around her prey, strangling it to immobility.
Then, the breaking of that ancient inner fortress. Memories flooding in. Faces, places, feelings. So vivid, the tears flooded her eyes.
Brothers, bullets, bombs. It had all exploded in his face. He'd been broken to pieces, again and again that day. And still, amazingly, he was whole. Shining and whole. And so beautiful. God, she loved him.
She wound her arms around his shaking, sweaty shoulders. Holding him as close as she could. Tears flooding down her face.
She tried to make him turn his face, but he resisted, pulling out of her. He fished around on the floor for his clothes, pulled on his jeans. She shivered in the wall of cold air that rushed between them.
"Kev?" She reached for the bedside lamp.
He batted her hand away so violently, the lamp fell off the table. It broke against the floor. "Don't," he said savagely.
She sat up startled. "Kev? What's wrong?"
"If you have to ask. I'm finally getting it."
"Getting what?"
"The disadvantages of having a psychic girlfriend."
She was bewildered. "But...but I thought you wanted--"
"I changed my mind," he said. "Or came to my senses, more like."
She shrank in on herself. "You mean, you're ashamed?" she whispered. "At what I saw? What you let me see?"
"I just mean I want some space." He picked up the gun, shoved it into the back of his pants. "You stay here. I'll go out, keep watch--"
"That's not fair!" she yelled. "You asked me to! You bullied me!"
"Life's not fair. Haven't you noticed that? Look, Edie. I'm sorry about this crazy shit. I'm sorry about...what just happened." He gestured toward the bed. "I shouldn't have done that to you. I won't do it again. You and Liv and Tony and Zia Rosa will go up to that island in the San Juans with my brothers' friend Seth today. I'll get the fuck out of your face. And who knows, maybe you'll have a chance at survival."
She launched herself at him, and swatted at his shoulder. "I don't want you out of my face! You bastard!"
"Too bad. I'm going out," he repeated, stonily. "Stay here."
Cold air swirled and gusted in as he jerked the door open. It swung shut behind him, shutting out air, noise, the night. And him.
Edie sat down on the bed, her hands pressed to her face. She wanted to find him. Start slapping and screaming like a fishwife, but it would be childish and embarrassing. He was counting on her natural horror of making a scene in front of his newfound family. She was Charles and Linda Parrish's daughter, after all.
Let him have his precious space, then. Let him choke on it.
It occurred to her, as she washed herself up again, that neither of them had thought about contraception. That edge-of-doom vibe. Neither of them expected to live long enough to deal with consequences.
She dressed, and fished the cell phone out of her pocket. The sky was getting lighter. She stared at the phone that one of Kev's brothers had lent her, thumbing it on just to see if Ronnie had managed to steal her phone back and send a message. She should go see if Aaro would help her call Ronnie again with his magic signal bouncer.
It rang the instant she turned it on. She stared at the display, heart leaping into her throat. It sank back down immediately, when she saw the number. Not Ronnie's. And so? There was no one else on earth she wanted to hear from. Not on this telephone.
But the ringtone jabbed, like a needle in her brain. Who?
She answered. "Yes?" she whispered.
"Good morning, Edie." Des's voice. There was an oily smile in it that made her stomach flop horribly. "Do you want to live?"
She sank down onto the bed again. "Yes," she said.
"How lucky for you that you answered this call," he said. "Do you want your lover and his band of merry men to live, too?"
"Yes," she said again.
"We know where you are. We're looking at you, out there in the forest. There's a clear vantage point for our thermal imaging. You and Larsen were fucking in the cabin about, oh, twenty minutes ago. The rest of them are in the big house. My finger is resting on a button that will blow you all instantly into fine, vaporous particles. Unless you do exactly...and I mean, exactly...what I say. Understand?"
She swallowed over a knot of terror. "Tell me what you want."
"I'm going to give you simple, clear instructions, Edie. If you disobey any one of them, I will push the button. Is that clear?"
"Yes. Listen, Des--"
"The first instruction is to say only 'yes.' Say it in a low, obedient tone of voice. If you say anything else, I push the button. Got that?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"The second directio
n is that you keep this phone connection open at all times. If you should drop the phone, push the wrong button with your cheek, if we should suddenly lose coverage...I cut my losses, and push the button. Bye-bye. Ka-boom."
"But Des, I don't know if--"
"Remember the first instruction, you stupid bitch," he snarled.
She bit her lip, forced it out. "Yes."
"The third instruction is to make no unneccesary movements. I'm looking at your cabin wall through a powerful thermal imaging device. You're sitting at the foot of the bed. You need to work on your posture."
Pride and anger stiffened her spine, involuntarily.
"Ah, that's better! And watching you screw Larsen, whew! I had no idea you were so passionate! It was like watching a forest fire." He chuckled. "Did you come? You can tell me." He hesitated. "Say it, Edie."
Her gorge rose. She steeled herself and whispered. "Yes."
"That's good! So. Do anything I didn't tell you to do, and I will see you do it. And I will push that button. Understand?"
"Yes." Tears flashed out of her squeezed shut eyes. She reached up to brush them away.
"Get that fucking hand down until I tell you to raise it!"
Edie stood, hand in midair, and slowly lowered it. "Yes," she said.
"Get up. Come out the door," Des said. "Act natural. Walk directly in front of the house."
She stared down at the ballpoint pen that lay on the floor. The crumpled piece of paper that had wafted to the carpet when Kev left the room. "Can I put on my shoes?" she whispered.
Des hesitated. "Be quick," he said. "And no more questions."
Edie slid to her knees. She scooped up the pen with one shoe, the paper as she grabbed the other, and sat down on the bed again, the paper spread out on the floor between her feet. She held the pen as she did up the laces of the high-tops, and scrawled in huge letters,
BOMB
"You're done tying your shoes," Des said.
"Yes." Edie stood, and stepped outside the cabin door, leaving it gaping wide. The icy wind whipped at her wet eyes, her still-damp hair. She let the piece of paper flutter out of her hands, to the frosty ground.
Des said nothing. He had not seen it. Tears of relief trickled out of her eyes. Please, Kev. Or someone. Anyone. See it. Find it.
"Now what?" she asked.
CHAPTER 37
The wind swept up the canyon, sharp and raw, hitting Kev's face like a slap. He welcomed it. He deserved a slap.
He slogged through the undergrowth up to the craggy cliff face that was upslope from the drafty, half-built house. The house was perched on that same cliff, he now saw. The foundation was sunk into a chunk of volcanic rock. A big bank of picture windows had already been put in on the floor above the basement where Aaro lived now, probably to block the weather from the slow, one-man construction site. They would look out over a stunning view, over a sheer cliff to a riverbed canyon below. Very dramatic.
Kev couldn't believe how far things had gone. It was bad enough that he'd used her for two decades as a talisman and navigation device, before even knowing who or what she was. And now that he knew her, he was using her even more. He craved her. He was strung out on her, out of his head. Her body, her mind, her way of talking. The way she made him feel. Being seen by her. Being known.
He'd put her life in danger repeatedly. He'd known, in his skin, his guts, his balls, that he couldn't have this. That being with him was a death sentence for that girl. And he'd pretended not to know it.
And tonight, Jesus. He was appalled at himself. Bullying, scolding, blustering. Coercing her into rough sex, after a day like today.
And now she could end up doing time. If she survived at all.
He had to muzzle this beast. Damage control. If he had to confess to a crime he didn't commit, murder and rape and brainwashing and abuse and God knows what else to clear her, he would. He would.
It would have to be enough, that Edie existed someplace, safe and whole, even if she was not happy. Maybe he could read her graphic novels to pass the time while he rotted in prison. It was exactly what he deserved, he reflected grimly. Let the fucking punishment fit the crime.
"Hey. Kid."
He turned. It was Tony. He'd aged ten years in the last twenty-four hours. His lines were seamed even deeper, the pouches heavier.
He cupped his hand against the wind to light a hand-rolled cigarette. It glowed as he sucked in smoke. His grizzled stubble glinted silver in the pale half-light of dawn.
Kev couldn't make his voice work. The thought of Edie hating him, after what he'd said. It compressed his larynx to the hardness of a diamond. "What are you doing out here?" he finally said.
"Came out to take a piss," was Tony's laconic reply.
Kev tilted his eyebrow. "Aaro had indoor plumbing, last I looked."
"Don't get mouthy with me," Tony said. His eyes were slitted, measuring. "Thought you'd be in with your lady, makin' the best possible use of your time. What you doing out here in the cold?"
Kev coughed, to clear the way for words. "She's not my lady."
Tony blinked. "What the fuck? You're head-up-the-ass in love."
"She keeps narrowly escaping death. Now she's looking at prison time, if they pin Parrish on me. I'm bad for her health. And reputation."
Tony folded his arms over his chest. "What does she think?"
Kev looked back out over the canyon. "It doesn't matter what she thinks," he said. "My decision's made."
Tony coughed. "You haven't had much to do with women, kid."
Kev grunted. Like he needed love advice from Tony Ranieri. Every woman Tony had ever been involved with hated his guts.
"Shouldn't you be inside, getting some sleep?" he asked.
"Hard to sleep in that place," Tony said. "Temperature's subzero."
"It's got to be warmer than it is out here."
"I'm talkin' about your brothers," Tony said. "They think I'm lower than dirt, for sitting on you for eighteen years. Like a fuckin' hen."
Kev shrugged. "Well. It is what it is. Can't change it now."
Tony smoked, and waited. Kev felt the weight of his expectant pause, and turned his head, staring at the old man.
"Let me get this straight," Kev said. "You want me to tell you that it's all perfectly OK? That I understand?"
Tony's nostrils flared. "I had my fucking reasons for what I did."
Right. Like getting unpaid slave labor, twelve hours a day for years. "Sure you did, Tony," he said sourly.
"You can't tell me that if I'd gone off looking for these McClouds Osterman and his goons wouldn't have gone for you. Back when you was practically a drooling vegetable," Tony growled. "They would've gone for all four of you! You'd have been meat, kid."
"Maybe," Kev said. "We also might have exposed that bastard and finished it back then, eighteen years ago. Before he went on to murder and brain damage dozens of innocent teenagers."
"You're blaming me for that, now, too?" Tony hunched his head down into his shoulders.
"I'm just saying that we can't know. So cut the pronouncements and the justifications. It's a waste of time. What's done is done."
"You are one righteous hard-ass." Tony pinched the cigarette, and sucked in the last drag. "You think I fucked you up bad, huh?"
Aw, Christ. Tony was wanking away at the self-torture. Kev sighed, watching his breath curl. "No," he said wearily.
"You think I shoulda taken you to specialists, at two hundred bucks a pop? Sold some crack cocaine to pay for it, maybe? You think I shouda got a bunch of candy-ass social workers to fuss over you, feel sorry for you? Jerk you off?"
"No, Tony," he said, tonelessly.
"Or shelled out money for private speech therapy? I had to take care of Bruno, too, goddamnit! Nobody ever gave me a fucking dime to pay for that kid's expenses, and you expect me to--"
"I didn't expect a goddamn thing, Tony. You could have left me at the warehouse to die if you felt like it," Kev said. "It was your choice."
<
br /> Tony hawked and spat over the cliff. "So I'm an ice cold, egoistic, opportunistic bastard, huh? Right? Go ahead. Say it."
Kev shrugged, mercilessly. "You said it, not me."
Tony wiped his mouth, scratching the stubble under his chin. "Just keep in mind," he said. "If I had a son of my own, I'd have treated him the exact same goddamn way. And he'd be just as pissed as you."
Kev was startled. He stared at the old man, bemused. Trying, and failing, to decode that cryptic statement.
"You get me?" Tony demanded. "You get what I'm saying?"
Kev cleared his throat. "Ah. I think so."
"So don't take it personal."
"OK," Kev said. At a total loss.
Tony stubbed out his cigarette on the rock, muttering. He dug in his pocket, and pulled something out. Small, tarnished oblong discs that dangled on a chain. He handed it to Kev. "Better late than never."
Kev took it, stared at the tags. Eamon McCloud. His chest hurt.
Tony turned, and stumped away.
"Tony," Kev said, on impulse.
Tony did not turn. Kev groped for something coherent to say. Something to answer that backhhanded, rough moment of grace.
"Thanks for saving me," he said.
Tony didn't look around. "You're worth saving, kid." His voice sounded heavy and sad. He walked back to the house.
Kev's hands closed around the dog tags, looking inward as the memory unfurled. Of that day his overblown hero complex had convinced him it was his job to singlehandedly get proof for the cops that the Midnight Project was something foul and criminal. He knew more kids would die if he asked someone else to do the job. There had been no one to ask for help. Davy was in Iraq, Connor off on a stakeout for his new cop job. Sean had been out of his mind in love with Liv Endicott, and her dad had gotten him locked up in jail to keep him away from her. So no back-up from that quarter. He was on his own.
But it couldn't wait. He'd gone to his father's bedroom, which none of them had touched since his death eight years before. The room was thick with dust, but the bed was still made up with military neatness, the drab green wool blanket pulled as tight as a drum. He'd taken the dog tags out of a tin cup that sat next to a photograph of his mother, and sat on the bed, holding the metal discs in his hand, staring at Mom's smiling face. Silently begging for courage. To do the hard thing.
Fade to Midnight Page 52
