Out of the Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  He straddled the bike, his jeans pulling tight over his thighs. “I owe these guys my help. They pulled me out of that asylum. But after that, I’m out of there. I can’t be locked up in some bomb shelter.” Or tied to one woman. He didn’t say it, but she knew that’s what he was thinking.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I don’t want anything…” She gestured between them. “I may not be able to control my ability, if that’s what it actually is, but I can damn sure control my feelings and my body. I’ve been doing it for a long time. There will not be a kiss, so don’t look so worried about it.”

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “No, you weren’t worried. You know what’s funny? You weren’t afraid when we were hiding from an assassin or running for our lives, but it scared the hell out of you when you almost kissed me. You tell me you’re a risk taker, but kissing me is a cliff you can’t jump off. Why is that, Rand?”

  He yanked on his helmet. When he started the bike, she thought he might just leave her there. She stood, waiting to see what he’d do. He gunned the engine, pulled up the kickstand, and tensed his body to go.

  Her heart was thumping, but not out of fear that he’d take off. A can skidded across the asphalt and bounced off the building. Calm down, Zoe. She couldn’t believe she’d said what she’d said to him. She couldn’t believe that he was getting to her. She wanted to engage him, force him to face his demons, to stand naked before her…metaphorically speaking.

  And otherwise. She wanted to have wild, crazy, mating-panther-claws-out sex with him.

  A piece of cardboard lifted off the ground and spiraled through the air. There wasn’t a lick of breeze.

  He looked at her. Their gazes held, though through the plastic shield she couldn’t see his eyes clearly. He waited. She held her smile in check and put on her helmet in a much calmer way than he just had. She didn’t exactly take her time, but she didn’t rush. Their bodies melded when she climbed on, damp and hot, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers splayed over his stomach. It felt right. Too right.

  He drove like a little old lady again. He cared about her, but he sure didn’t want to. That went two ways. She didn’t want to feel anything toward him either. The physical aspect was easier to face up to. She could still feel the imprint of his arousal against her hip, still feel the tingle at the thought. Was it only the danger that had stimulated him, or did it have to do with being pressed against her?

  CHAPTER 11

  F

  reedom. The word loomed large in Rand’s mind as he and Zoe thudded down the dimly lit tunnel toward the tomb. An appropriate word, that. He’d never been tied down in any way. Now he was hiding belowground and—he glanced over at her silhouette walking beside him—feeling a pressure in his chest he’d never felt before. Claustrophobia closed his throat.

  The crinkle of bags Zoe carried echoed off the walls. She’d asked to stop at a shopping center on the way home so she could buy stuff. After what she’d been through, he could hardly refuse.

  Only one of the things that ate away at him. He’d always been able to say no. Twice she’d gotten him to give in, and without even resorting to crying, a blackmail tactic he despised. No, she’d just looked at him with those big hazel eyes, and he’d crumbled.

  “What is in there that’s clinking?” She pointed to his duffel bags.

  “Cans of hair spray.”

  “Really? Boy, you use more product than I do.”

  Petra was waiting by the big slab of a door. Her gaze went right to the bags. “You went shopping?” That last word was a mix of accusation and longing.

  “I needed clothes and hair stuff.”

  Petra pouted. “No fair! That cute little Novelties boutique just right up there is having a sale, and I can’t go.”

  Rand rolled his eyes. He’d had to endure Zoe buying panties, and the woman didn’t buy those cotton ones with roses on them. No, she had to buy black lace and pink-with-ribbons thongs. Having seen her in one didn’t help.

  “Didn’t Lucas and Amy come back?” He’d been concerned to find the car still gone.

  “Yes, but they went back out again. She needed bird food, and they weren’t exactly in a fun mood, so I didn’t tag along.”

  Rand had to admit, though, that Petra had done a lot to make the tomb homey, or at least interesting. The vivid colors brightened the big space, as did the paintings. Eric lounged on the couch, feet on the coffee table, watching a soccer game. And from somewhere in the back, the racket they’d heard coming from the car: the parrot.

  “We had a run-in with two of Darkwell’s thugs,” Rand said, capturing their attention.

  Eric sat up, scanning them for injuries. “You’re all right?”

  Zoe dropped her bags by the stairwell and stretched out on the gray carpet. “Rand did some kick-ass motorcycle riding.”

  He chafed at the compliment, still pissed at himself for getting waked out with her on the bike. He let her tell them what happened, watching her expression and the sensual way her body moved as she acted out some of the motions. She left out the part about him zoning; all he heard was her praise of his riding skills.

  Even while he trashed his recklessness and reminded himself that he’d be on his own again soon, something else crept in, too. Her earlier accusation that he wanted to be a hero echoed in his mind and reverberated through his body. He’d helped save them. He’d ridden well enough to get away from their pursuers.

  Don’t go there. These aren’t your people. She’s not your girl, no matter how natural she felt riding with you today.

  Thankfully she also left out the bits about him having a hard-on and her challenge that kissing her was a cliff he couldn’t jump from. He wasn’t scared of much beyond being tied down or locked up. Yet, it had never occurred to him to haul ass or do anything but keep Zoe with him. To protect her. For several moments back at hospice, his fear centered on not what might happen to him but what might happen to her. The thought of that scared him more than anything.

  Getting attached to someone was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Ever.

  Petra wrapped her arms around herself. “So they can remote-view any of us now. That’s scary.”

  Rand pulled out of his dark thoughts. “Apparently. We heard the guy asking someone to view us.”

  Zoe’s face glowed. “And that shield thing Cheveyo told you about worked!”

  Rand said, “Whenever we go out, it’s got to be a quick trip. This Steele guy’s just going to be hanging around waiting for word on our whereabouts. We have to get in and out before he can reach our location.”

  Eric’s face reddened, and his fists clenched. “We need to take this Steele son of a bitch out.”

  Petra cracked her knuckles. “But there’ll be more of them. There are at least two. Who knows how many more assassins he has? Plus the Offspring. How can we win?” Her voice rose with each sentence, her blue eyes widening. “Eventually, they’re going to get us.”

  Eric shot her a quelling look. “We kill them all, that’s how. One by one.”

  Rand stuffed the tips of his fingers into his front pockets. “One at a time is our best bet, considering how the last infiltration went.”

  “At least we took out several of them at once.” Eric’s bloodlust burned in his eyes. “Unfortunately, they seem to have the same shield around their location that supposedly this Cheveyo guy put on us, according to Miss Doe Eyes over here.”

  Petra flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. “I’m not doe-eyed.”

  “Every time you mention the guy, your voice gets all gooey, and your eyes get all dewy.” He snorted in laughter. “Gooey and dewy.”

  She crossed her arms and pushed her mouth out in a pout. “I do not get gooey.”

  Eric kept teasing her, typical sibling stuff, Rand imagined. Even though Eric was now in a teasing mood, Rand would never forget the sight of him pummeling that guard at the asylum, waked out in his own zone. Even harder to forget was th
e fact that he himself had shot a man. Had he killed him? Enemy or not, he had shot another human being. He’d hear that gasp of pain in his nightmares for a long time.

  Eric, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy the prospect of killing.

  Petra picked up one of the accent pillows and threw it at Eric. “Stop!” She dropped down on the couch again, her expression changing to pensive. “Eric, we need to tell Zoe about the news report.” She looked at Zoe. “The Key West police found an abandoned VW Bug and traced it to Ronald somebody or another. He, in turn, told them about your hasty purchase and request for him to keep it quiet.”

  Zoe let out a breath. “What do they think?”

  “Apparently they talked to someone at your tattoo shop, and he said a guy was stalking you. You’re a missing person.”

  “Great.”

  Eric dismissed her concern with a wave. “It’ll die down before long, and everyone will forget.” He looked at Rand. “Sit down, will you? You look like you’re about to sprint.”

  Eric was right. Rand’s body was tensed and ready. He sank to the edge of the couch, his body still unwilling to commit to a comfortable position. Zoe scooted closer to the table, remaining on the floor.

  Eric said, “Lucas looked on the Internet for anything on Robbins. He was quoted in an interview, but that’s it. He’s not listed in the phone directory. I couldn’t find anything on Darkwell either. We’re going to focus on finding more Offspring who can hopefully help us get Robbins. This guy’s a good bet.”

  Eric pulled a folder from the corner of the coffee table and opened it. “Amy got onto Cyrus’s computer before he died. She saw three profiles. Rand, you were one. These are the other two. We know that a male and a female Offspring work with Darkwell. We’ve got to be prepared that one of the two men in these profiles could be our enemy. Nicholas Braden works at a marine salvage company and volunteers at Bone Finders, an organization that finds dead people.”

  Petra wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  “He helps the cops find the remains of missing people. And according to what I’ve been able to find on the Internet, he’s damned good. I bet there’s a reason for that.”

  Rand read one of the sheets of paper. “He specializes in finding bodies and other items underwater.”

  Zoe shuddered, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I can’t imagine anything creepier than diving in water and finding a body.”

  Rand gave a look of understanding. “The guy finds people. Maybe he can find Robbins.”

  “Exactamundo.”

  Rand set the sheet back on the table. “So what’s the plan?”

  Petra said, “Not grabbing him in the dark. Take it from me, it’s pretty disconcerting.”

  “But effective,” Zoe said. “If Cheveyo hadn’t grabbed you and covered your mouth, you would have screamed your head off.”

  Eric’s eyebrows furrowed. “If this guy dives and does salvage work, I’m betting he’s not a weakling. We need to watch him first, make sure he’s not one of them.”

  “I can do that.” Rand’s body strained to leave right then. He relaxed his muscles. “Do we know what he looks like?”

  Eric shook his head. “Amy saw their profiles, but she didn’t have time to get a good look at the pictures. We have an address. He lives in Annapolis.”

  Rand stood. “I’ll go tonight, see who comes home. Then I’ll return in the morning, follow him.”

  If he helped them get more Offspring, he’d feel better about leaving. He glanced at Zoe, who watched him in a worried way. He had to get out of there before something really dangerous happened. Before he started caring.

  Rand didn’t return to the tomb until nearly midnight. Zoe, passing time with the others, had begun to wonder if he’d return at all. That thought twisted her stomach until she remembered his promise to help the Rogues because they had saved him. She knew he kept his word.

  His hair was mussed, as though he’d run his fingers through it to fluff it up after wearing the helmet. His gaze went right to her, but he quickly shifted it to the others in the living area. “I found Braden’s house. It was dark, no activity.” He dropped down on the floor near Zoe. He smelled of fresh air, of wind and freedom, and she felt a curious pang at not having gone with him.

  You hate motorcycles, remember?

  Lucas tossed a pen in the air and caught it. “He could be on vacation. Or on assignment. We’ll call the salvage company tomorrow, see if we can find out anything.”

  Lucas and Amy had been acting strange all evening. Even Eric had asked if they’d had a fight. They didn’t share those casual touches, like the brush of a hand across a derriere that Zoe had noticed with longing. Yet Lucas still seemed protective of her, sharing intense looks that seemed to ask, Are you all right? Something was definitely up, but they weren’t sharing.

  Eric asked, “You’re going back tomorrow morning?”

  “Yeah, early. If he’s there, I’ll catch him leaving, follow him.”

  “Don’t approach him yet. We’ve been working on a plan.”

  Rand sank down to the couch. “Hit me with it.”

  “First, we need to find out if this guy is actually an Offspring. We need Amy for that.”

  Amy said, “Remember, Offspring have mixed-color glows.”

  Lucas put his hand on her arm. “We’re going to knock on his door, tell him we’ve heard about his special skills from a CIA friend, see if we get any reaction to that. Maybe they’ve approached him, and he’s turned them down. If he’s working with them already, we should see some kind of response, even if it’s as subtle as a twitch of his eye. If he’s not working with them, he should be intrigued by our knowledge of his special skill, which is probably locating. We present the facts, the program, his parent, and draw him in.”

  Rand stretched out his legs, clad in tight jeans. “I’m sure you’ve got a backup plan in case he’s either one of them or being watched.”

  “You, Eric, Zoe, and Petra are all going to be lookouts, posted in the area. If you see a sign of anything, ring my phone. It’ll be on vibrate and in my hand.”

  “St. Martin, Negril, Montego Bay,” Zoe whispered, looking away.

  “What’d you call me?” Rand gave her a smile that referenced their first meeting.

  She could barely smile back. Talk of lookouts and bad guys…holy crap.

  A popping sound sent everyone’s gaze to Petra, who pulled her hands away before Eric could stop her. She started braiding her hair instead. “I don’t want to be a lookout. Even when you think it’s safe to be outside the action, men with guns show up and the plan goes wrong and—”

  Eric pressed his hand over her mouth. “You really got to stop doing that, too.”

  “I can’t crack my knuckles, can’t talk—what can I do, bossy little brother?”

  “Hum. I’ve heard you sing in the shower. You’re good.”

  Her face flushed.

  Eric walked to his room and returned a minute later with a big plastic bag bearing a drugstore’s logo. Like a kid with his Halloween candy, he dumped the contents on the table.

  Lucas picked up one of the many boxes. “Hair dye?”

  “They know what we look like. You and Amy especially need to modify your looks.” Eric looked at Zoe and Rand. “You guys have distinctive hair. Even though you’re only lookouts, you should change it up.”

  Zoe grimaced as she picked through the selection. “I’ve tried different colors, believe me. I don’t look good in anything but shades of red.”

  “This isn’t about looking good,” Eric said. “It’s about surviving.”

  Petra grabbed a hank of her hair as though someone were threatening with scissors. “I’m not dyeing my hair. I’ll braid it, pin it up, whatever, but I’m not messing with it.”

  Eric made a scissor gesture with his fingers. “How ’bout I chop it off?”

  Petra stalked off, holding her long hair as though she expected him to come after her. He rolled his eyes and gestured to the table.
“I printed out a map.”

  Zoe grabbed a box of black dye and pushed to her feet. “I’m going downstairs. See you all in the morning.”

  They all bade her good night. How freaking odd it was, living with a bunch of strangers, suddenly having a bond with all these different people.

  She wasn’t tired. She usually didn’t stop working until midnight. She needed space. A sense of control. Planning the approach to Braden wasn’t her area of expertise, and Eric had shot down the two ideas she’d suggested earlier. She ached to return to her shop, to give some orders, to do tattoos.

  She went down to her room and pulled out the pens and notepad she’d bought. Doodling to her was like snacking to other people. It kept her fingers busy and her head clear. Most of her doodles were movie monsters, and sometimes they incorporated her dream of going to the islands. Frankenstein climbed a palm tree, or Dracula floated on a raft.

  She sat on the bed, but the room was oppressive with its silence, gray walls, and no windows. She hooked up her iPod to the speaker unit that looked like a dog, and carried them out to the downstairs living area. Opposite the gym area were a couch and coffee table, presumably to give the three families who would be living there post-nuclear war a little space. She was grateful for that.

  She curled up in the corner of the couch, her notepad resting against her thighs, and started to draw. Her favorite music filled the room, and the dog danced along. Doing something familiar gave her such a sharp sense of comfort it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Today she’d almost died; tonight she was in a quiet space doing something she loved.

  Her peace of mind didn’t last long. Rand’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he appeared in the opening. He paused at the sight of her—okay, her cinnamon tank top did dip a bit low in the front—and continued to his room.

  She let out a breath, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved that he didn’t stay and talk to her. She knew where he stood where she was concerned. Really, the last thing she needed was to get involved with anyone, especially someone who had plans to sprint the moment he could.