Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “Everything except you being responsible for me?” Spunk stamped hard on her face.

  Man, he wanted to kiss that expression away. Later. Once he felt better. “Yeah.” No reason to lie to her. “I’m keeping you safe because I can. Because, last night, I sank deep inside you, and you dug your nails into my ass.”

  She shook her head, her eyes going wide. “This is not making sense.”

  Then he wasn’t explaining it right. “Let me try again.”

  “No.” This time, she held up a hand. “I think I’ve got it. Since we had sex for one night, you now have rights where I’m concerned.”

  “No,” he snapped and then quickly calmed himself. “No rights. Nobody has rights to you.” Man, she was stubborn. He hadn’t noticed that before. It wasn’t so much cute as it was fucking intriguing. “No rights. But I will protect you during this op we’ve created. It’s my job.” Even if it weren’t his job, it’d be his damn job. Nothing was going to hurt her on his watch. Period.

  “You’re confusing me,” she muttered.

  “Not my intention,” he replied. Hadn’t he just laid it out there? This fever was messing with his mind, even though he was feeling better.

  Her lips moved as if she were working through words before saying them.

  If she got any cuter, he’d just grab her and damn the consequences.

  “I’m not into the alpha male, go all Neanderthal experience,” she said primly.

  The words still didn’t compute. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes, looking about eighteen years old. “This. The whole, I’m protecting you crap.” Her voice had lowered to a terrible imitation of a man’s voice and now rose again so she could continue. “Yeah, the wild sex was exciting, but that’s enough.”

  “Wild sex?” he murmured, having trouble following.

  “Yeah.” She blinked, and her face colored again. “Last night. You remember, right?”

  His fever wasn’t that bad. “The sex was fantastic. But baby, that was an intro.” He said the words gently.

  Her teeth played with her lower lip. “An intro? Huh?”

  His mouth watered. Oh, he needed another night with her. And then several more. If she thought last night was wild, she was sadly misinformed. “Yeah. A first-time-together, kind of gentle exploring.”

  “Kind of gentle?” she burst out. “I have a hickey on my hip.”

  “Just one?” he asked. The woman definitely hadn’t looked at her backside in the mirror. Indentations from his teeth were more than likely on her left buttock. He hadn’t bitten her hard enough to hurt, but he’d definitely left his mark. “Look closer.”

  She threw up her hands. “I thought it was wild. And my sex life was great before Scorpius. Don’t think for a second that it wasn’t.”

  “I don’t think that,” he said soberly, feeling as if he were walking through a field of landmines. “I’m sure it was fantastic. But the world is a different place, you’re a different person, and I’m a different man. Just because this thing between us is different and good, doesn’t lessen what you had. Not even a little.”

  “Stop saying the right thing,” she shouted, shoving away from the bed and standing.

  Nobody had ever said those words to him. He couldn’t think of a reply.

  She put her hands on her slim hips, and no woman in the world had ever looked more gorgeous. Having her hair back showcased the sultry angles of her face. Her eyes blazed a startling sapphire, and her chest actually heaved a little against the light cotton of her dress. A closer look confirmed that her nipples were hard.

  His mouth watered more.

  “Stop looking at my chest,” she gritted out.

  Fair enough. He focused on her face.

  “You are not listening to me,” she said quietly.

  He was listening, but he sure as shit had no clue what she was saying. Maybe she didn’t either. Perhaps last night had thrown her enough that she was scrambling. It had definitely thrown him, but he’d been sick all day and hadn’t had time to process. The idea that she didn’t want to see him again hurt something deep inside him that he’d figured had died with the pandemic. “I want to listen to you,” he said.

  “I think…I mean, I just think that we should keep it to business. And friends.” She clasped her hands together.

  That would be smart, but he hated the idea. There was no question that April Snyder had lost too much in this world already. He couldn’t push her. If she wanted to be friends, then he’d be her friend. “That’s fine, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t look any happier when he agreed. “Okay.”

  “But I’m still in charge with the case. No negotiation there.” He waited for her to nod. Good. “So you stay away from the Pure church until I’m up and around again.” While he was feeling better, he didn’t trust his strength or his aim right now. And he needed to clear his head before dealing with Pastor King again.

  “I can go in there alone,” she said, her face brightening a little. “In fact, I think they’re more likely to show me around without you there. I’m less of a threat to them.”

  That was entirely the point he was trying to make. “No.”

  She jerked. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, no.” He let his voice lower and lose the gentleness he’d been showing her. “You want to be friends, then we’re friends. No pressure. But on the op, I’m in charge, and you’re not going in until I’m well. Tell me you get me, April.”

  Her glare could cut marble, and it turned him on even more. “Fine. I totally get you.”

  Why wasn’t he reassured?

  20

  I am fully capable of going undercover by myself. Right?

  ——April Snyder, Journal

  The sun bounced off the cement in heated waves as April strolled down the street toward the Pure church apartment building. Everyone not patrolling had headed indoors, desperately seeking cool air, so the streets were mainly deserted. The smell of weeds and dust made her sneeze.

  She recovered and looked around.

  Even the bricks in the buildings looked hot.

  Vanguard had enough water stored to last for a couple of months, thanks to the oddly wet spring, but at some point, they’d run out.

  She swallowed, already thirsty.

  The sky above her was a shocking blue with no clouds, but to the south was bright orange and black smoke. The fires were still raging along the coast.

  Pastor King was waiting for her at the entryway to the four-story building, looking out of place next to the men with guns. His smile seemed genuine, though. “April. You look lovely.”

  Sweat rolled down her back beneath the dress, and her hair had certainly frizzed in the heat. But she appreciated his attempt at kindness. “That’s very nice of you.” Accepting his hand, she let him lead her inside where the temperature had to be at least twenty degrees cooler than outside. She sighed.

  “It’s too hot out there, I know.” King released her hand. “Where’s Officer Winter?”

  “He got caught up with Vanguard and Mercenary business,” she said. Her cheeks were already red from the walk and heat, so he wouldn’t be able to tell a lie. It seemed too risky to admit that Damon was sick, even if it were just the flu. King might not believe that. “I hope he can join us later.”

  “Me, too.” King smiled, showing a dimple in his right cheek. “I guess I’ll be your escort then. I’m glad. We haven’t had much time to talk.” He took her arm and escorted her around the partial wall of cement blocks and into the main room. Several people milled around with plates of food in their hands. A few waved, and she waved back. “I have a treat for you.”

  His enthusiasm was infectious. “A treat? What kind?”

  “This way.” He walked them past the room and in the other direction from the stairs to the apartments. They reached a hallway, and he pointed at various doorways. “We keep weapons there, extra food there, and clothing in that one.” Then he continued walking t
oward the end of the hall.

  One door remained, and he opened it, revealing a wooden staircase that led down. “There’s a small basement.”

  She looked behind them, but nobody was there. “What’s down there?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He gestured her. “You have nothing to fear here, April. I give you my word.”

  She swallowed. What was his word worth? Man, she wished she’d waited for Damon. But she hadn’t. So she shook it off and started down the stairs, ignoring the old, peeling, rose-printed wallpaper on either side.

  With each step, the air cooled.

  Finally, she reached the bottom step and landed on an antique, gold rug. Then she looked around and gasped.

  King chuckled and moved in front of her. “It’s my office. Isn’t it awesome?”

  She nodded. The walls were wood paneling, and the desk and table were old and battered, but candles that had been placed strategically provided soft illumination. An oil painting of a mountain range took up one entire wall, and a chintz sofa and chair provided a nice meeting nook. “It’s so cool down here.” Almost air-conditioned.

  “Please. Sit.” He motioned toward the sofa.

  “This is a nice surprise.” Why had she been afraid of him? So far, he’d done nothing but be nice to her.

  He shook his head and headed for a cabinet on the side of the desk. “The surprise is in here.” Opening it, he drew out a bottle of white wine. “J. Lohr Chardonnay.” Grabbing two wine glasses, he brought them over to the sofa and set them on a sofa table. “The good stuff.”

  She looked at the bottle. Good enough, anyway. “I used to drink this…before.”

  “Me, too. Well, when I was on a date.” He poured some into the slim glasses. “When I was with my buddies, I drank beer. Or vodka.” He handed hers over. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” She clanked her glass with his and took a swallow. Delicious. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the taste. The wine was even cool, almost slightly chilled. Then she swallowed and focused on the pastor. “All right. Today seems to be my day for speaking frankly. What do you want from me?”

  King chuckled. “Man, you’re suspicious.” Today, he wore more faded jeans and a green T-shirt from a Garth Brooks concert. He still hadn’t shaved, and his lighter hair was mussed.

  She’d try to flirt, but it was just easier to ask the question directly. “That’s not an answer.”

  “Is it impossible to believe I just want your company?” He took another sip of his wine. “You’re a beautiful woman. You and Damon seem to be more buddies than dating, and if I’ve read that wrong, I apologize.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “He told you at dinner that we’d been dating for a while.”

  “He said it like a guy trying to find out why I’ve been pursuing you,” King countered smoothly. “You two didn’t act like you were dating. Not really.” He rolled very green eyes. “I understand you both have a job to do, and I’m fine with that. But don’t insult my intelligence.” He grinned. “Yet, anyway.”

  “You’re flirting…with me,” she said slowly as realization dawned. “Seriously?”

  His dimple appeared again. “Why would that surprise you?”

  “I’m older than you,” she burst out. This wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

  “I’m thirty-four. You?” He took another big drink.

  She paused. He looked younger than that. “Thirty-two.” She’d gotten pregnant with her daughter at a young age, but things had worked out. “You don’t look your age.”

  “Neither do you.” If anything, the church leader seemed amused by her. “You really have no clue how pretty you are, do you.” He said it as a statement and not a question.

  Was this part of the cult’s draw? Make her feel special and needed? If so, she was kind of buying it. Was that how they did it? The guy was handsome and smart—definitely kind. If the world hadn’t turned upside down, she’d be flattered. As it was, she couldn’t quite get into his head. “What do you want from me, Pastor?”

  “I want you to join us here and stay safe from the bacteria,” he said simply. “That’s what I want. Nothing more, and nothing less.” He topped off her glass. “If you’d be willing to go on a date with me, I’d love that.”

  A date? She’d been with the same man most of her life, and now she had two sexy and charismatic men wanting her. Well. It had taken the apocalypse. She chuckled.

  “Now that’s a nice sound,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but no. My dance card is currently rather full.” Even though she’d told Damon they should just be friends, they had slept together the night before.

  King gave a rueful smile. “Fair enough. But you and Damon just don’t seem to fit each other. You don’t look right.”

  Her hackles rose. “Because he’s black and I’m white?” Racism had better not have survived the apocalypse.

  King frowned. “Of course not. But he’s always looking around for a threat, and you’re a nurturer. I’ve seen you with the kids. The two of you couldn’t have different focuses. Damon is seeking danger at all times. It’s who he is. You’re seeking safety.”

  Well. There was some truth in that statement, wasn’t there? At least the church leader wasn’t racist. He was just willing to go after another guy’s girlfriend—if she were Damon’s girlfriend, which she was not. “Rumor has it that opposites attract.” Why was she defending a relationship she didn’t have?

  “I guess that’s true.”

  She forced herself to shrug. “Or not. You’re right in that I don’t want any more danger in this life.” It was time to start playing his game. If there were a game. The pastor might be a decent guy. She took a big drink of the wine and let it slide coolly down her throat. “Damon is suspicious of you.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact.” King sighed. “It’s who he is.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Where are the pregnant women who stood at the fence and yelled at Jax before you were in charge?”

  King’s eyebrows rose. “That’s what this is about?”

  “It’s kind of creepy.” Might as well push the guy a little. “You have to know that, right? There’s something so cult-like about the entire situation.”

  He stared thoughtfully into his glass. “I wasn’t present that night, so I can’t really speak to it. But there’s nothing creepy or cult-like about wanting to protect vulnerable and pregnant women from bacteria that will most likely kill either them or their babies or both.” He brushed a stray piece of hair away from her face. “You understand that, right?”

  “Kind of.” His touch hadn’t zinged through her like Damon’s had when he’d done the same thing. “But it’s weird that you won’t let Jax or his lieutenants speak to the women.”

  King swirled the liquid in his glass. “Does nothing terrify you?”

  “No,” she said, her voice going hoarse. “Nothing.”

  He looked up, his gaze intense. “What if your child had lived?

  She leaned back. Hurt imploded in her torso.

  He held up a hand. “Just listen. Wouldn’t you do anything to protect her if you could?”

  April’s throat closed, so she just nodded.

  “You’d be terrified of this bacteria and this world. Imagine being nineteen and pregnant right now and right here without having been infected. Knowing that if you touched the wrong surface, or if the wrong person touched you, you could get the illness and die. Or lose your baby.” He grasped her hand.

  She pulled away. “We’re not even sure the bacteria still lives on surfaces.”

  “Would ‘not sure’ be enough for you in that situation?” he asked calmly.

  Probably not. She tipped back her head and emptied her glass. “I’m not Jax, and I haven’t been infected. Let me speak to each member of your church and report back to him. There’s no reason for you to refuse.”

  “I’m not refusing,” King said softly. “In fact, I think we should start first thing day after tom
orrow, once I get everybody on board with the plan. You can meet with each member, talk to them as long as you’d like, and then make up your own mind about me. About the church. We could really use your help.”

  She blinked. The wine rolled through her veins, mellowing her a little. “You’ll let me talk to everybody?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?” He refilled their glasses. “Now. Let’s return to that first date idea.”

  21

  April dumped me last night, but I’m thinking it’s just a temporary situation. Like any campaign, I’ll proceed calmly and deliberately.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Damon woke up feeling like himself again. After April had left the night before, he’d pretty much passed out and slept the night and most of this day away. The late sunlight pouring inside showed it had to be around six at night.

  The flu was rough but quick. Man, he felt better. After a quick outside shower where he washed the sweat off himself, he continued into the Vanguard headquarters, searching for dinner.

  The cafeteria for the headquarters sat in the middle of the building, once a soup kitchen. A wide counter ran along the side with sandwiches piled high. Men and women sat around at old tables, eating quietly. Merc soldiers sat on the left side of the room while Vanguard soldiers sat on the right. Maybe they should have a mixer or something.

  Whistling, he found a PB&J stack and grabbed a couple of sandwiches before heading toward Jax’s war room. A couple of guys nodded at him, and he nodded back.

  Jax, Greyson, and Maureen were seated at the table.

  “So. You’re not dead,” Jax said, looking up from what appeared to be a map.

  “Nope,” Damon said cheerfully, his vision plenty clear. “I feel fine. It sucked, but Doc Penelope was right. Twenty-four-hour flu.” He studied the map. “Reno?”

  “The other Bunker. We need to take it as soon as we get enough explosives. After Sami and Tace return from Century City,” Jax said. “From what we’ve gleaned, it has more research on the bacteria than we do at our Bunker.”