Skygods (Hydraulic #2)

by Sarah Latchaw

  Samuel leaned against the counter, his long legs crossed, arms folded. A single eyebrow lifted at my panicked face. A little smile played on his lips.

  “Care to explain, Trilby, why you have seven bottles of wine stashed above your refrigerator, yet your wine rack is empty?”

  My eyes flicked between my perturbed…whatever he was and the contraband in my cabinet. I decided to play it cool. “I wanted to be respectful of your lifestyle, Samuel.”

  He nodded, waiting for me to say more.

  “It’s not that I think you’re weak or you’ll cave, or anything,” I added quickly. “I just didn’t want to be insensitive, that’s all. And Caroline never drinks around you, so…”

  Samuel reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I know you’re being helpful, Kaye. I just want to make sure you understand you don’t have to go to those sorts of lengths. If we have dinner and you want to enjoy an occasional glass of wine, don’t hesitate because you believe I’ll be offended, or tempted, or uncomfortable. You don’t have to drastically change your life for me.”

  “But that’s just it, Samuel. I want to change my life for you. I want to be supportive and consider your feelings and needs, and all that. If it upsets you that I put up the wine bottles, then I’ll move them back to my wine rack. Or I’ll just get rid of them altogether—whatever you need. You always want to take care of me. Just give me a chance to return the favor, please.”

  Some powerful emotion crossed Samuel’s blue eyes, setting them alight. He tugged me to him and folded me into his chest, his chin resting on top of my head. “Why don’t we take care of each other—make it a mutual thing?”

  I chuckled against his worn Clash T-shirt, surprised it wasn’t a cleaning rag by now. “What a novel idea.”

  As we dug into the chicken salad, I recognized my window to broach the dossier. “Samuel, do you remember number three of our friendship vows?”

  He peered at me, instantly alerted to my discomfort. “Sure. Fight for your reputation, guard your back.”

  “Well, I have a confession to make.” I took a deep breath. “I have something here in the apartment that violates number three, and it could ruin your reputation if it ever got out.”

  He lowered his sandwich, sharp eyes questioning. “Are you talking about my arrest record?”

  “Not just that. Lots of records—school, arrest, newspaper clippings, any public record, really. I’m so very sorry, Samuel.”

  “May I see them?”

  I slipped from the table and fetched the file. I watched silently as he flipped through paper after paper, hissing one minute, stoic the next. At last, he closed the file and laid it on the table between us.

  “This is everything?”

  I blinked. “Is there more?”

  He shook his head, closed his hurt eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “How?” he choked out. “Why?”

  “The ‘how’ was Jaime Guzman. Why? It’s complicated.” I explained how I’d approached Jaime for help in getting Caroline out of the way with a healthy dose of revenge on the side. I told him I never intended to make the dossier public and kept it buried in my underwear drawer. Ashamed, I wordlessly watched as he left the apartment. I stared at the door for a full hour, gnawing on a thumbnail, frightened I wouldn’t see him again. Then he returned, noticeably looser.

  “What do you plan to do with this file, Kaye?” he asked.

  “Shred it, pitch it. Right now, if you’d like. I would have done it sooner, but I wanted to tell you the truth—give you a chance to chew me out.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t do that.”

  “Why not? I deserve it.”

  “Because everything in that file is the truth, things you should have been privy to from the very beginning. It’s my fault those records even exist.”

  I exhaled and squeezed his shoulder as I cleared away our lunch plates, sandwiches long dried out. “Samuel, sometimes I wish you’d just get angry at me instead of blaming yourself all the time.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t angry,” he replied, his voice tight. “But it seems like a colossal waste of time to ‘chew you out’ when I’m only here through Saturday. You apologized. We’ll destroy the file, no harm done. It’s behind us.”

  I clutched the file in my arms as I led Samuel down the stairs and into my TrilbyJones office where the magical problem shredder resided. I truly hoped he was right, that it was behind us and we could leave for our grotto trip with clear air…

  Cassady flipped the turn signal and exited the road at a pancake house south of Cloud Lake, not far from the caves, just as the morning sun burned the last of the fog from the sky. Despite the early hour, the parking lot was bustling, and Samuel instantly tensed. Without a word, he slipped on a broken-in Red Sox cap and pulled it low over his forehead, shading his face. But when we were seated across from Molly and Cassady in a corner booth of the packed greasy spoon, he looked torn between good manners and flashing his recognizable face. Manners won out, as always, and he tossed the hat on the bench next to him and smoothed his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.

  Sure enough, minutes later a nervous woman, then a second, then a third crowded the table, camera phones whipped out. I tried to duck out of the pictures, praying no photos of me with a messy ponytail and shiny face surfaced on the Internet. Meanwhile, our poor waitress returned with a tray full of pancakes, syrup carafes, and sausage, and struggled to slide around Samuel’s readers. Molly jumped up and squeezed past the women, guiding hot plates to the table.

  Samuel turned on his best charming smile. “I’d be happy to take a picture with you after we eat—”

  “Do you mind terribly if I steal your seat?” The second woman was polite, but strong-looking and could tie me in a death knot with her pinkie. Samuel mouthed a “sorry” to me. I nodded and slipped out of the booth so the woman could take her pictures. The third woman, a much smaller and non-threatening person, smiled apologetically. Suddenly, recognition swept across her face.

  “Oh, you’re Neelie Nixie! Can you sign my magazine?”

  “Ah…sure.” She fished through her monster purse, triumphantly pulling out today’s issue of A-Okay and a pen.

  “Here, you can use my back.”

  As I propped the magazine against her floral shoulder and scrawled my name on the cover, I froze. There, in all its pixilated glory, was my face—pinched brow, mouth hanging open. Not the best candid shot. Next to the box was a gorgeous photo of Indigo Kingsley decked out as Neelie Nixie. And hovering above both of us was a puzzled Samuel, with the following caption:

  Cabral Confused: Kingsley jilted for real-life Neelie?

  Molly, peering over my shoulder at the article, loosed a low whistle. I inwardly groaned and returned the magazine. My apartment phone would be ringing off the hook again. The woman thanked me.

  “You’re a lot prettier in person. Still, Sam’s an idiot for blowing it with someone like Indigo. That’s what all the sites are saying—he has a reputation for messing around with fans, if you know what I mean. Lucky girls.” She winked and I felt bile surge in my throat. Samuel grabbed my elbow and pulled me back into the booth, placing a protective hand in the dip of my waist.

  “Okay then! Thanks for stopping over,” Molly said too brightly, and attempted to usher them from our table. Cassady grunted through a mouthful of whole grain pancakes, already halfway through his breakfast.

  “Nice meeting you, ladies,” Samuel added kindly but dismissively and finally, they took the hint and left us to our cooling pancakes. He buried his face in my hair and breathed.

  “I’m so very sorry, Kaye. I should have warned you about the article and the sites. All lies, I promise you.”

  I snapped around to stare at him, incredulous. “You knew? I thought you never paid attention to the stories.”

  His lips curled. “Number three: fight for your reputation. And that includes the trash the tabloids print. I’ve asked Caroline to give me a heads up if something runs that�
��s out of her control. She warned that the gossip rags are getting restless because she hasn’t fed them anything juicy lately.”

  “But, Samuel, what if they…” I couldn’t complete the thought with Cassady and Molly sitting there, watching us with curious eyes, but he understood I was alluding to his drug years.

  Samuel also glanced at Cassady and Molly, debating whether he could speak freely in front of them, and decided he could. “I’ve called in a favor to Indigo and pretty much begged her to go public with a new romance,” he said quietly, just for our ears. “She’s not thrilled to be pegged as the victim of a love triangle, so she’s considering it.”

  Molly leaned in conspiratorially. “Who’s the new guy? Someone famous?”

  Again Samuel paused, considering how much he should say. “A coworker from the Water Sirens movie.”

  “Is that why the two of you broke up? Because she was seeing someone on the movie set?” Molly pried. Cassady rolled his eyes. I just shrugged, because I secretly wanted to hear Samuel’s answer, too.

  “Um…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, that was just the final nail in the coffin. Indigo hadn’t been happy for a while with our intimacy. Or lack thereof,” he mumbled, red creeping up his neck.

  If Danita had been privy to this conversation, she would have mercilessly said something along the lines of “No way! The Indigo Kingsley dumped you because you wouldn’t put out? That’s so girly of you, Samuel!” But Danita wasn’t there, and in her place were four rather polite people who just cleared their throats and played with their coffee cups after Samuel’s admission.

  Conversation shifted, but the truth about Samuel’s dysfunctional sex life with Indigo niggled in my mind. More than niggled—it brewed, stewed, and bubbled with curiosity and, more darkly, jealousy. Who were these women Samuel had chosen above the masses to pursue? What did he find attractive in them?

  Justifications for prying into Samuel’s missing years neatly aligned themselves. I knew he had not lived as a monk. Given his past drug use and erraticism, the practical thing would be to find out with whom he’d been, right? And with all the flirting, the innuendos, and the small yet intimate brushes and touches flying between Samuel and me, one of us would be hurt if we put off that discussion much longer. Today I would exorcise these long-legged, unfreckled ghosts and, with any luck, my jealousy.

  Groovy Adventures Kevin was a stocky California transplant with blond “hang-ten” hair and the surfer-dude speak to match. He’d already pitched tents on a bed of pine needles by the time we found him amid skyscraper ponderosas of the primitive Cloud Lake campground. He tossed each of us a hardhat with a mounted headlamp, spare batteries, an extra flashlight, leather gloves, coveralls, knee pads, and a small first aid kit for our thin backpacks. I turned the hardhat in my hands, grateful Tricia had suggested I start a regimen of Advil and pack extra gauze for my stitches.

  Samuel looked dubious.

  “Are they sending us into the mines?” he whispered facetiously. “Do we get pick axes, too?”

  I snorted. “Trust me, after several hours scooting around on your hands and knees in near freezing temperatures, you’ll be kissing Kevin for the extra equipment.”

  Kevin broke us in with an easy foot tour through the largest, more traversed lower part of the cave. A path led to the cave entrance, flanked on both sides by a prehistoric world of rock layers, and I could see Samuel’s mind churning in his love for science and discovery.

  The cave itself was a system of colorful, sparkling walls and dripping stalactites and stalagmites found in limestone grottos, tapering off into pitch black caverns. An odd fungus also coated the caves. At first I thought it was shimmering silver, but Samuel pointed out that the shining effect was caused by condensation collecting on the tips and, under our lights, it shimmered.

  After we finished the main tube, Kevin suggested we pair up and hunt down some of the other, more hidden caves in the area. We decided to meet back at camp by six o’clock.

  “Here’s the thing about serious grotto clubs,” Groovy Kevin explained. “We don’t like to share cave locations with anyone else, because it means stupid people come in and totally contaminate that delicate ecosystem, get it? It’s kind of like Fight Club—the first rule is no one mentions cave locations. The second rule is…ha, gotcha. No touching those cute little stalagmites. Respect the cave, dudes. Respect the cave.”

  Samuel’s fingers brushed along the inside of my arm, coming to rest around my gloved hand. “Come on,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “I think I spotted a cave entrance not far off the trail and I’d like to check it out.”

  I gripped his hand and let him lead me away from the group. My palm was clammy as I anxiously pondered ways to introduce the ol’ “previous partners” conversation. Away from the group, I likely wouldn’t have a more ideal time to broach the matter. We pushed through brush until we halted in front of a four-foot skylight in the wall of a moss-covered cliff. Samuel crouched down and shined his light into the hole.

  “It’s only about six feet and there’s a slope—a natural slide,” he announced. “Let me go first and I’ll help you once I’m in.”

  I internally rolled my eyes but indulged him in his need for chivalry. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland, peering down the rabbit hole,” I commented as I watched him disappear through the opening.

  “Please tell me you’re not imagining a white, fluffy tail on my ass,” he quipped, his voice echoing through the cavern. I laughed, my nerves easing.

  “I am now, bunny ears and all. It’s very sexy.”

  I felt a tug on my ankle as Samuel pulled me through, flipping my world upside-down. I shrieked and fell into the darkness as cold air washed over my face. I was relieved when two arms caught me and eased me to the ground. But my relief soon gave way to shock as Samuel, rather than releasing me to the dank, black air, tugged me closer. One hand gripped my hip and pulled me hard against him. The other drifted up my side, slipping beneath my coveralls and settled in the small of my back. My heart hit my throat and I gasped. My head fell against his shoulder and my unbuckled hardhat tumbled to the ground, erratic light bouncing against rocks until it settled, casting us both in shadow. He dropped his own hat next to mine and his hand frantically sought me again, his fingers digging into my hipbone as if they could burrow through my layers of clothing and touch my flesh.

  “Kaye…” he breathed, a strange mix of husk and whimsy. “Tell me what you want.”

  I released a shuddery breath against his neck, remembering this very question from that night we’d spent at the ball diamond. I knew the answer he was searching for.

  “I want you,” I whispered fiercely, clutching his back. I kissed his jaw once, twice, my tongue briefly darting out to taste the salt of his skin the way I’d desired to all afternoon. He growled and pressed me against the uneven wall. His hand slid from my back and braced himself against the grime above my head. Kevin’s warning about cave walls flitted through my head, but it was gone just as fast because…well. His mouth feathered over the sensitive skin of my throat.

  “You can have me, Firecracker. Just say the words and you can have me.”

  Flipping golden. I would have sold my soul to hear him utter those alluring words seven years ago. Even now, I ached for him to take me against this cave wall and literally screw the delicate ecosystem. Our fast and heavy breaths echoing over us like surround sound. I wanted to groan out like a ravenous romance heroine, “Forget the stupid window-waiting, you can have me too, you amazing creature.” But as crazy as it was, that contaminated ecosystem smearing my back with basalt only served as an odd little parallel to another delicate balance I was desperately fighting to preserve. And nurture. And fortify so it could survive long, long years.

  I shed my gloves and wove my fingers through his matted, wild hair, gently yanking his face from my neck. His eyes were shadowed, but I imagined they were glassy with lust, probably similar to mine. I slowly, silently strok
ed his scalp. Finally, I felt the frenzied tension begin to seep from his body and he released my leg, letting it drop weakly to the ground. Likewise, his head sank to my collarbone, resigned.

  “Not yet,” he sighed.

  I traced his hairline and softly kissed it. “Not yet. Not until I know this man again. And I need to know you, so badly. There’s something there, Samuel. Something vital you’re not letting me in on.”

  Samuel allowed himself another minute of calm before kissing my collarbone and pushing away from the wall. I discreetly reclaimed our hardhats from the ground while he did some adjusting, then tossed one to him. He caught it, flipped on the light, and gave me a guilty, toothsome grin. Ugh, he was going to be the death of me.

  “Kevin’s going to be really pissed you smudged his cave wall,” I teased.

  “Somehow, I think the wall was ruined a long time ago. I’m not terribly concerned about it right now.”

  I laughed and playfully swatted his backside. “Get moving, White Rabbit. Let’s go explore Wonderland.”

  “You know, Carroll’s rabbit hole was allegorical for the back stairs into the main hall of Christ Church. Actually, most of the story is based around people and places at Oxford.”

  “Freaking rabbits, Samuel! Quit ruining my fairy tales.”

  He chuckled and gripped my hand as we ducked into the cave. And let me tell you, Freud had nothing on this. Unlike the main part of the cave, these tunnels were much narrower. We often had to lie flat on our stomachs and army crawl through mud and grime and bat guano. I kept my head low so it wouldn’t brush against the small, phallic stalagmites calcifying on the top of the tunnel, but I only ended up banging my chin on a rock jutting up from the ground.

  Samuel’s lithe, toned shoulders pulled his body weight through the cave like he’d been born to belly crawl. My thoughts turned to our steamy moment at the cave skylight and my face flushed, not just from exertion. Though boyhood was long gone, I still knew every inch of him, every curve of muscle and joint. Yet there were moments, like now, when I felt as though a stranger crawled beside me, the very depths of him unreachable, undiscovered. Those women with whom he’d shared a piece of himself—no matter how small—grated at my narcissistic need to possess as much of him as possible. So much so, I couldn’t travel another inch without knowing what they’d been to Samuel.