by Angel Payne
Her face darkened. “Not mine.” She gazed longingly at the children, as if beholding an idyll she’d never know. “No. Not mine. I—we—” A short huff. “I mean, even if our statuses were closer, it would not be…suitable.”
“Statuses? Suitable?” I let my own gaze gain a few shadows. “Is that even a thing here anymore?” My perusal roamed the crowd, a human mixture as diverse as what I’d first seen in the Palais offices. “Your country is changing, Crista. At a very fast pace.”
She grimaced. Traced a striation in the floor with one finger. “Only some things, Lucina.”
“Lucy,” I corrected. “Or Luce. I don’t care.” We were huddled in a storm shelter, sharing protein bars and water rations. Formalities were for the business offices and marble hallways above us.
“Lucy.” Her dutiful echo was negated by a sullen shrug. “The point is the same. Even if his last name was Smythe, it would be useless. Ty and I are…quite different.”
Ty? I refrained from smirking fully. “Sometimes that’s good.”
So maybe waiting out a hurricane in a shelter wasn’t insanity. The conversation, one I didn’t see happening anywhere in the real world above, had taken a turn toward interesting—in more than a few ways. I mean, I’d just surprised myself. Okay, perhaps even shocked myself. I was the queen of the wedding pragmatists, not a matrimony groupie. That was still a good thing, right? Okay, maybe there was a little relief involved, a residual ecstasy after learning she wasn’t interested in Shiraz. But why would I try to keep pushing the situation?
Not worth dissecting. So I didn’t, instead following up with, “Opposites really do attract, girlfriend. More than you know.”
This time, her adamant head shake meant whipping her shoulders with her own ponytail. “Opposites, yes. But two people as far apart as the poles themselves?” She stared through the crowd, sighing wistfully. “I want…all this, Lucy. A crowd of children running around. Family togetherness, even in adversity. Sharing the hard times and the good…and all of the crazy.” Her lips inched up, trying out the word in her own syntax. My mouth emulated the look.
“That all sounds damn good to me.”
“I was raised with it.” She checked the reception on her phone, like I’d done every ten minutes since we got down here. And just like the last time I’d checked, not even half a bar appeared. “I am the oldest of six.”
“Whoa.”
She laughed. “A word my parents are clearly not familiar with.”
“No shit.” It deserved a hearty laugh. “Most of my life, it was just my mom and me. I always had a friend or two hanging out on the weekends, but six at a time, all the time?” Shudder. “Yeeps.”
“It was certainly…busy.” She pulled up her knees then rested her chin atop them. “And loud. And loving. And full. Abundantly full.”
I softly squeezed her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Her smile faded. “Unless one wants it with Tytan Cimarron.”
“Why?” If Tytan was half as magnetic as his cousin, I didn’t blame her for pining for the guy. On the other hand, maybe Tytan faced the same marital obligations as Shiraz… “Oh, yikes. Does he already belong to someone else?”
Her eyes slid shut. “No.”
“Just obligated, then?”
“No.”
“Married?” Shit. That wasn’t a mess worth screwing with.
“No.”
Thank God. I was too beat to get out the whipping stick about married men—not that Crista Noble struck me as “that type” for a single second.
She finally rasped, “Tytan Cimarron belongs to no one, Lucy.”
“Psssshhh.” I waved a hand. “Maybe he says that now. But—”
“No. Not ever.” She nearly bit the words out. “He is—how do you say it?—the permanent bachelor. Yes?”
I snorted. Hard. “That’s what they said about Kanye and Clooney.”
“Who?”
“Not important.” I pushed off the wall and into a full crisscross position. It did nothing to help the strain on my backside, but got my stare in position to challenge her more directly. “C’mon. Tell me more about him.” Evil grin. “More importantly, why he turns you into a puddle of goo.”
She spurted a giggle. Cut it short by burying her face against her knees. “He does not turn me into a puddle of anything.”
“Hmmm.”
She glanced back up. “Hmmm?”
“Nothing. It’s just that…I hadn’t realized what pretty brown eyes you had.”
“Huh?” Her head jerked higher. “I have green eyes.”
“Ohhhh.” I tapped a finger to my lips, drawing the word out. “So you really are that full of shit, then.”
She jerked away from the wall herself. Drew a sizable breath, clearly winding up a line drive of a retort. I almost grinned. This was going to be fun.
The breath left her in a single whoosh—without a single word joining it.
As she stared, dumbstruck, right over my shoulder.
As a discernible wave of energy rustled through the crowd.
The excited murmurings, accompanied most people lurching to their feet and bowing, were definitely due to a new arrival in the shelter. A woman. For many moments, I had trouble understanding the fuss. The petite thing resembled a porcelain doll with her big sparkling eyes, shiny black curls, and high cheekbones. She seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on why—
Until I did realize why.
She was at least eighteen inches shorter than her three brothers. Evrest, Samsyn, and Shiraz.
Didn’t stop Jayd Cimarron from exuding the same force-of-nature vibe, even dressed in dull brown puddle stompers, faded blue jeans, a dark T-shirt, and a bright orange jacket. Water poured off the neon nylon as the princess rushed through the crowd, greeting people but still clearly in search of someone. A pair of guards flanked her, but weren’t one damn bit happy about the pell-mell path she cut through the shelter—
Until her face flooded with relief.
As soon as she laid eyes on Crista.
“Thank the Creator,” Jayd exclaimed, breaking into a little run.
“Dammit,” the larger of her guards gritted. Not only did he catch my attention because of his reddish-blonde Highlander mane, but with that raspy quality in his voice and that take-no-shit swagger? Hello, superhero audition.
“Settle your feathers, Jagger Fox,” Jayd groused at Superhero, before crushing Crista with a hug. “We found her, and I am allowed to be relieved about it.”
“Your Highness Jayd?” Crista, clearly stunned, didn’t hug the princess back. “Errrm…what are you…”
“Shiraz sent me,” Jayd cut in—though her expression sobered so tightly, I began to understand the bigger guard’s tension. Jagger. His name fit. The only smooth thing about him were his eyes, the color of buttered caramel.
“His H-Highness…s-s-sent you?” The words went parrot mode on Crista’s lips, mostly because her chin was violently trembling. My gut twisted as I watched it get worse, but I couldn’t very well tell her to chill. With her distress so tangible, I surged forward and grabbed one of her hands. The action startled her enough to stammer, “Creator’s mercy. My deplorable manners. Your Highness Jayd, this is—”
“Yes. I know.” Like her brothers, Jayd was no stranger to taking charge of a situation. “Miss Fava.” She nodded, though the move was more friendly than formal. “Brooke and Cam told me about their meeting with you outside ’Raz’s office. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
“What is happening? What circumstances?” Crista struggled to be polite about it, but the spike in her stress was transparent. Since I’d never met Jayd before, having only read she was the most outgoing of the Cimarron siblings, I had to assume this tight tension wasn’t the norm for the woman. I also had to assume this was more about Crista, not Shiraz. If this was about him, he’d not send his little sister all the way to the shelter to fetch his assistant, especially after all but
commanding Crista and me to stay down here until the security team’s “all clear”.
He was okay. He had to be. He would be, unless he wanted me to kick his very fine ass into next Tuesday.
“Crista.” Jayd stepped forward again, pushing her hands together like a petite prayer angel.
“Rahmié Créacu.” Crista sagged against me. “No, no. What happened? Is it my maimanne? My paipanne? Tell me!”
Jayd rushed in, embracing her tight “Dinné, they are both fine. I promise.” But as she moved away, she kept both hands cupped to the other woman’s delicate shoulders. “But we do need you to be strong, arkami, because—”
“Because…why?” Crista didn’t stand on ceremony anymore, for which I would’ve been supremely grateful, if not for her distress. A whimper escaped her defying words, the kind that stabbed the gut of anyone within earshot—because it was a sound of raw fear.
Jayd took in a visible breath. “It is Forryst and Fawna—”
“What?”
“Crista, I need you to stay calm and—”
“Calm?” She pushed the princess away, lurching past even Jagger. “By the mercy of the Creator!”
Jayd spun around, flicking a help-me glance my way as she did. “They are not dead, dinné.” Another look back gave me a silent addendum. Not yet.
As I followed the princess, I tugged on Jagger’s sleeve and whispered, “They who? Forryst? Fawna?” Sounded like a couple of characters from a Peter Jackson film—but a lot of Arcadian names did.
“Crista’s youngest siblings,” Jagger explained. “A boy and a girl. Twins. Just six years of age.”
My mouth turned into a huge O. “Holy shit.”
His jaw tautened. “Perhaps the un holy shit, as well.”
Crista stopped. Paced a full, frantic circle. Returned our direction. Stopped again. Her arms fell to her sides, balling into fists. “Not dead,” she repeated. “All right, all right. They are not dead. What are they, then?”
Jayd straightened. Her posture was so formidable and her presence so certain, I forgot all about the hard numbers missing from her height. “Not what,” she replied. “But where.”
Crista grimaced. “So they are missing?”
Jagger squared his massive shoulders. “Officially, as of an hour ago.”
“The little preeshes likely snuck off again,” Crista gritted. “When they are together, they think there is some kind of a force field keeping them safe. They should be disciplined, but Forryst knows exactly how to play Maimanne and Fawna has Paipanne wrapped around her little finger.”
“They cannot be far,” Jayd assured. “And Shiraz is heading the search party himself—but he told us you might be able to help with specific information. You have relayed stories to him before, of how the kids enjoy going to Parryss Landing…?”
“On the river. Yes.”
Crista added a nod but it was jerky and scared. I couldn’t blame her. Not right now. The river. In Sancti, that could only mean the Mousselayan, which was as wide as the Mississippi on low days and predicted to become a lake-sized hazard in this storm. I remembered at least that much from the chatter on the walkie-talkie Shiraz had grabbed while delivering us down here. The situation was turned into a double whammy of disaster when considering all the structures now erected for the Grand Sancti Bridge reconstruction project. Once the violent waters knocked them loose, there wouldn’t be just normal debris to worry about. The torrent would likely contain spare wood, nails, and sheet metal.
The same thought clearly struck Crista. Her manic combination of laughter and tears was followed with a rapid-fire explanation. “The water has always fascinated them. They enjoy watching the ships go by. They even dug out a little cave in one of the banks as their ‘lookout fort’.” Her throat convulsed as the sobs threatened to win the battle. “The little preeshs. As soon as they heard about the hurricane and the flood, they probably hatched a secret scheme to get there.” A full moan broke free, making her wrap both arms around her middle. “If anything happens to them, I shall—”
“Nothing is going to happen to them.” I was the one who said it this time, going shoulder-to-shoulder with Jayd for the effort.
“Especially if you can help us with any more information,” she added, grabbing one of Crista’s elbows. “Please, Crista. Anything at all…”
The small touch carried a galvanizing effect. Crista’s shoulder’s straightened. Her head shot up. Though tears rimmed her dark brown eyes, her reply was underlined in pure determination. “We have to get to the river. Now.”
Jayd nodded. “Excellent idea.”
“We?” Jagger cocked his head, watching like an intense buzzard as Crista crouched and started stuffing her shit back into her duffel. When he straightened, it was to slice the same look back at Jayd. “Yes,” he leveled, “We, as in Shai and me.” He seesawed a finger between himself and the other guard, who stayed carefully silent despite a startling green gaze that missed absolutely nothing—
Especially every steady inch of Crista’s rise back up. And the sharp resolve in her own eyes. “You only get the information if I go too.” She daggered that determination into both the men. “They are my brother and sister. They must already be so terrified,”—her voice caught on a quaver—“and when we find them—and we will find them—I can help calm them.”
“And we can help calm her.” I stepped into the space between Crista and Jayd, forming us into a chain by linking our elbows.
Jayd grinned and gave me a fast wink. I swore to God, despite the situation, I almost laughed. Only one person on the face of the Earth could’ve taught her that cocky smirk.
The man who was out there right now, risking his generous, gorgeous hide to find those two kids…
And what had I expected he’d be doing? Sitting around in some command center, playing solitaire with the radio dispatchers?
Holy Mary, full of grace—what the hell; I was already in practice—please keep that man safe, or I’ll have to break his beautiful face. Practice being relative.
“No. Everyone wait.” Shockingly, Crista issued the mandate—as she looked at me with wide, questioning eyes. “Lucy.” Stepped around, grabbing both my hands. “This is not what you came to Arcadia to do. And I cannot ask you to—”
“Whoa.” I jerked free from her, only because getting both my hands to my hips was the more important statement at the moment. “Not what I ‘came to do’?” With the pose came the full channeling of my inner Ezra, as well. “What the hell part of that statement is relevant here, missie? Timing my trip perfectly with a rare Mediterranean hurricane thing? Having to deal with the subsequent freak-out in the Palais basement? Or actually putting my stress to good use by helping to find two adorable kids?”
Crista’s face crunched, trying to deal with scowling and laughing at me at once. Finally, tearfully, she simply hauled me into a hug. “Adorable? You have never even met them.”
“They’re your kid sibs, right? How could they be anything less than beautiful?”
As we pulled apart, another meaningful look passed between us. There was one more thing I hadn’t come to the island to do—namely, her boss—a secret I knew she’d keep, no matter what I decided right now. I sent her an equally determined regard in return, driving home the point that my decision had nothing to do with that. Two children were in danger here—more than Jagger and Shai even wanted to let on. Dealing with hundreds of wedding days in all kinds of conditions, I’d learned to spot when huger secrets were being kept from people “for their own good”.
“It is settled, then.” Jayd pivoted, squaring off with Jagger, once more making me think of a bad-ass fantasy heroine in leather and spiked boots instead of her durable storm gear. “We shall be going to the riverfront—as in all five of us.”
Jagger’s nostrils flared. “Dammit.”
She imitated the look. “Your stance on the matter is noted, Mr. Fox.”
His nostrils calmed—only because the tension shot out to every other
part of his body. Still, I had to bite back a smile. Unless my instincts had been screwed to hell by now, it was totally clear Jagger battled the craving to throw Jayd over his knee—then into his bed.
He compensated by all but snarling his retaliation. “Do you even understand what is going on out there right now? The river has surged by six feet already. Do you know how bloody dangerous—”
“I know that two children are still missing.” Jayd marched in on him, placing their chests just inches apart. The princess clearly couldn’t spot a spanking in a man’s stare, even when it seared into her. “And that you are wasting precious minutes of search time, being an overbearing ape.”
“Your Highness Jayd.” Wow. Shai did have a voice—and it was as rich as the café au lait his skin matched. “With all due respect, ‘the ape’ has a point.” He swung his bright green gaze to all three of us—though it rested the longest on Crista. “Directive or not, Shiraz will turn primal if we make a call that endangers you. Any of you.”
I didn’t know what to make of his last three words, but related to the rest of his statement. I’d seen the primal side of Shiraz Cimarron—in the sensual sense of the word. It’d been scary. I’d been in heaven. But seeing him go caveman in this situation? No freaking thank-you.
Nevertheless, I caught Shai’s gaze with the determination of my own. “We’ll worry about Shiraz. You guys take care of getting us to Parryss Landing.” I tugged Crista close again. “We’ve got a family to reunite, and we’ve got to do it now.”
For another moment longer, Shai gazed at the woman in my arms—openly longing to trade places with me. Wow. That look. I didn’t know anything about Tytan Cimarron beyond what Crista had just relayed, but if the guy stared at her with half this intensity, no wonder she was smitten.
Shai knocked himself out of the reverie by shaking his head, muttering a frustrated oath in Arcadian, then dashing a look back over at Jagger. “Perhaps we can plead temporary insanity?”
Jagger shot back his answer with his glare glued on Jayd. “It would not even be a lie.”
Jayd had the girl balls to smile in triumph. “Very well. Let us hurry, then.”
