Blue

by Maddie James

  * * *

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Maddie James

  First published in RP, 2007

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  * * * *

  Blue

  by Maddie James

  Copyright © 2007, Maddie James

  All rights reserved

  Published December 2007

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  Edgewater, Florida

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  2097

  Somewhere east of the Mississippi

  North America

  Hell of a raging storm.

  Crashing.

  Thundering.

  Pounding. No ... footsteps. Behind them.

  Move!

  Get her out of here. Get Blue out! Now.

  "Fuck,” Devin McCrae swore through his teeth and huffed out a quick breath. How did they find her? Find them? Doesn't matter. They did. Got to move. Now!

  No time.

  He was in no frame of mind for this. Not today. Too tired. Too spent. Too much running the past month.

  Thought they were safe.

  Shit!

  Rain. Pelting. Stinging his face.

  Damn!

  Can't see. Too dark. What happened to the moon?

  No safe place.

  None.

  He should have known better.

  Zingpht!

  Shots? Laser rifle. He ducked, pushed her, slammed into the ground on top of her. Mud oozed around them. She grunted and he was pretty sure he'd knocked the wind out of her. Damn it. He didn't think they would shoot in the dark. Didn't think they'd risk hitting her.

  Get up. Get up!

  He dragged her. Pulled her. Protesting. Scared.

  Difficult to run in the mud now. Good. Harder for them, too. Tracks would be sloppy. The creek. Had to get there. A few more miles. All he needed.

  Get to Betatakin. Soon. Her father's words rang in his ears. Over and over.

  Tired.

  Tired of running.

  She was, too. He knew that.

  But it was her life.

  Now his.

  And there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  * * * *

  Cyan Seye wept in the corner of the dank cave. She wasn't sure, but thought she could hear a strange music—like flutes—coming out from somewhere beyond the rocks. Or maybe it was in her head.

  Not certain how she'd come to be here, no clue how she would eventually leave, she leaned into the cold stone and resigned herself to one thing—no matter what, she had to trust Devin McCrae. Even if it was the most difficult thing she'd ever do in her life.

  Fear had been a part of her life since she was born. It was almost as much a part of her as breathing. Running. And fear gripped her every time McCrae looked deep into her eyes. Blue, he called her. For her eyes.

  The past month had been worse than any of her twenty-four years. But he was the only person who could save her now. Protect her. If anything was certain, it was that. She shivered, uncertain of whether it was from the cold, or her plight.

  Both, probably.

  McCrae was her unlikely savior. She knew not from where he'd come. Wasn't certain who had sent him. All she really knew was that her father had feared him for years. But she'd always wondered, why him? When there were so many others to fear?

  But then she had seen it for herself.

  First hand.

  The day McCrae had killed her father.

  Cyan hugged herself and tried to stop her chattering teeth. Tried to clear her mind. Go to some other place. Free herself for a while.

  Just so wet. Cold.

  McCrae didn't want a fire. Smoke. Flames. They would give away their hiding place, he'd said. Then he'd left her. Left her to go watch the night. Eyes searching the storm-silenced sky. Listening. Watching.

  Waiting for them.

  Protecting her. It was his only purpose in life now.

  So, he guarded the entrance. The one way into the cave. Guarded her. And for some insane reason, Cyan felt safe. Even with him.

  For now.

  She'd learned long ago that when she felt safe, she needed to sleep. Because good sleep rarely came when you were on the run. When you were looking over your shoulder. When you had no clue what the next hour would bring.

  Did McCrae ever sleep?

  Her eyelids were sandpaper. Heavy.

  They closed. Gritty.

  Trust him.

  Her father's last words. His eyes had spoken the words as much as his breathless voice had said them. Right before McCrae had killed him.

  * * * *

  She woke with a warped heaviness hanging over her that she couldn't quite grasp. Sleep. Deep sleep had come in the night. Blessed sleep. And she was ever so grateful.

  But the heaviness that encircled her came from something more than a sleep-of-the-dead night. It came from something warm and secure and safe; all-encompassing.

  All consuming.

  And it smelled like a man.

  Cyan fluttered her gritty eyes, focusing her gaze across the cave. Yes. Still in the cave. Facing the opening. But she was tucked back into a cranny, slightly shielded from view.

  She could only see the top half of the cave opening, and knew that it was daylight. Bright sun pierced the depths of the cave for about five feet inward. Beyond that, it was dark. Dark around her. Dark around them.

  Them.

  For what shielded her from view was McCrae's arm lying protectively across her face.

  She was on her side, halfway on her stomach, her right cheek resting against the cave's dirt floor. McCrae was nearly on top of her, his bare arm draped over her from behind. His body wrapped protectively around hers. His weapon was in his hand.

  Poised. Pointed outward.

  Nothing was getting to her unless it got to him first.

  Drawn to his dark skin—much darker than hers—she almost lifted a finger to smooth it over his forearm. Touch him. Run the pads of her fingertips over the dark, coarse hairs of his arm.

  But no. Not a good idea.

  She had no doubt that should the slightest movement, the slightest sound alert him, waken him, he would be up and shooting within a millisecond. She wouldn't risk touching him. Even though she was intrigued; fascinated by the tone, texture and color of his skin. He was Mulatto. A novelty for her, as much as she was a novelty for him.

  Something to explore another time.

  Mulatto. The term, she'd read and heard from her parents, was once derogatory to Blacks and others in their country. In some cultures it was accepted, in the U.S. not as much. But no
w, on the cusp of the 22nd century, it was a common term worldwide. Mulatto. It was the norm, rather than the exception.

  Just as she was now the exception, rather than the norm.

  But for now, he slept. And she would let him.

  He needed to rest for whatever came next.

  They needed rest.

  It was okay. Her pursuers were far away. Off track. Off course. Frustrated.

  She knew it. Sensed it. Her sight became so much clearer when she was rested. Calm. Safe. And she trusted her sight more than anything.

  McCrae's head lay lax against the side of her cheek. She could feel the steadiness of his inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale as he lay across her. The stubble of his whiskers against her temple. The pound of his heart against her back. She could feel it. Somehow the drone of it calmed her. A slight snore escaped his lips. His breath sifted soft and moist across her cheek. Warm.

  Hot.

  Damn it.

  Lying so damned protectively across her.

  Something stirred in her gut. Zinged throughout her body. Her chest.

  No! Forget it. Not him.

  Not now.

  Trust him.

  No, damn it. Not in that way. Not with her heart. With her body? Maybe. That might solve at least one immediate problem. But she would never give her heart.

  There was no one she could trust with her heart.

  Ever.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  From the distance, a slow and familiar whomp ... whomp ... whomp aggravated his brain. What the hell...? It wasn't coming to him.

  Voices. Dim. Saying things he didn't understand. Couldn't comprehend.

  They weren't speaking Spanish. What were they speaking?

  Not sure.

  He spoke seven languages but none of the words registered. His name? Did someone say his name?

  Whomp. Whomp ... whomp ... whomp. There. What was that?

  Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp-whoooooomp.

  Chopper.

  Yes.

  They were taking him somewhere. Thank God. He needed ... help. He'd lain there for hours ... or was it days?

  He didn't know.

  He didn't know anything, really, other than he had to get to Betatakin before Devin. Had to secure it. Because he was pretty darned sure Betatakin wasn't safe.

  Not anymore.

  "Chaco. Just relax. It's all good now. We have everything under control."

  Relax. Sure. But who...?

  Darkness took him before he could complete the thought.

  * * * *

  Betatakin was a day's drive by car if you drove straight through and made few stops. The trip was five hours plus by air, including layover. Devin had the means to do either, if he could get through to Chaco. Once they reached some semblance of civilization, a vehicle or a jet would be easy enough to attain. He pondered which was more risky.

  His gut told him to avoid both.

  So they set out walking.

  It was the longest way, more time-consuming; the wear and tear on their bodies was chancy. It meant he could not estimate when they would arrive at Betatakin—but it was the safest option. No flight plan. No game plan. No preconceived notions about when or where or why or how they would arrive. Just moving west. One footstep at a time. Hitch a ride. Lay low. Stay out of the limelight.

  Until they get there.

  Best plan.

  They left the cave by night. He relied on Blue's sense of timing. That was her gift to their mission. He had to trust that. Trust her gift.

  By daybreak they had hiked to the edge of the forest and then had hitched to the first small town as passengers in a log truck. Devin spotted the greasy spoon on the edge of town about the time he heard Blue's stomach growl. Quaint little place. Not many like them anymore, except in off-the-beaten-path places. And they were definitely off the beaten path.

  "We'll get off here,” he told the driver. The man downshifted, allowing the momentum of a truck full of logs to gradually roll to a stop. “Thanks, man.” He gave the driver a quick salute. Scruffy guy. Hadn't seen a shower in days. But then, neither had they. The driver watched Blue as she slowly slid out of the truck cab. Devin watched the bastard's eyes as they raked over her body. Landed on her ass. Lingered.

  Fuck.

  Even caked with mud and needing a shower, Blue caught a man's attention. Even a goddamned redneck truck driver. Not good. He was going to have to do something about that.

  * * * *

  "So tell me the plan."

  Blue's voice was low. Hushed. She knew the routine. Caution was her game. Her life. Although Devin was certain everyone in the restaurant was local, he didn't blame her for guarding herself.

  "We'll keep pushing west. No plan. Get there the best way we can. Watch our backs."

  She leaned in. “McCrae, we're both about spent. Been running for a month now. We can't walk from Kentucky to Arizona."

  "I never intended that we would. Just no plans. Nothing written anywhere. Nothing spoken. Ever. We find ways. We get there."

  "And we're going to sleep in the woods? I don't suppose you have any cash on you."

  "Not enough.” He snorted. “If you remember, I was in my skivvies when the sky fell in on us. You weren't in much better shape. I grabbed what I could, got you out, and didn't look back."

  She inhaled, exhaled, looked away. The short order cook called out someone's order. Clanked a bell. “I know. I wasn't expecting that."

  "Ditto.” He lifted his gaze to stare at the monitor above the counter. Morning news. He kept one ear open.

  "You think Chaco is dead?” Her voice was pointed toward the wall. She hadn't looked back at him yet.

  "Probably."

  After a moment she turned her blue eyes back on him. He raked his gaze over her face. Noticed the stray blonde hairs slipping out from under her cap. Damn it. They had to get to a drug store. Today.

  "You grab your contacts before we left?"

  She nodded. “In my pocket. But no solution, so I have to wait."

  "Keep the ball cap pulled down over your eyes, okay? Especially out in public. One look from anyone into those baby blues of yours and it's all over."

  Blue pulled the ball cap lower. “I know."

  His gaze dropped to her neck. Long, slim. Lily white. She'd not seen much sun in her life. Such a contrast to him. Her shirt collar fell open, sloppy against her chest. They both had on whatever clothes they could grab and pull on yesterday before all hell broke loose.

  The silver chain around her neck, however, caught his gaze and he followed link after link downward until they nestled between her breasts.

  "You still have your necklace. The sapphire."

  "Yes."

  His gaze stayed put. “Good."

  "I never take it off."

  Damned good. “That's what your father would have wanted."

  "I know."

  The tone of her voice then forced his eyes up to meet hers. She glared at him, he was sure at the mention of her father. Not sure why in the hell he'd done that. But that damned necklace had to stay put. Had to stay on her neck. He knew she didn't know how critical that was.

  The news droned on. A phrase caught his ear.

  "McCrae, how can we—"

  He waved her off. “Shshsh..."

  The Latina on the screen broke the story. An interruption to their regular programming. Murdered bodyguard. Suspected kidnapping. Armed and dangerous. Stop at all costs.

  Then his picture flashed across the monitor.

  He didn't get the whole story; just enough to know that he and Blue were in deep shit. Much deeper today than yesterday.

  He wasn't sure yet how much she trusted him—but so far today she hadn't argued much, especially when they set out walking—he wondered how much she would argue with him in the next few seconds.

  His gaze was still trained on the monitor. “Blue,” he started, soft, low. “Get up from the table, walk across the room, and out the d
oor. Wait for me to the left of the entrance. Don't do anything stupid."

  He sensed her prick of awareness. Didn't look her at her face. Couldn't.

  She got up. Stepped away from the table.

  He played with his eggs. Fished for his wallet. Laid some bills on the table. Rose.

  The bell on the door jingled as she left.

  He nodded to the server, tucked his chin, made way for the door.

  "Sir?"

  Shit.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yeah?"

  "Need change, honey?"

  He had to look at her. Had to. It would be awkward if he didn't. His gaze rose and he looked her straight in the eyes. “No ma'am.” The words drawled out. “It's all yours."

  A saccharin-southern smile broke across her face, black-thick eyelashes batted. “Why, thank you dah-lin'."

  He didn't wait around long enough to reply.

  Jingle. Slam.

  "What the hell?” Blue hissed from his left.

  In seconds he'd scanned the parking lot and taken in his surroundings. “Follow me.” The Harley sat not five feet from the door. He'd seen the guy ride in on it twenty minutes earlier. “Get on."

  "But—"

  "Do it."

  She did. In no less than ten seconds he'd hot-wired the bike, mounted it, and they peeled hell-bent-for-leather out of the gravel lot. Her grip on his sides told him that she had no intention of balking. It probably didn't take five more seconds before the owner of the bike, a black man who was eating flapjacks and sausage beside them moments earlier, realized his ride was gone. Devin saw him tear out the door as they sped away.

  Blue asked no questions. Made no comment. Probably couldn't anyway. Difficult enough holding on to him, keeping her hat on her head. And that was important. Soon as he could risk a stop, he'd get helmets.

  Hair dye.

  Contacts solution.

  Cash.

  Check on Chaco.

  Damn.

  He hoped he wasn't dead. Especially since he was the only person alive who could get them safely into Betatakin.

  * * * *

  "This is a risk, isn't it?"

  McCrae nodded.

  Cyan knew that it was. The bike was parked behind the roadside motel, which was tucked deep in the Appalachian Mountains. They'd ridden south, not west, and she wasn't quite sure why, but she figured McCrae had a plan.