Shades of Memory

by Francis, Diana Pharaoh

  Pulling himself with his heels, he scooted off the edge of the berm, laying back against the snow, digging his elbows in to help slow his descent. Fresh snow had fallen recently, and instead of sliding easily, he sank down into a marshmallow of snow.

  “Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth. They wanted to chatter. On the positive side, the bezel of snow helped disguise him from anybody not directly below him.

  He worked his feet and arms, inching himself downward. A ridge of snow formed between his legs and stopped his progress. He rocked back and forth to flatten it. Unfortunately, his breath showed above him like a whale spouting in the ocean. God dammit. He reached under his soaked coat and pulled his shirt up over his mouth to contain the steam of his breath.

  The battle below continued, punctuated by shouts, gunfire, and running footsteps. Gregg clung to the sound of the F-250’s continued rumbling. Hopefully some moron wouldn’t put a bullet through the block before he had a chance to steal it. Someone was definitely shooting a hand canon. Maybe a .357, maybe a .44 Mag. Both could end his chances with the truck.

  He wasn’t surprised that no cops had shown up. They were too busy dealing with the carnage of Savannah’s bombs—those who hadn’t been paid off to look the other way. Nobody else would be stupid enough to step in the middle of a Tyet war.

  That suited Gregg fine. He didn’t want to be responsible for killing any innocent bystanders, and as corrupt as most of them they were, he didn’t relish seeing any cops killed, either.

  The downward side of the snow wall was about thirty feet. He’d nearly reached the bottom when he heard a loud clang, then sputtering and coughing as his best hope for escape died a slow death. He lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings. So far no one seemed to have noticed him. He scooted the rest of the way and rolled off, landing on the slick pavement on his hands and knees, the Glock still clutched in his right hand.

  He pushed himself up into a crouch. Too fucking slow. The cold penetrated deep inside. Tremors ran through his arms and legs. He firmed his grip on his gun. The snow near his head exploded in a puff of ice crystals. He jerked back. He’d been seen. Twenty feet away was a Jeep. It sat sideways, the passenger door facing Gregg. No one seemed to have taken refuge around or behind it.

  He pushed to his feet, the movement agonizingly slow. He broke into an uneven jog, ducking and zigzagging to make himself a difficult target. A hard blow hit his left calf, and he stumbled, his left leg buckling. He looked down at the hole in the back of his sweats and the dark stain of blood spilling from his leg. He was so numb, he could barely feel the pain. Driven by sheer will, Gregg shoved himself back up and staggered toward the Jeep.

  He made it around the back end without getting shot again. He leaned against the rear, panting hard as the tremors in his body turned into palsy. He shoved the Glock into his pocket and tucked his right hand under his armpit. He didn’t believe for a second that he could generate enough warmth to get better control of his hand, but he had nothing better to try. He wasn’t giving up. He wouldn’t give up if someone showed him a death certificate and told him he was dead.

  Behind him, the gun battle continued unabated. A bullet pinged off the front of the Jeep, and he flinched. Beyond him, the avenue continued on, and in the distance, the lights of Diamond City rose from the caldera. More empty vehicles blocked the road in that direction.

  He lurched forward toward the sidewalk. His leg throbbed with remote pain. Warmth trickled down the back of his calf and into his shoe. No time to bind off the wound. Hopefully, he’d find refuge before he passed out from blood loss.

  Gregg had just made the sidewalk when a battered green Tahoe with a yellow stripe down the side and fat snow tires roared up beside him. He turned, reaching for the Glock. The back door swung wide, and Gregg found himself staring into the brilliant blue eyes of the last person he expected to see, the woman who made him hard every time he thought of her. Taylor Hollis. Riley’s sister.

  Chapter 6

  Riley

  WIND SHRIEKED, and I shivered. My backside was developing frostbite and my front side was sweating like I was in a sauna. Price radiated heat like the sun while pulling in frigid air from outside. Who was I kidding? He’d pretty much knocked down most of the cabin. We were no longer actually inside by any definition of the word.

  He kept hugging me. Or anchoring me down so I didn’t fly away. His grip hurt, but I wasn’t particularly interested in becoming a kite, especially in the gale hurtling around us.

  Talking was out. I couldn’t have made myself heard above the din if I wanted. His power had grown and changed, morphed into something I didn’t recognize. Elemental talents were off the charts powerful, and very few existed. Maybe because they killed themselves when their power erupted. Price had been über-lucky to manage a shutdown as a toddler. Now he had to find that strength or knowledge or whatever he needed to get it under control again.

  I can’t say when I realized that the wind was slowing. The change was hardly perceptible at first, and then it unraveled all at once, detritus raining down. An invisible air umbrella protected us from getting brained by a plummeting toaster or toilet.

  At last the world went quiet. Price panted, his ribs bellowing under my arms. His head fell onto my shoulder. He started shaking, and his arms convulsed around me. I whimpered, my ribs creaking with the pressure. Instantly, he loosened them, raising his head again to look down at me. His eyes burned with an intensity I’d never seen before. Almost like he wasn’t quite human. At least they were blue again.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was little better than a scrape of sound.

  “Could be worse,” I whispered, my mouth dry. I was more shaken than I cared to admit. I held myself stiffly so the rest of me wouldn’t shatter apart. “How about you?”

  “Fucked up,” he said, and then he kissed me. I tasted dust from both our lips. His hands knotted in the back of my shirt as his mouth claimed mine.

  Some kisses are sweet, some are exploring, some are sheer lust. This one wasn’t any of those. It was demanding and punishing and desperate and raw. I gave as good as I got, my own emotions stretched to their limits. Because next time, he might not survive. We might not survive. And I was sure there would be a next time.

  He must have felt the same. His hands slid up under my shirt and up over my breasts and then around to sweep up and down my back. I did the same, moaning into his mouth as I touched satin skin over taut muscle. He hitched me closer, if that was even possible.

  I wasn’t ready when he tore his lips from mine. I made a sound of protest, and he kissed me swiftly again and then pressed his forehead to mine.

  “I don’t want us to be separated again,” he said raggedly. “Bad shit happens when you go off on your own. I’m going back to Diamond City with you or I swear to God I’ll chain you down here.”

  I snorted and gave a weak laugh. “Good luck with that. There’s no here left.”

  He cupped my face between his palms, tipping my head so I could meet his gaze. A storm still raged in the depths of his eyes, a sign that he’d always be fighting for control. He rubbed his thumbs across my cheeks. “I’m serious.”

  I raised my brows, irritation returning. “Are you saying I need a bodyguard?”

  “Yes. No. Dammit, Riley, I’m saying that whatever happens to you, I want to be there. I’m not trying to rescue you or keep you from going off on crazy adventures—”

  “You don’t want to keep me from doing insane things?”

  “Of course I do. But if you’re going to be committing stupidity, I want to be by your side. I will be at your side.”

  I bit my lower lip hard. I wanted to believe him, but that was a promise he couldn’t make. Not when he’d already promised his brother he’d join the family business. That made Touray his biggest priority, and sooner or later, Price was going to h
ave to choose between us. No matter how he felt about me, I couldn’t imagine I’d be the winner. I tried to smile and failed utterly. “Okay.”

  He scowled. “What’s wrong?”

  I made lips turn up. I probably looked demented. “Just wondering if I get to go to the bathroom alone.”

  “Dammit, Riley, I’m serious!”

  “I know. I’m not objecting.” I just didn’t believe it.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. Talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

  Like he had for the past two weeks? I didn’t say it, even though it burned on the tip of my tongue. Finally I shrugged. “Everything’s good. I’m happy you’re coming back with me. We should probably get on the road.”

  His lips pulled back from his clenched teeth. “Fine. But I’m not done talking about this. Count on it.”

  I decided a change of subject was in order. “You shut down your power. Does that mean you’ve figured out how to control it?”

  “Control is a strong word. I’m pretty sure I can open and close the spigot. Anything else is a crap shoot at this point.”

  “You’ll learn.”

  “If I don’t blow us all the hell off the face of the earth first.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Makes one of us.”

  He was still staring at me like he wanted to crack my head open and look inside. I averted my eyes, looking around at the damage.

  We still stood on the second floor, but the walls were gone and most of the rest of the second story. Plumbing pipes stuck up in the air like skeletons. Our room was near the stairway, which was probably the most solid part of the building. Or so I guessed, since it was still standing. I figured we could probably get down them, so long as we made the jump over the four-foot hole between us and it.

  “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”

  “No. I don’t.” A meaningful look, and then he finally looked away. “I’ll owe your brothers some money.”

  “Worry about them later. Let’s get on the road.”

  We picked our way to the hallway. I tested the floor and scooted forward until I stood on the edge of the hole. I glanced down. Below us was the living room. It looked mostly intact, except for fallen debris from the walls and ceiling. I leaped and landed on the other side, scooting over to the stairs so Price could follow. We descended the stairs, testing each tread before putting weight on it.

  I couldn’t help but think that the wreckage reflected my inner turmoil. I blew out a breath. I hadn’t lost Price yet, and I wasn’t going to spend all my time mourning what might never happen. Yeah right, a little voice in my head said. You should be so lucky. I told it to fuck off and grabbed Price’s hand.

  THE ROADS WERE decent. Flakes of snow fell, but the incoming storm would be a weak one. We had four-wheel drive, snow tires, and chains, plus a couple of charms to help with the rubber gripping the road. Price drove. That was fine with me. I knew how, but I spent most of my time on the subway, the bus, a bicycle, or my own two feet. Recently, thanks to Price, I’d become enamored of snowmobiles.

  After a while, I sensed that Price wasn’t being quiet because he was concentrating on the road. He was brooding. I decided that his thoughts were on his kidnapped brother.

  “Morrell isn’t going to kill him,” I said, not for the first time. Also completely unhelpfully. What did I know? Savannah Morrell was a psychopath as far as I could tell, and that made her completely unpredictable.

  “I know,” Price said, also not for the first time. “But there’s a lot of territory between healthy and dead, and Savannah knows just about every square inch of it.”

  “He’s strong. He’ll get through it.”

  “Doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, I wasn’t thinking about him.”

  I was silent a moment. “Oh.”

  “You ready to tell me yet what’s bothering you?”

  No, but he wasn’t going to let it go until I did. I leaned against my door. “Reality sucks.”

  He frowned, darting a glance at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I sighed and looked out. The sun had started turning the sky gray. Snow mounded on the mountain sides and blanketed the trees on either side of the road. “When Touray and I end up on opposite sides, I’m going to lose you.”

  There. The elephant in my world.

  Price stomped on the brakes, and we screeched to a halt. Thank goodness for really good road clearing. He jammed the SUV in park and twisted to give me one of his patented death glares.

  “What. The. Fuck. Is that supposed to mean?”

  I flicked a look at him and then turned my attention to the road ahead. And another metaphor for my life. “Just what I said. It’s going to happen, it’s just a question of when.”

  “That doesn’t have to be true,” he shot back. “You two don’t have to be at odds.”

  “I have two words for you: Kensington artifacts. He’s going to want that weapon. Hell, he’s going to need it to take down Savannah.”

  “You want her gone, too.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know it’s inevitable that we’ll lock horns. Maybe it won’t be the artifacts. Maybe it will be another disagreement. Then you’ll have to choose sides and you’ve already joined the business. Plus he’s your brother. You can’t let him down.”

  “But I can let you down?” Price’s voice was as cold as glacier ice.

  “I’m not saying you’ll want to, but what’s the choice? Like I said, reality sucks.”

  He faced away from me, his hands gripping the top of the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Abruptly he jammed the SUV into drive and took off. I waited for him to say something, but the miles reeled away—and nothing. Finally, I turned back to looking out the window. My stomach ached, along with a knot in my throat.

  I’m not sure how far we’d gone when he broke the wall of silence between us.

  “I’m not going to lose either one of you,” he said, grimly.

  I wasn’t worried about him losing me. I was worried about when he’d toss me aside.

  “Riley?” he prodded when I didn’t answer.

  I bit my lower lip, tasting blood. “Sure,” I said, because telling him he was delusional wasn’t going to help. “You’ll find a way.”

  Chapter 7

  Gregg

  GREGG WONDERED if he’d been shot in the head and was hallucinating. The last person who ought to be here was Taylor.

  “Come on,” she ordered, reaching out a hand.

  He staggered toward her. Seeing the difficulty of his movements, she hopped out to help him inside. She held a mini Uzi and focused her attention behind him, shooting a short burst.

  “Get the fuck in before you get hurt,” he growled.

  “You first.”

  Since the faster he moved, the faster she’d get the hell out of the line of fire, he did as told. Even though he hurried, his bullet wound and his half-frozen limbs made him clumsy and far too slow. Taylor grabbed his waistband and gave him a shove. He fell half across the green vinyl seat and half on the floor. She pushed his feet up out of the way as she clambered up onto the seat and slammed the door, sending a spike of blinding pain through his wounded leg.

  “Go!”

  But the driver had already hit the gas. They fishtailed and straightened. Taylor hooked her hand under Gregg’s arm and helped him up onto the seat. He slumped awkwardly against the door, trying to breathe through the tide of agony. She scanned him critically.

  “Got any leaks?”

  “Bullet in my left calf.”

  She set her weapon between them on the seat and twisted to grab a first-aid kit from the back. She po
pped it open and fished out a woman’s maxi-pad, along with a pressure bandage and a pair of medical scissors. She closed the box and set it on the floor.

  “I need your leg.”

  Gregg didn’t let his expression change as he twisted and lifted his foot. It hurt like fuck. She took it and set his heel on top of her knee. She cut a slice up his pants leg and peeled it away, flipping it back up over his thigh. She bent to look, her mouth pulling down.

  As she worked, Gregg scrutinized her. She looked as beautiful as ever, despite the circles under her eyes and the tense line of her mouth. Her hands moved deftly and surely.

  “Hold this for me,” she said, taking the wrapping off the pad and pressing it to the bullet hole.

  Gregg bit back a hiss. He sat forward and held the pad in place while she bound the bandage around it. When she was done, she lowered his foot back to the floor, wiping her fingers on her jeans, leaving dark bloody streaks.

  He pushed himself more upright against the door.

  “Do you want a painkiller?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Taylor nodded as if she’d expected as much.

  She eyed the driver. “Give me one of those heal-alls.”

  “Can’t,” Gregg said, holding up his arm. “Nulled.”

  Taylor frowned at it. “Did you escape or did Morrell let you go?” she asked.

  Gregg hid his surprise. Again, he’d underestimated her. He wouldn’t have thought she’d think Savannah letting him go was an option.

  She turned away, looking outside, scanning ahead and turning to look behind. He knew she’d been a pilot over in the sandbox for private military groups. He had as much data on her as was available. He’d never been able to put that tough-as-nails pilot together with the fashion plate she usually portrayed. But she used the Uzi with comfort, and skill and she had that hypervigilance of someone who’d spent time getting shot at. Not to mention her dressing of his wound had been quick and efficient, with no qualms about the gore.