“You have the Gideon knife with you, right?”
She wondered how the woman knew that, but figured she’d get another vague explanation, so she didn’t bother asking. “It’s in my car.”
Assuming Mariah wanted to take the artifact and be on her way, she started to leave the shopping basket in the aisle and head out to the car.
“I’m not in a hurry,” her friend said. “Finish your shopping first.”
“Okay. I just need a few things from the dairy case and that’s it.”
Mariah came with her, stopping a few times to examine random items from the shelves.
“We located another artifact that we could use your help with.” Mariah squeezed a dog toy hanging from a hook as they walked past. “It was recently taken from Cascadia and smuggled over here.”
“Recently? So there was another raid?” Zara felt sick to her stomach. “Were…any children taken?”
Thugs from the Pacifican army came to their world to kidnap Cascadian children in the hopes that they had Talents that could be exploited as they got older. Oftentimes, whole villages would be burned, the people killed.
Mariah shook her head. “I haven’t heard that there were children taken this time.”
Zara felt her shoulders relax. “I’d be happy to help recover it as long as you don’t need it right away. I’m not sure what my immediate plans are going to be.”
“No rush.” Mariah stopped talking as a woman with a toddler pushed a shopping cart past them. “Oh hey, congratulations.” She fist-bumped Zara.
“I…uh…for what?”
Mariah lowered her voice. “The prison break, silly. That was pretty damn ballsy of you.”
The compliment meant a lot to her, considering Mariah herself was a badass. “I am so thankful that you told my brother how to find me.”
The other woman stopped to look at a jar of pickled asparagus. “So how’s this man of yours doing?” she asked, pulling it from the shelf.
Zara double-checked to make sure they were still alone. “It’s hard to tell. Hasn’t said a lot. He goes running, spends a lot of time by himself and sleeps. Today, he got up to go for a run and still wasn’t back before I left.”
“The change must be quite a shock. It’s bound to take him a while to get used to life outside prison walls.” Mariah made sure the asparagus jar was lined up perfectly with the rest before continuing down the aisle. “He’s the father of your son, right? Because it’s good that he’s going through this adjustment time before he meets him.”
Zara almost choked. “How did you know?”
Mariah waved her hand. “You used to talk in your sleep about a boy named Vince. Figured he was the father of the baby you were carrying. The man you helped escape from prison is named Vince, so you do the math.” Mariah sniffed a candle, grimaced, and put it back. “He’s having a hard time, eh?”
Zara nodded. “He hasn’t asked about Darius yet, though he knew I was pregnant.” She tried not to sound too disappointed, but she couldn’t help it. She would’ve thought their child would be one of the first things he asked about.
Mariah turned to face her, a roll of duct tape in her hand. “Do you still love him?”
Zara blinked at her friend’s bluntness, and the items in her basket suddenly went blurry. She wanted to shout, Yes, of course I love him! I’ve always loved him, except for the ten years when I hated him.
“I…I think so,” she said instead. “But maybe I’m just in love with what we once had. It was a long time ago. We were different people then.”
Mariah reached out and touched her arm. Zara couldn’t help but notice how her friend’s eyes sparkled like precious gems in the overhead lighting of this very plain, utilitarian grocery store.
“He’s a man coming home from war, Zara. He’s been traumatized. Exposed to terrible things. Experienced unspeakable horrors that you will probably never know about. Be patient and loving with him, but don’t push or smother. Just be there for him when he needs you. It could take a while until he’s able to reintegrate himself back into his life.”
Zara nodded at her friend’s wise words. “Yeah, I know.”
But what if she and Vince just weren’t meant to be? What if they weren’t two of a kind, two halves of the same whole? It was a song he’d used to sing to her in that crazy, out-of-tune voice of his. Although he was an incredibly talented artist, Vince couldn’t carry a tune if his life depended on it. She’d snort with laughter every time he sang it, which made her heart ache now. She hadn’t thought about that in a long time.
“What if he doesn’t love me anymore, Mariah?” She almost couldn’t choke out the words.
Her friend stood there a moment, staring at her, as if she were trying to figure out what to say. “Give him time, Zara. He didn’t get this way overnight. He may need to figure things out for himself first.”
***
“That's good,” Vince called, motioning for the dump truck driver to stop. He waited off to the side as a load of gravel was dumped onto Reckless's parking lot.
Rand leaned on the backhoe, having just finished showing Vince how to use it. “I really appreciate this. I can’t believe my guy who was going to do this called in sick again. He’s been flaking out lately, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“No problem,” Vince replied. “I’m happy there’s something I can do around here to help.”
“I owe you,” Rand said. “Big time.”
No, he didn’t. More like the other way around.
“Well, holler if you need anything,” the other man told him before turning and heading back into the garage.
Vince climbed into the backhoe and got to work moving gravel. It felt good to get out and do something constructive that took him away from his thoughts. He was sick of thinking. Zara was probably sick of it, too, although to her credit, she hadn’t said a word about it.
He’d seen her leave about an hour ago. Rand said she’d asked if she could get to the grocery store without running into any roadblocks. As Vince worked, he kept one eye on the entrance, waiting for her to return back safely.
Spreading gravel this way wasn’t bad, he thought, as he pressed the lever to lower the bucket and scoop another load. Not bad at all. Especially since he had lots of experience doing it by hand and knew exactly how much that sucked.
He took a swig from his water bottle just as Zara pulled into the parking lot. His heart thudded in his chest that she was not only safe and sound but that she’d turned the car in this direction.
Good time for a break, he decided, so he turned off the backhoe and climbed out.
She slowed the car and rolled down her window. Damn, she was gorgeous. Her hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders, and he longed to run his fingers through it. Her eyes sparkled, a half-smile on her upturned face. After all those dark, lonely years in prison where she was all he’d dreamed about, he would never grow tired of seeing her in person like this.
“Looks like Rand’s got you working hard,” she said.
“Heavy equipment rocks.”
“Yeah, it does,” she said, her gaze sliding over him appreciatively.
His cock began to harden in response. Okay, he liked that. A lot.
He noticed grocery sacks in the back seat. “Need some help?”
“Sure.”
He climbed in and directed her to park out back near the motocross park, explaining that the dump truck would be delivering a few more loads and he wanted to keep the parking lot as empty as possible.
“So you got some food?” Totally obvious for sure, but he wanted to keep talking with her—something he hadn’t been good at lately.
She didn’t act like she thought the question was stupid. “Thought I’d do a little baking, you know?”
Memories of how she always used to have food ready for him when he came across the portal flashed in his mind. She used to laugh and say that the portal must’ve made the food in his stomach vanish along with his clothes because he was
always starving.
He sighed. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. They were both so young and naïve back then, oblivious of the hard times that were coming.
She parked the car, and when he went to grab the sacks from the back seat, he saw the little blue backpack again. He brushed his fingertips over the straps and wondered for the thousandth time about the boy it belonged to. The ache he felt earlier came back with a vengeance. What did his son look like? What kind of child was he? Smart, funny, serious, athletic? All of the above? But ultimately, all that mattered to him was that his son was happy.
Zara was looking at him, a curious expression on her lovely face. Jerking his hand away, he quickly grabbed the sacks and shut the car door with an elbow.
“I got you something,” she said as they traipsed across gravel, not saying anything about his reaction to the backpack.
“You did?”
“Yeah, but it’s nothing big, so don’t be expecting that I got you a pony or anything.”
He laughed.
When they got to the break room, she rummaged around in the sacks and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with a piece of twine. She handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking it from her.
“Open it.” She started unloading the groceries.
Inside the package was a pad of drawing paper and several charcoal pencils. He rubbed his hand over the front cover and then fanned the pages with his thumb. “You got this for me,” he said softly.
“I wasn’t sure if you still like to draw. If you don’t, no big deal. I just thought—”
Overcome by the incredibly thoughtful gesture, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Thank you,” he mumbled into her fragrant hair. “It’s perfect.”
Just like she was and always had been.
She was a flame, constantly flickering in his darkness, igniting his lifeless soul for the past ten years.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said against his chest. “It’s not fancy. It’s just—”
“It’s perfect,” he said again. “I’m…sorry, Zara.”
She lifted her chin to him and smiled. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” Cupping his face in her hands, she pressed her lips chastely to his. “You sketch while I bake.”
Her simple kiss with no expectations made him want her all the more. He watched as she washed her hands, turned on the oven and got out a mixing bowl. She moved efficiently, as if she’d done this a hundred times before.
He opened the pad, grabbed a pencil and began drawing. He suddenly felt like talking. “Did my sister tell you anything about my mother? Is my mom…doing okay?” He held his breath as he waited for the answer.
“Your mom’s doing well. It’s a long story—I’ll let Olivia tell you the whole thing when you see her—but your mom found out she was actually born in Cascadia. Olivia and Asher brought her across the portal to meet her long lost relatives—cousins, I think—so that’s where she is now.”
His mom must’ve been so thrilled to learn this. Relieved that she was doing fine, he felt some of the built-up tension seeping from his shoulders. There was so much to get caught up on. He knew his mother had been adopted when she was a baby, but he’d had no idea she was from Cascadia.
“That means I’ve got Cascadian blood too,” he said, keeping his voice low in case someone came into the break room.
Zara nodded. “Fata-blood, given that you’re a Talent. The magic blood of the Fates.”
Those who had it often developed special abilities of the Fates and could pass along that trait to their descendants. This was why the Pacifican army was so desperate. Since you couldn’t control who had the magic blood of the Fates, the next best thing was to control those who had it and exploit them for your own purposes. Unless they refused.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get a handle on everything. He had expected things to be a bit different after ten years, but the foundation of everything he’d come to know had radically changed in his absence.
“And you?” he asked, his voice husky. “How have you been?” He was painfully aware that these were questions he should have asked her already.
“Me? I’m…I’m good.” Her tone was light and upbeat, but her hands trembled slightly as she measured the cupcake ingredients into the bowl. She told him about her job at the research library and what she did for the Taghta sisterhood. “I use my Talent to take back precious artifacts that have been stolen from Cascadia.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Take?”
“Okay, steal. I sneak in and steal back items that have been stolen from Cascadia. You’d be surprised to learn of all the precious items in various private collections. There’s a black market over here among the rich and privileged.”
No wonder she’d been so confident she could help him escape—she’d been eluding the authorities for years. However, that still didn’t excuse her brother for letting her go in alone. That fact continued to irritate the hell out of him.
She continued. “The history around many of the artifacts is very fascinating. I once actually held a sword owned by one of the brothers in the Obsidian wars.”
Like most people who grew up in Pacifica, his knowledge of this part of their history was limited. “That was back when the Fates stepped in to end the wars by dividing up the world, right?”
“You actually remembered,” she said, beaming as she poured the batter into the muffin tins. “I wasn’t sure how much of my so-called history lessons you’d been paying attention to.”
“Of course I remember what I learned during our lessons. Some lessons more vividly than others, though,” he said with a wicked grin.
A big glob of batter landed between the tins. He’d caught her off guard. Although he couldn’t see her face, he imagined she was blushing.
“Do you bake a lot for Darius?” he blurted without thinking.
Damn. He wasn’t ready to ask about his son. At least, not yet. His hands were sweaty, and the pencil slipped from his grip.
She looked up, a surprised expression on her face. Then, just as quickly, she grabbed the pan, put it in the oven and set the timer. “Yeah, I do. When he gets home from school and finds cookies or cupcakes, he always tells me it's the best day ever.” She gave a little laugh. “We have a lot of best days ever.”
Vince cleared his throat, trying to make the sudden lump disappear. “What's he like?” he asked softly. “My son.” It was the first time he’d uttered those words aloud.
Her gaze met his, and her beautiful face lit up with a tender smile. “He’s…he’s an amazing boy, Vince. You’ll love him. He’s smart, happy, goofy. He loves to read and research random things online.” She shook her head, evidently remembering something funny. “He knows all the player stats for New Seattle’s soccer team. He loves to draw—oh my gosh, you should see this picture he drew recently of an elephant. It’s pretty amazing. Oh, and he’s very stubborn—just like his father.”
It felt as if he’d just been slapped. He’d been listening, enraptured, until now. He didn’t want his son to be like him. He was damaged and fucked up. He wanted their son to be like her.
Vince rose and came up behind her, brushing the silky raven locks from her shoulder. “You’re amazing, Zara. Just like he is. But I know it wasn’t easy.” He pressed his lips to the back of her neck and felt her shiver. He inhaled deeply, pulling her sweet scent into his lungs. “Sorry I wasn't there. I would’ve done anything to have been there with you…and him.”
She placed a cool hand over his. “I know you would have.”
He turned her around to face him. Her gray eyes glittered with emotion as she looked up at him.
“You came for me.” He was still so blown away by that and probably always would be. “Thank you.”
“I would’ve come earlier had I known.”
He had no doubt that was true. He grasped her around the waist, lifted her up and set her on the counter. Sh
e inhaled sharply when he stepped between her legs.
“God, I missed you,” he said, his voice as rough as the gravel outside.
He tangled his fingers in her luxurious hair, pulled her head back and kissed her. Hard. With all the pent up emotion he’d been feeling. He’d wanted to kiss her tenderly, but he found he didn’t have the willpower. Ten years had been an awfully long time, and she was so beautiful. He’d been with no one since her. Thought of no one but her.
Life had moved on for her, while he’d remained static. Had she loved anyone else? Been with anyone else? He pushed his tongue past the seam of her lips, wanting to possess her with this kiss. Make her forget about any man she’d been with since they’d been apart.
God, she tasted good.
She gave a little moan, slid her arms around his neck and scooted her bottom closer, pressing herself against his growing erection. He considered taking her right here in the break room. How long until someone walked in on them? Was there enough time? Probably not, but then he sure as hell didn’t need much. However, the apartment upstairs would be better.
But just as he thought about grabbing her hand and leading her there, he heard the door to the garage open and several people talking. One was Rand, but he didn’t recognize the other two—a man and a woman.
Zara smiled and held a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
“I already told you,” Rand said loudly. He sounded exasperated. “No one has brought in a car like that recently.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asked.
“Positive.”
“We’d like to examine your records anyway,” the man said.
“You honestly think one of my customers had something to do with that prison break? That’s ridiculous.”
Holy fuck. Vince froze, his gaze meeting Zara’s. The army was here.
Glancing around the room for a place to hide, he quietly pulled her off the counter and set her back on her feet. The cupboards were too small and there weren’t any closets. The break room door stood ajar. Wordlessly, he pointed behind it.
She nodded.
He followed her, taking care not to hit the door. From where Rand and the army people were standing, they’d be able to see if the door moved. And that wouldn’t be good. He pressed her against the wall, caging her between his arms.
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 53
