Skin Heat

by Ava Gray

  Still, she didn’t feel right about it; the money had to come from somewhere. The bank would pass the loss on its customers, and that wasn’t fair. But Gillie would do whatever it took to keep from going back.

  God, sometimes it seemed crazy—the idea that she could function in the real world. She’d never stood on her own two feet. Things other people took for granted—milestones like dates, job interviews, and boring birthday parties—she’d never known any of it, and she hungered for the normalcy she had watched on TV with great longing.

  “I watched a movie,” she said to Taye’s back. “About a man who was in prison so long, he forgot how to be free. He couldn’t survive without someone telling him what to do. Shawshank Redemption, I think it was.”

  “That’s not you,” he said roughly.

  She didn’t argue. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to bolster her insecurity, so it was better to ask, “Where are we headed?”

  “Right now? The bus station, if I can find it.” He stopped at a graffiti-covered pay phone then. This wasn’t a nice neighborhood and the directory had been chained to the pedestal to keep people from running off with it. Many of the pages had been torn out, probably people without pens who needed to take an address with them.

  Fortunately, Taye found what he was looking for in the yellow pages under transportation. He didn’t pull the page, just read it aloud. “1231 Eleventh Avenue.”

  “I don’t think that’s far.”

  He glanced at the addresses on the nearby buildings and nodded. “Just a little longer. You can rest on the bus.”

  Taye has a maddening tendency to think I’m made of spun glass. But surely if they spent enough time together, he’d get over that. He would see she wasn’t an ornament.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  The rain began halfway into their walk. Delighted, she turned her face up; it was cool and soft, dropping lightly on her skin. Other people hurried all around her, heads down and jackets pulled up. Annoyance radiated from those caught without umbrellas. They couldn’t possibly know what a miracle this was.

  When Taye glanced at her, his aspect warmed. “First time in a while, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go on.” At her questioning look, he added, “Spin. I know you’re dying to.”

  In response, she twirled, arms out, and belted the chorus to “Singin’ in the Rain.” He laughed quietly, ignoring the looks they received from passersby. A little dizzy, she stumbled as they walked on, but the distance didn’t seem as daunting anymore. When they approached the terminal, she was shivering, and they were both soaking wet. He paused to tug her hood up. That seemed counterintuitive because she was already damp from head to toe. Gillie arched a brow.

  “There are cameras inside,” he explained. “Since 9/11, they track people more.”

  From his grave expression, that ought to mean something to her. She hunched her shoulders, feeling ignorant and debating whether she should admit as much. “What’s 9/11?”

  Rain trickled down his pale face, tangling in his lashes. His stillness told her nothing at all, but she felt sure he thought she was an idiot. But then his mouth softened, and he cupped her cheek in his hand. That was actually worse because she glimpsed sympathy: poor little thing. She’s a little lost lamb in the big bad world.

  Gillie bit him.

  He pulled his fingers away, as if that was why, like he thought she didn’t want him touching her. Men could be such impossible boneheads.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she warned him. “I mean it. Next time, I do worse. I used to fantasize about biting Rowan’s pecker off, if he should ever push my head in that direction.”

  Taye eyed her, his expression mingled incredulity, astonished appreciation, and masculine horror. “Dear God.”

  “I know, right? I only look harmless. If you hadn’t gotten me out of there, I was biding my time. We both know he was escalating.”

  “Yeah.” Then he addressed her initial question. “About 9/11 . . . the situation is tense in the Middle East. There have been wars off and on for years or military engagements, whatever the current buzz word.”

  “So . . . we’re at war?”

  “Kind of. It’s more complex than that, though. Terrorists who work for enemy factions will target civilian sites. War’s not just for armies anymore.”

  She thought back. “I remember bombings in other countries, something about an American embassy. But I didn’t watch the news much as a kid, and that never happened here.”

  America was safe. That had to be true. At least . . . it used to be. Chills washed over her, coupled with a dire sense of loss, as if a way of life had ended before she had a chance to appreciate it.

  “It does now,” he said.

  “And 9/11?”

  “The Twin Towers in NYC aren’t there anymore. Terrorists hijacked a plane on September 11, 2001 and crashed into them. The death toll was astonishing. Since then, life in this country has changed a lot.”

  “Like putting cameras in bus stations.”

  He nodded and pulled his own hood up. “Let’s find out where we can both afford to go.”

  Gillie wondered in frozen silence what other events she’d missed, how else the world had changed while she was confined. Children’s TV networks had given her some idea about changing fashion and how people talked, though she never knew how realistic it was, but she’d never gotten news channels. Rowan had locked almost all stations, controlling her entertainment as fully as he did every other aspect of her life. Even the DVDs she’d watched passed through his controlling hands. As she got older, she had to request the things she really wanted to watch and he would decide whether to grant her wish with a DVD.

  And he might be out there somewhere, looking for you. He’ll never stop. As long as he’s alive, he will never stop. She refused to let that hateful voice take root in her head. With grim determination, she dug it out and cast those thoughts away.

  Once inside the station, they didn’t look any different from the other folks waiting to catch a bus somewhere. Most had backpacks, like them. Wore jeans and sneakers. He’s right. This is the perfect way to travel. Provided we can keep out of sight of those cameras.

  They had to stop somewhere, of course. But not so close to the facility; Gillie was with him on that point. She wanted to put miles behind them as fast as they could.

  Rowan’s face loomed up in her mind’s eye—the too minty yet anodyne taste of his mouth on hers—and she caught her breath, trembling with the fear that she’d find him one step behind her. Taye didn’t notice, thank God, because he already thought she was breakable. If he knew how frightened she was of this enormous world with its brand-new rules, he’d never look on her as more than a child.

  He moved toward the counter. “How much for two tickets to Pittsburgh?”

  Big city, random choice. Good call.

  The cashier tapped on the computer, which didn’t look anything like the ones she remembered. Its monitor was thin and sleek, and the printer was so small. Most likely, they all ran on different systems, not that she had spent much time using her dad’s PC as a kid. Something else I need to learn. But she could, no question.

  “Seventy dollars.”

  “We’ll take them.” He counted out the cash.

  “All right. Passenger names?”

  If she asks for ID, we’re stuck.

  “Steve Mills and Clare Smith.” Taye spoke the lies so smoothly that even she was impressed.

  Luckily for them, the attendant didn’t care about the rules; her bored face said she was only half here. The woman typed and then printed tickets. “Your bus leaves in an hour and a half. Listen for us to announce the terminal.”

  Since the building was small, that was probably unnecessary, but Taye thanked her and scooped up the tickets. He swept the room and picked out two seats away from the cameras. With innate wariness, he set his backpack between his knees and looped the strap around his ankle. The gesture fascinated her because i
t wasn’t something she would have thought to do; it was a remnant of a homeless man, who only owned what he could carry and defend.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “How is it you can remember stuff like 9/11, but—”

  “Nothing about myself?” he supplied in a low growl.

  She nodded.

  His knuckles whitened as he curled his hands into fists, studying them with unnecessary care. “I have echoes. Empty space. Sometimes I think they burned certain things out of me. They ran a lot of voltage through me, and that doesn’t factor the experimental drugs.”

  “So you think it’s permanent damage . . . those memories are just gone.”

  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t think I lost anything worth keeping.”

  Oh, Taye.

  In self-defense, Gillie went to the bathroom; they had been making do at gas stations, but she needed to sponge off. Fortunately, she found paper towels and hand soap, which allowed her to do a decent job. After she finished in the stall, she finger-combed her red curls, pulled her hood back up, and then went out to join him, once she was sure she could offer a neutral face. Just as she didn’t want his pity, she knew he wouldn’t allow that from her, either, even if his truths threatened to tug the heart from her body.

  Taye had a soda waiting for her and a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. By the look of him, he’d cleaned up a little, too, wiped away the grubbiness from his face, at least, and that left his eyes more brilliant in contrast with his dark hood. He had a roguish wanderer’s charm, like she imagined gypsies used to be. He wasn’t a stick-around-forever guy; he was a steal-your-heart-and-run-off-into-the-night man.

  “Feel better . . . Clare?”

  Gillie laughed softly. Yeah. She did, actually. It would be better once they actually got on the bus, wheels moving. She couldn’t remember if she got motion sick.

  Hope not.

  She ate in silence, feeling the twinge in her arm where the shunt had been removed. It’s a good thing I talked Rowan out of the fistula. Yet she would always bear a mark there, more visible than those from the constant injections during her early days with the Foundation. Even in her new life, the scars from the old would folloher.

  But it was only superficial, not soul-deep damage. Over the years, she’d safeguarded everything about herself that mattered, locked it away from Rowan, wherever he might be.

  I win, you bastard. I. Win.

  Berkley Sensation titles by Ava Gray

  SKIN GAME

  SKIN TIGHT

  SKIN HEAT