by Inez Kelley
Nomad, that was his name. It hit her like a bolt of lightning when he looked up.
“If I’m cooking, it’s just as easy to cook for a couple more. Do you want some brunch?” They glanced at each other. Irritation shot through her. “I do this for a living. I promise it will be edible.”
“Sure, if it’s not any trouble.” Myth nodded.
Nomad shrugged. Her spine stiffened. Well, he could eat or not, she was fixing it. And what the hell was with their names? Nomad? Myth? What kind of names were those? They had to be call signs or something, like in the military movies her dad used to love. What was the problem with plain old Bob or Tom or Joe?
Surrounded by her world of kitchen harmony, she was barely aware of other voices in the adjacent room. She glanced out the window over the sink. Nothing looked familiar. The mountains were exploding in the autumn colors of russet, gold and persimmon, but they were steeper than she was used to. The noise level increased. A quick glance showed Erik and two others had come in. Lacy chewed her lip.
The men in the other room were strangers and scary as hell. Well, the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She really didn’t want their hearts but still, a little bacon went a long way toward making friends. She whipped a batch of pancakes, guesstimating the portions and adding more eggs.
Erik and Dray were both soaking wet. She glanced back at the sun pouring through the window. What’d they do, run through the sprinklers?
“Brunch in ten,” she called. “Go dry off.”
Erik’s eyes widened. He abandoned his teammates and headed toward the kitchen. Grace infused his stride like a great cat, all lithe power and harnessed savagery. Water squished in his boots and trickled along his chin. He looked over her outfit with his forehead wrinkled. “That’s an interesting look.”
“Sorry, I raided your dresser.” She pulled a tray of biscuits out of the oven. “I hope that’s okay.”
Erik shrugged. “If it keeps you from being naked in front of these guys, I’m all for it.”
“Where’d you sleep last night?”
He blinked. “What?”
“There wasn’t a blanket on your couch and —” A blush warmed her face. “— you didn’t sleep with me, so I just wondered. I hate the idea I’m forcing you out of your own apartment.”
He captured her ponytail in his hand, running his fingers through it. “You’re not. And I like the idea of you in my bed. I just want to be there, too. When you’re awake.”
The skillet was hot, eggs just starting to cook, but his words sent heat through her from the inside out. She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Are you saying I have to sleep with you for a place to stay?”
A spark flared in his eyes, silver in the gunmetal gray. “I could be a gentleman and say no… but I’ve never been a gentleman.”
The playful twitch around his mouth sent a tendril of desire snaking through her belly. She rose to her tiptoes, her mouth an inch from his. “Then I’ll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed all to yourself.”
“Witch,” he chuckled. Hard arms came around her waist, lifted her and pressed her to his chest. His kiss was deep and wet. His clothes were wet, too, and soaked the front of her tee shirt.
She angled back. “Hey, you’re going to give the others a show if you don’t let me go. Why are you wet, anyway?”
“It’s raining in Portugal.”
Resignation erased her questions. More secrecy involving his job. “Okay, whatever.”
His focus landed on her mouth, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Lace, you don’t have to sleep with me because you’re staying here, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want you.”
“Same here.” She pressed at his chest, halting him when he leaned in close at her words. “But we’re practically strangers.”
One of them had to be the responsible one, even if the irresponsible choice was so very, very tempting. His mouth was inches from her skin. His wet, silky hair grazed the underside of her chin as he placed a soft kiss on her neck. The simple contact was very close to her undoing. He smelled of rain and salt and earthy maleness. His lips nibbled up to the shell of her ear and she teetered on the edge of giving in right there in the kitchen, with his team mates just outside the room.
“We might be strangers, but by morning, we’d know each other damned well.”
The low, husky promise had her nipples peaking against the soft cotton of the pilfered tee shirt, had her fingers slicking up his damp nape to thread into his hair. “Morning can bring regrets, too. Let’s just see what happens, okay?”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
Her laugh bubbled out. “No, a quest for my hero… Seduce me.”
“I can do that.” A wicked grin curved his lip.
She stepped out of his arms. “I’m sure you can, but for now, you have ten minutes if you want hot food. Go clean up.”
“Lace.” Low and private, his whisper trickled over her skin. “You don’t have to earn your keep here, either in my bed or in the kitchen. Rest, take it easy.”
The hot bread burned her fingertips as she loaded a basket, tossing a dishtowel over the top to trap the steam. Some of her contentment bled away. She’d used cooking as a soothing balm and now felt guilty, as if she’d overstepped some hidden line. “This wasn’t a chore for me. It’s something I wanted to do, that’s all.”
His fingers were cool as they slid along her cheek. “Okay.”
She wanted to turn her head and press her cheek into his palm but the eggs would burn. She stepped away and gave them a quick stir. The false-scowl she shot him was tinged in play. “You’re not eating at my table in those wet clothes. Go change.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped a kiss on her lips and stole a biscuit from the basket before heading toward the elevator.
That gentle kiss, just lips on lips in the lightest touch, soothed her. She went back to work, needing to be useful, to give back something to someone. The soft ping of the elevator came at the ideal time. Erik and Dray, both in dry clothes, stepped out of the silver doors.
“Brunch is ready.”
A mass of masculine muscle herded toward her. Deep down, something fluttered in her belly, an instinctual flight response. She pushed it aside. This might not be her kitchen, but she’d commandeered it for the moment and this was her domain. She lifted her cup in welcome. “Buffet style, gentlemen. Help yourselves.”
The mountains of food disappeared. Before the last man had filled his plate, Lacy was making more pancakes and had a second batch of biscuits in the oven. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dray cross himself and close his eyes. His lips moved for a moment, then he repeated the sign and picked up his fork. That small move, the offering of solitary prayer, surprised her. It erased a layer of her unease.
Despite their size, they all handled their tableware with perfect manners. For a long while, there was little talk. Slowly, the age-old comfort of a full belly loosened their tongues and the conversations grew. The sounds of forks on plates blended with voices and laughter, making a music that soothed her. This was what she was good at; making people feel at home, relaxed and welcome. The scowls disappeared and the banter lightened as they ate thick-cut bacon, hash brown casserole and biscuits with sawmill gravy.
Coffeepot in hand, she made rounds, topping off each mug. She turned toward the cabinet and froze. Zale stood leaning against the counter, blocking the coffee maker. He wasn’t eating but watching everyone with shrewdly narrowed eyes. They slid to her, capturing her in their icy depths. She’d heard the expression “an old soul” before but never understood it until now. He couldn’t be more than thirty, but his eyes were ancient.
Her throat closed, trapping the air in her chest. Her grip on the coffeepot tightened. Something primal stirred in her and goose bumps broke along her arms.
He looked at her like prey.
“Excuse me.” Her voice trembled just a touch.
He straightened, shifting for
ward a half step, a half step into her personal space. The unspoken threat cascaded like ice and she fought a shiver. He wasn’t the tallest or the biggest in the room, but he alone scared her. Fear stuck her feet to the floor.
“Zale.” Warning rumbled in Erik’s tone. A lazy smirk curled Zale’s lip, like a fish-fed cat toying with a mouse, but he stepped away.
“Ignore him. He’s a dick.”
“Erik!” Her harsh whisper wasn’t exactly quiet.
Erik shrugged and poured himself more orange juice. “He knows he’s a dick, don’t you, Zale?”
The team leader’s only response was to flip him the bird as he strode out of the kitchen. Lacy closed her eyes and sucked in a slow breath. The peace of a few moments ago lay shattered by the exchange. Talk softened and slowed until only the scrape of cutlery could be heard. The last few bites were hurried. Nomad was the first to shove his chair back, but then it was a race to see who could escape the kitchen first. Erik alone remained behind.
Lacy wiped her hands on a dishtowel that looked brand new. Zale had killed any enjoyment of the meal. He didn’t have to be grateful, but was being polite too much to ask for? “Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead and I need to call Annie.”
“Sure.” Erik dug into his pocket and laid the cell beside the salt and pepper. “Zale’s an asswad. Ignore him.”
She fisted the phone and turned toward the window. One more thing, just one more thing and she’d break like a bird’s wing and collapse into a weeping mess. She refused to let this break her. She’d lost things. Things could be replaced. People she loved couldn’t.
Ducking out of the side door, she braved the cold wind for a bit of privacy. The kitchen opened onto a patio that held a grimy glass-topped table and chairs set. The umbrella was closed, but mildew stains showed at the folds. Her lip curled, imagining what type of mold was breeding on the vinyl cushions. She settled on one of the low steps leading into a stretch of grass and relaxed her shoulders before she dialed.
Annie sounded like a three-pack-a-day smoker but she was unhurt, alive and breathing. But the relief in her tone at Lacy’s safety was palpable. There was only three years difference in their ages, but Lacy was a mama bear and Annie her cub.
Lacy harped on monitoring her blood sugars. Annie sighed and said, “Yes, Mom.”
Tears came as Annie listed the dead from the diner explosion and each face swam into Lacy’s mind. Doreen, Mr. Clements, the elderly Iverly sisters; so many people who had done nothing wrong but still lost their lives. Annie promised to get burial information as Lacy wanted to send flowers.
The gnawing worry eased as Annie’s smoke-ravaged voice assured her she was fine. The medic station was letting her camp out until she could find an apartment or house for rent. They hadn’t had renter’s insurance so everything was just gone. She told Lacy about all the donations and outpouring of offers from friends and strangers. They laughed together about finally permanently fixing the perpetual slow drip in the bathroom in a dramatic way. Annie even swore she was taking up karaoke, singing old Randy Travis songs as a new hobby to match her new voice.
The smiles felt good, banishing some of the darkness from Lacy’s head. Her baby sister was fine. “Hot tea with lots of lemon. And gargle with salt water.”
“Lacy, stop with the mothering.” The admonishment was soft.
“I’m just worried about you.”
“I know and I love you but stop, really. I’m a big girl now.”
“You’re still my baby sister.”
“But not a baby. Look, just tell your hero to keep you safe or I’ll introduce him to a pissed-off paramedic. I have shock paddles and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“Call me,” Lacy pleaded.
“I will, promise. Stay safe.”
“Love you,” Lacy whispered, but all she heard was silence.
She rubbed her arms, striving for warmth but she wasn’t ready to go inside yet. The air made her tingle and feel alive. Alive was a good feeling right now. Alive but alone.
Erik’s arms circled her from behind. Immediate warmth cocooned her and she didn’t fight the urge to lean back against his chest. She needed someone to hold her up, if only for a minute. She tried to hand back his phone but he shook his head, his chin wiggling against her stitches. They didn’t even twinge.
“Keep it. I have another.”
Staring at the cell, her breathing grew choppy. She was virtually dependent on him for everything right now. She was both grateful and mortified. How had her life been reduced to this? Less than a week ago, the worst thing she had to worry about was praying her car lasted as long as the payments. Where was her car? Did she still have a car? Annie had parked it beside the house, but that was before the fire.
Firm hands rubbed her chest. “Lace, breathe. You’re hyperventilating.”
Spots flashed and she forced herself to take deep, slow breaths until they faded away.
“You okay?”
Irritation clenched her teeth. “My house burned down. I don’t have a job. People died because of me. My sister is alone, and I don’t have any underwear. No, Erik, I am not okay.”
An eerie calmness echoed in her words, so different from the turmoil in her soul that it scared her. Was this what people sounded like before a breakdown? The shock fueled her. She was not about to let some nutjobs destroy her life.
Lifting her chin, she pulled away from his embrace. “Sorry. Meltdown averted.”
“Babe, that wasn’t a meltdown. It wasn’t even a tantrum. I wish I could make you feel better.”
“You know what would make me feel better? My own clothes. I have a little cash in my purse. Is there a Wal-Mart or something close?”
“Lace, you can’t leave. It’s too dangerous. Come here.”
Taking her hand, he led her inside. Down the hall from the kitchen were several rooms with closed doors. The third one stood open, exposing a computer set up that made her eyes pop. Some sort of cables connected a mutant-motherboard to four different screens spaced along a room-long counter against the wall. A heavy metal desk with two other screens had papers spread over it. In the corner, a shelf held gizmos and gadgets she couldn’t even begin to name.
Erik wasn’t interested in the computers. He motioned instead to a small couch behind her and the three plastic bags tossed there.
“It’s nothing much, just a few clothes and stuff.”
The plastic bag rustled loudly as she peeked inside. Two packs of cotton panties, a couple pair of jeans, a few tops. Her fingers tightened around a bundle of plain white ankle socks. “You bought me clothes?”
One broad shoulder shrugged. “Some.”
“Is this part of your seduction plans?”
He grinned. “I did buy condoms.”
She dug through the other two bags. A pair of sneakers. A pair of slippers. A hairbrush. A toothbrush. A tube of lip balm. Secret deodorant. Fruity shampoo and conditioner. Some expensive body lotion. Her lower lip quivered.
“I checked your shoes and jeans for sizes, but I had to guess at the other stuff.” He sniffed and looked out the window. “I had no idea on bra sizes so I didn’t buy any of those. Sorry.”
A tingle shot through her lips as she bit them while lifting the last thing from the bag, a huge earthenware mug in glazed moss green. Just like the set she had at home, or had before the fire took everything.
“I wish I could bring back all your things, but I thought at least you could have the right cup for your tea.”
The mug bounced on the couch as she wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“If the colors are wrong or anything, I can exchange them.”
“They’re perfect.” Angling back, she stroked his cheek and tried to smile through her bitten back tears. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”
He looped his arms around her waist. “Lace, I’d take all the bad stuff that’s happened away if I could, but I can’t. This is nothing but some money spent to give you something you
needed. You can’t leave H2Q, not yet anyway, but if you need to order some more stuff online, let me know. I don’t want you using your credit card for a while.”
Right. Because someone was stalking her and she wouldn’t want to lead them to H2Q over a bra order. “The cops are looking for me. Annie said I’m wanted for questioning in the fires.”
Two fingers tipped her chin up until his eyes bore into hers. “Let me handle that, all right? You’re the one in danger and my team has you in protective custody. They can filter their questions through me or Rex. He’s our lawyer and can act in your behalf.”
“Thanks.” Discussing the destruction of her life with anyone was only slightly less appealing than a root canal. She stepped from his arms and waved one hand around. “Whose office is this?”
“Myth’s. I just dropped the stuff in here while you were asleep.”
Every room seemed to have the same giant patio doors leading out. Squinting from the sunshine, she shielded her eyes and looked out at the place she was calling temporary home. Every door led to the courtyard of a seven-sided complex. Her nose wrinkled. Seven? What was wrong with a nice square or rectangle? What do you even call a seven-sided shape, a seven-a-gon?
It looked like any modern apartment building anywhere in the world, a massive thrust of amber stone, gray steel and shimmering glass that wrapped around on all sides and totally blocked escape. But the center courtyard boasted a flat stretch of grass easily two-acres wide. Several patios on the ground level held some form of outdoor seating and one long patch had been shaped into an herb-garden of some kind that was roped off from the rest. A humungous natural boulder sat in the dead center of the courtyard like a Volvo-sized altar.
Large windows and regularly spaced balconies reflected the sun back out. She really should have opened the drapes in Erik’s apartment, she realized. He must have an amazing view.
“How big is this place?”
“Pretty big. We used to have more guys but… Living quarters are on the upper level. Main floor is all common space and the basement is the garage. Beneath that is off limits for you, sorry. It’s our work space.”
