by Tarah Benner
By the time we clear the mines, the sun is beating down with fierce intensity. My long-sleeve overshirt is soaked with sweat, and I fight the urge to strip down to my tank top and shorts.
I’m still replaying Eli’s words in my mind, and I’m so distracted that I barely notice him leading us in a completely different direction from last time. Instead of the imposing sandstone formations looming in the distance, all I see is open desert.
“Where are we going?” I ask in alarm. Surely I couldn’t have thrown Eli off his game so much that he lost his way.
“We’re taking a different route into town. It’s a longer walk, but there’s nowhere for the drifters to hide.”
“Oh . . . good.”
“And I doubt they would rebury our land mines all the way out here. Nobody from Recon comes this far north.”
I nod.
“Did you think we were lost?” he asks, clearly amused.
“No. Well . . . maybe a little.”
He chuckles, and it strikes me just how different this deployment seems. Our little moment made everything feel deceivingly light, but it’s more than that. After provoking Constance’s ire, I might actually be safer out here than I am in the compound.
Eli wasn’t kidding about the roundabout path being longer. My throat is parched from thirst, and I can feel the heat making an imprint on the top of my forehead and the bridge of my nose. I could really use a water break, but something about Eli’s purposeful stride makes me think he doesn’t want to slow down.
When I finally emerge from my bubble of discomfort, I see the fuzzy shape of a town looming off to our left. On our right, the highway carves a gentle path through the rugged terrain, the blacktop swimming in and out of focus in the sunshine.
We walk faster as we approach the town, and I grip my rifle a little tighter. There aren’t any rock formations to provide cover for a sniper, but the drifters probably still have lookouts stationed near the edge of town.
Then I hear a high-pitched rush of wind. It’s a sound I’ve heard twice before, but it takes me a second to recognize it.
Eli grabs me around the shoulders and pulls me to the ground. My elbows burn as they scrape pebbles and grit, but he pushes me down farther. He shimmies along next to me, trying to conceal himself in the slight slope of the land, and I copy his movements until we’re lying side by side.
That’s when I realize that the sound I heard was a car.
As the vehicle approaches, I tuck my head and focus on lying absolutely still. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, and I can feel Eli’s ragged breathing as his chest expands and contracts against my side.
There’s a sharp whoosh! as the hunter-green SUV blazes past us, and I let out a low breath of relief.
“It’s headed into town,” says Eli. “That has to be the Desperados.”
We lie in the dirt for several minutes, steeling ourselves for the possibility that we could encounter Owen’s gang.
“You think he’s with them?” I ask.
Eli lets out a long breath. “Only one way to find out.”
“What are you going to do if we find him?”
He shakes his head. “Hopefully get close enough to talk to him — tell him to get the hell out of here.”
“And you think he’ll listen?”
I don’t mean for the question to come out so indignant, but it does.
I only spent a few hours with Owen on our last deployment, but that was enough time to realize he was even more stubborn than Eli. I can’t imagine he’d cut and run just because his brother asked him to.
Then again, I never thought Eli would admit he had feelings for me, so it’s possible the Parker brothers aren’t as incorrigible as they like people to believe.
Once the SUV has disappeared from view, Eli helps me back up, and we continue our trek toward the town.
“Stay alert,” he mutters under his breath.
I nod and hurriedly wipe my sweaty palms on my fatigues.
That old fear of the Fringe is back in full force, and it feels like my first deployment all over again. At the sight of the SUV, all my training melted away — leaving me with nothing but my basic instincts. I try reminding myself that Eli is here, but that does little to quell my panic. He’s had so many close calls on the Fringe already.
Luckily, I don’t have much time to dwell on the horrible thoughts running through my mind. We’ve reached the outskirts of town, and unfamiliar buildings are popping up all around us.
Once we break through the sparse industrial area, we emerge onto a street that looks much nicer than the pit-stop side of town. The sidewalks are lined with old-fashioned street lamps and wrought-iron benches, and artsy shops and restaurants stretch all the way down the block.
We cut through the alleyway between a rustic-looking brewpub and a stationary store, but just as we step off the sidewalk into the street, male voices drift over on the wind.
I hear the scuff of their boots, but there’s no way to tell where the men are coming from.
I duck down between a trashcan and an empty newspaper stand, and Eli does the same. There isn’t a lot of room in our little hiding place, so he has to practically fold his body over mine.
The men round the corner, but they’re still too far away for me to discern what they’re saying. They’re in their midthirties and look less intimidating than most of the drifters I’ve seen guarding the town. They aren’t dressed in black T-shirts and bandanas like the Desperados; they’re wearing faded jeans, T-shirts, and button-downs. The two I can see are armed, but their handguns are tucked into holsters.
The men seem to decide something as a group, and one of them rubs his forehead, looking agitated. They talk for a few more seconds and then head out in opposite directions.
For several minutes, the only sound is Eli’s uneven breathing against the back of my neck. Then he rises into a standing position and pulls me up, too.
“Come on.”
Glancing around to make sure the men are really gone, I follow him across the street toward one of the touristy clothing stores. Its windows are still intact, and the wooden sign hanging over the door reads “Mountain Man Outdoor Emporium.”
Eli pulls a tool out of his belt and uses it to jimmy the lock. The door swings open easily, and I follow him inside.
The shade is a welcome relief, but it’s still hot and stuffy inside the store. I pull off my mask and take a huge drink of water, surveying the racks of outdoor clothing and sporting equipment.
“Who were those guys?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“No idea.”
Eli removes his mask and hangs it from a hook near the cash register. Then he heads straight for the men’s clothing.
Judging by the barren walls, the store owner must have sold off or taken anything valuable with him, but there’s still plenty of clothing hanging from the metal carousels.
“Pick out something to wear,” says Eli. “Our uniforms are too recognizable.”
“We’re changing?”
“Yeah. I don’t know who those men were, but they weren’t Desperados. There’s bound to be plenty more where they came from, and I’m not taking any chances.”
Eli doesn’t look up from the clothes, but the anxiety in his voice is palpable. He selects a light blue shirt from the rack, and the full meaning of his words finally sinks in.
“You want to pretend to be drifters?”
What he’s suggesting is brilliant, but it’s also treason. Recon operatives don’t go undercover. They work by staying out of sight and shooting drifters.
“We’re not going to become best friends or anything. We’re just going to blend in.”
I stare at the clothes. Something tells me we’d have a tough time passing for drifters up close. We’re too pale and much too clean. But these clothes would help us avoid attracting unwanted attention as we make our way across town.
I wander over to the other side of the store, where there’s a small
selection of women’s clothing. I rifle through the first rack of shirts I find and pull out a plum tank top that looks about my size.
As I hunt around for some shorts to match, I look up to ask Eli if we should grab jackets, too.
I never get the words out.
Eli has his head bent low, unbuttoning his shirt on the other side of the store. There’s something intimate about watching him undress, and I can’t stop staring.
His discarded overshirt hits the floor. He pulls his black T-shirt over his head, and the sight of his broad muscled back makes me forget what I was going to ask.
A loud zipping sound breaks the silence, and Eli’s upper body disappears behind the clothing rack. That’s enough to make me come to my senses.
I rip my gaze away from the spot where he was just standing and turn around. But in my haste, I stagger into another rack of clothes and almost impale myself on a rogue hanger.
Eli shoots back up at the rattling noise and lets out a low chuckle.
I jerk my head over my shoulder. “W-what?” But my red face gives me away.
Slowly, deliberately, Eli navigates around the rack and makes his way up the aisle between the men’s and women’s clothing. His low-slung khaki shorts are half unbuttoned, and he takes his sweet time sidling over to where I’m standing.
He’s still shirtless, and the low light filtering in from the dusty windows throws shadows over his magnificent chest and biceps.
When he’s barely two feet away, he jerks his head up and cracks a wicked grin. My breath catches a little, and I silently berate myself for being so enamored with him.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he whispers.
I feel myself blushing more, but I shake my head and return to browsing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“O-kay.”
I feel him edge closer, and I fight the urge to step back into his arms.
“You’re wearing this?” he asks, spotting the tank top hanging sideways on the rack.
“Mm-hmm.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach out and finger the thin strap. He lets out a low sigh, and my heart beats a little faster.
Then, without warning, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back against his bare chest. The shock of it knocks the wind out of me, and he rubs his palms low against my stomach.
“I feel like you have an unfair advantage now,” he murmurs, his breath disturbing my hair.
“Oh, yeah?” I choke. “What’s that?”
“You’ve seen me half-naked.”
My entire body feels as though it’s on fire, but I attempt a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing I hadn’t seen before,” I say, thinking of him in the ring.
He chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “Still counts.”
I can feel his heart hammering against my back, which is comforting and a little disorienting. His breathing is shallow and hungry in my ear, and his hands seem to be traveling lower with every pass.
At least I’m not the only one losing my shit.
I’m not used to this version of Eli — the guy who flirts and says what’s on his mind — but now is so not the time to test the boundaries of our weird relationship.
I clear my throat loudly and try to squirm out of his grip, but he doesn’t let go.
“I need to get changed.”
“I know.” I can hear a laugh on his lips, and he situates himself so his rough, bristly cheek rests against mine. “I think we need to even the score.”
Any semblance of composure I just gained evaporates instantly. I know I must be beet red from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, but I don’t fight him when he pulls away and pivots me around.
When I meet his gaze, my nervousness dissipates slightly. It’s the same old Eli — same probing blue eyes. But they’re filled with a desire that makes me nervous and excited at the same time.
My hand has a mind of its own when it reaches out to touch his chest. He drags in a labored breath, and his eyes follow my hand as it trails down to his tight stomach.
I stop for a minute to brush my thumb over the smooth skin between his abs and his hipbone, but he grabs my hand away and pulls me into him.
This time when our lips meet, there’s no careful exploration. Eli’s kiss is frantic and a little out of control. My pulse is racing, and his skin feels unusually hot.
My brain completely abandons the situation, and all I can do is grab hold of him and try to take everything in.
For the first time, I have the chance to run my hands all over his firm chest and beautiful arms, and I take full advantage of the situation.
But before I’ve finished memorizing every line of him, Eli draws back. There’s a slight smirk playing on those skillful lips, and his eyes crackle with mischief as they flicker down my body. “Fair’s fair, Riley.”
If I weren’t so flustered, I might give him a playful punch right in those delicious abs. But when neither of us moves, everything becomes much more serious.
His smile fades slightly, and his gaze becomes very intense. It feels as though he threw down a dare and I didn’t blink.
Slowly, his hands travel up my arms to my collar, and he starts unsnapping my overshirt. He’s trying to take his time, but his breathing grows a little heavier with every button.
When my shirt is hanging open, he meets my eyes again, and I shrug my shoulders so he can pull it off my arms.
Things have gotten real.
I tilt my head up to kiss him again, and he opens his mouth for me right away. His kiss is deeper — hungrier than before. Then he puts a few inches between us and tugs on the hem of my tank top.
In one sharp motion, it goes up and over, bra and all. A slight chill prickles up my spine, and when my clothes hit the floor, Eli’s eyes widen.
His rough hands travel down my arms and back up my bare waist, and I shiver when the tips of his fingers brush my spine. We lock eyes, and he brings his lips down again to kiss me softly.
A slow burning heat is making its way down my body, and I’m surprised at the thoughts that flash through my mind.
Then a tiny, annoying voice in my head reminds me that this isn’t the time or the place.
What did we come here for again? Oh, that’s right: We’re on an assassination mission.
Eli seems to read my mind. I can feel his hands slowing down, tracing slow circles on my back as though he’s savoring the last touch.
“We should probably get going,” I mutter against his neck.
“Yeah.” His voice is low and rough.
I start to pull back, but he holds me just a few inches away and takes one last lingering look. I flush under the intensity of his gaze, but then he threads his fingers in my hair and places a kiss on my forehead that makes all my anxiety disappear.
“I guess you need this,” he says, grabbing the thin tank top off the hanger.
I clear my throat. “Bra.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He turns away a little as I get dressed, and I mentally shake myself to clear the fog clouding my senses.
Now more than ever, I understand why romantic entanglements are such a bad idea in Recon. It’s going to be tough to focus on the mission after what just happened.
Eli pulls the shirt he found over his head backwards, and I fight a laugh as he twists it around to the correct position. Things are about to get interesting.
seven
Eli
As soon as the blazing sun hits my shoulders, I’m a dead man walking. I’m on high alert for the sound of approaching footsteps, but I’m pretty sure if a drifter jumped out in the street and aimed a gun at me, I’d just stand there and eat lead.
My mind is consumed by thoughts of Harper: her body, her eyes, the way she felt against me . . .
I hadn’t expected that to happen. I was ninety percent joking about evening the score; I never thought she’d go for it — especially after the Mina incident.
Seeing her staring at me shut off that
part of my brain that acts as a filter, and the words just slipped out of my mouth. And seeing that she wanted me as much as I’ve wanted her, well . . .
“Shouldn’t we go this way?” asks Harper, calling me back to reality.
“Huh?” I stop, trying to get my bearings before she realizes that I was completely lost in thought.
She points down a side street. “The restaurant . . . don’t you think we should start there?”
“Oh.” My brain lurches as it tries to refocus on the mission. “Yeah. Owen could show up to deliver a message from Jackson.”
I try to make it sound as though the idea just occurred to me so she doesn’t think I was about to lead us in the wrong direction.
What is the matter with me? I know where the restaurant is, but something about her skimpy purple tank top is completely screwing with my internal compass.
“Sorry. I just got turned around for a second.”
She gives me a funny look over the top of her mask but turns down the street.
Harper is way more alert than I am. Her posture is casual, but her right hand keeps inching toward the handgun at her hip. We can’t shoot anyone without blowing our cover, but the instinct is automatic.
We left most of our supplies back at the store. Our compound-issued rifles and rucksacks would have been a dead giveaway that we were with Recon, but traveling so light makes me feel naked.
If we were really committed, we would have ditched our masks, too, but blending in perfectly isn’t worth breathing in all those radioactive particles.
Luckily, the place is swarming with out-of-towners like the men we saw near the outdoor supply store, so the masks shouldn’t attract attention. For all anybody knows, we could have traveled here from Salt Lake City or another red zone.
To avoid having to speak to any drifters, we stick to side streets and make our way slowly toward the old abandoned restaurant the Desperados use as their base. Every so often, the voices of approaching drifters float toward us, and Harper turns down another street to avoid a face-to-face encounter. If anyone gets too close or asks the wrong questions, they’ll be able to tell we aren’t drifters.
