Gone to Dust

by Liliana Hart

  He brought his left arm across his chest and then moved it straight so the key pointed to the top of the casket. He slowly extended his arm, his grip on the key firm. Sweat drenched his brow and his body, and there was barely any room to get his arm where he needed it to be. But he aimed the key for the top corner where the hole was, and when the key touched the satin lining of the casket, he slowly slid it back and forth until he felt it slip into the tiny keyhole. Once it was in place, he began to crank the slim handle of the key until he heard the locks snick open.

  When he pushed open the top of the casket he gulped in air and immediately took stock of where he was. This particular safe house was inside a railroad car, and it made the trip from north to south Texas on a regular basis. They’d gotten lucky that it had arrived at the station the night before and was ready to make its early morning run.

  There was a sudden lurch as the train began to move at a slow and steady pace. He heard the whistle at the station and hit the button on his watch to light up the time. Six o’clock on the dot.

  The train picked up speed, and he was jostled inside his makeshift bed. He undid the clasps for the bottom half of the casket and opened it up so he could get out. Then he took a flashlight from a pocket in his BDUs and clicked on the high-powered beam. His breathing came a little easier as he stood.

  The railcar was locked down with the same security they used at HQ. The car was reinforced steel, and only the correct passcode and retinal scans could open the sliding side door to enter or exit the car.

  He found the palm plate for the lights on the wall and placed his hand against it. Bright overheads came on, and the computer system began to come to life. He shoved the flashlight back inside his pocket and hurried to the second casket, kneeling at the top end. He placed the key in the small hole on the outside and cranked it quickly, and then he lifted the lid, unsure what state he’d find Miller in, but prepared for anything. Or mostly anything.

  He found her completely still, her arms folded across her stomach and her eyes closed, her lashes fanned across her pale skin. Her hair was snarled around her face. Panic swelled inside him and he felt for her pulse, finding it in the soft thump in her neck beneath his two fingers. He released a breath and let his hand linger on her skin. She was asleep.

  He’d been worried sick about her and she was asleep, snuggled inside the casket like it was a Sleep Number bed. He found that incredibly irritating.

  “Miller,” he said, shaking her.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a couple of times, and then she looked at him grumpily and tried to roll over to go back to sleep.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said, reaching back into the casket to shake her again, but she swatted away his hands and made a growling noise that had his brows rising. “You can’t possibly be sleeping right now. You’re in a casket, for God’s sake.”

  Her head turned ninety degrees and he wondered if he was about to see a remake of The Exorcist. And then he shook his head because she’d gotten him comparing everything to movies just like she did. Her tawny eyes opened fully and he swore he saw a flame somewhere behind her pupils. Or it might have been the glare of the lights. And then, almost as quickly as it began, her face relaxed and her eyes softened.

  “I’m in a casket,” she said, looking around as if she’d just noticed.

  “And you were sleeping. I can’t believe you were sleeping.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?” she asked, surprised. “I haven’t slept in days. I’ve been on deadline. I think I was asleep before they closed the lid. This thing is pretty comfortable. I should get one for my office. It’d freak people out. That’s probably the best sleep I’ve had in a couple of years.”

  It wasn’t often he was speechless. But Miller made it a habit of making him shake his head. She was a constant surprise; she never did what he expected her to.

  He gave her a hand and she surprisingly took it as he helped her out. He tried not to think about what her skin felt like against his. Just the touch of her hand—something so simple and innocent—was like being on the edge of a dream—familiar and comforting, but not quite within reach.

  He couldn’t help but stare at her, but she didn’t notice. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was free of makeup. There were dark circles under her eyes and her clothes were rumpled. But she captivated him in ways that were unexplainable.

  “Why does it feel like we’re on a train?” she asked, lurching slightly as she caught her balance.

  “Because we’re on a train.” He let her go and took a step back. “This is our safe house for the moment.”

  “Cozy,” she said.

  “Well, it’s no casket. But it’ll do.” He closed her casket lid and pushed it against the back wall, and then he did the same with his. “Watch this,” he said. He put his hand against a flat metal plate in the wall, and the railcar began to transform.

  “No way,” she said, watching in awe as wall panels flipped to reveal hidden treasures beneath. There were narrow spaces for sleeping stacked on top of each other on part of one wall, and a kitchen area opened up next to it. Weapons of every make and size—from knives to submachine guns—fit in their assigned spots.

  “This is going in a book too.” And then she stopped for a second and the blood drained from her face.

  Elias took a step toward her, afraid she might faint, but she looked at him with sheer panic in her eyes. “I left my laptop back at the funeral parlor.” Her voice was barely a wheeze.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m sure Tess will take good care of it while you’re gone.”

  “We’ve got to go back and get it.”

  “No,” he said. “I did grab the box of letters from your brother so we can go through them again. And seriously, you can’t put all this stuff in a book. Eve would kill you. Probably.”

  “I can’t write a book with a freaking box of letters.” She looked at him like he was an idiot. “I need my laptop. I need it right now. I’m on deadline.”

  “I don’t mean to sound critical, but you look like a deranged person. And your hair keeps getting bigger.”

  She glared daggers at him. “You don’t mean to sound critical? Can you not see I’m having a crisis here?”

  “You’re about to go on a mission in tropical waters, where a dangerous band of terrorists will be hunting us, and you think you’re going to have time to write a book? Much less carry a laptop around without it falling in the Pacific?”

  “I’ve written a book while I’ve had the flu and I’ve written a book in my hall closet while tornadoes were touching down all around us.” She looked fierce and a little scary, and he wondered what was wrong with him that he found that to be a turn-on. “I can write a book anywhere.”

  He was, once again, at a loss for words, so he decided on a plan of action and took two duffel bags from one of the hidden slots. They weren’t airline regulation carry-on bags, but military-style duffels that could hold long-range weapons or an average female body.

  “In this bag,” he said, laying his hand on top of one of them, “are passports, cash, and credit cards. Grab a passport booklet from Australia or Canada. We can alter your hair and eye color. We have the equipment here to process your photo and add information. I can even give you a few stamps from other countries since you’re such a world traveler.”

  “That would’ve been handy when I was in high school,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I won’t lie,” he said. “It comes in pretty handy as an adult too.”

  “What about yours?” she asked.

  “Just grab mine from whatever country you choose. How are you with accents?”

  “Terrible,” she said. “The magic happens inside my head and on the page. When my mouth gets involved I usually get in trouble.”

  His gaze dropped to her full lips, and he hardened in an instant. He knew firsthand exactly how much trouble her mouth could be. He’d been helpless to withstand it. When his eyes met hers again, h
e noticed her cheeks were flushed and the pulse in her neck was thrumming wildly. As angry as she was, and as much as she wanted to shrug off the attraction, it was still there—still sizzled between them.

  He placed his hand on the other bag. “There are clothes in this one. Should be something in there that fits both of us and will work for where we’re headed. We can pick up extra clothes once we get to the island. You’ll need layers. It’s a temperate climate, but we’ll be on the water, and the rain comes in every afternoon.”

  She eyed the two bags as if whatever was inside them gave her hope for what was to come.

  “I don’t understand this,” she said softly. “I mean, I understand what we’re doing and that people like you exist. It’s a lot easier to conceptualize something that should be fantasy that’s become reality than it is to understand Justin’s thinking. I don’t understand how he got to this point. It’s that same kind of compulsion an addict would have. Why is he doing it? Why is it worth the cost of his life? For treasure and riches and glory?”

  He knew she was right. He’d spent more time with Justin and knew him better than Miller could ever hope to. His obsession with Solomon was an addiction, and one he seemed willing to give his life for.

  “You’ll have to ask him when we find him,” he said. “Maybe he’ll have an answer you both can live with.”

  She nodded and started digging into the first bag, pulling out the stacks of passports and credit cards. She was hurting in ways he’d never understand. He’d never known what it was like to not have his parents when he’d needed them. He knew, even if he’d stayed “alive” and come home as a disgraced soldier, they’d have both greeted him with open arms along with their disappointment. But the love would have been there as well.

  She’d never had that reassurance that the people who were supposed to love and support her the most never had. Even though she’d been blessed with a friend like Tess, it was impossible to fill that void where parental love should’ve been. Whether he’d wanted to be or not, Justin had become her parental figure once her parents had died. And he’d abandoned her just like they had.

  Miller had a tough exterior. She was funny and personable, and anyone looking at her might think she had all the confidence in the world. But she was insecure when it came to love and relationships. Any kind of relationship. He’d been an ass, and all he could think is that his mother would sorely disapprove of how he’d treated Miller. But he’d only been thinking of protecting himself, and he should’ve been thinking of how to protect her heart. He’d failed miserably.

  He wanted to take her in his arms. Hold her. Reassure her. But instead he watched her and waited until she looked at him, hoping she’d instinctively know every emotion rioting through his body.

  “What?” she asked him.

  And he drew a blank as to what to say. “There’s a brush in that bag if you want to contain the beast.”

  He turned his back on her and contained his laughter, expecting the brush in question to hit him in the back of the head at some point. He might not know what to do about the future, but he could at least have a good time while he was trying to figure it out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’ve never changed my identity before,” she said once she’d gone through both bags. “This is so empowering. There was this kid Chad when I was in high school. He drove a Corvette and he was the man, if you know what I mean. He sold fake IDs to all the kids. Made a fortune. And then all the kids with fake IDs would head into Dallas and try to get into the clubs.”

  “A real entrepreneur,” Elias said dryly. “Wonder what he’s doing today?”

  “He’s a deputy at the sheriff’s department. They always say criminals make the best cops.”

  “Who says that?” he asked skeptically.

  “I read it somewhere,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not my point, though.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a point.”

  She growled and watched his smile grow. Aggravating man. He was doing it on purpose, and she was falling right into his trap. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “I can’t remember my point now,” she said. “You got me off track. I was only saying that I can see why it was so popular. There’s something exhilarating about getting to become someone else for a night. To let go of any worries or stress and pretend your life is something completely different. To let your inhibitions go and just be free.”

  “You’d want to pretend your life is something completely different?” he asked. “You’re not happy?”

  “Of course not,” she answered immediately. “I have an amazing life, and I’m incredibly blessed to get to do something I love to do, even when it brings me stress and worry. But I can see the appeal of escape and fantasy every once in a while.”

  “Isn’t that what you do with your books?” he asked, really stopping to look at her now. She wasn’t sure when the conversation had turned so serious, but the tone was different now. Something had shifted along the way, and her footing wasn’t steady. “As the writer, you get to escape into these fantasies that you create. Seems pretty cool to me.”

  “That’s very perceptive,” she said. “And yes, it’s exactly like that. It’s part of the reason I write romance. In my head, they can go on any adventure. They can conquer any challenge. And they can overcome any obstacle, no matter how big. And they get to do it together. In four hundred pages, I can make reality disappear and give my readers the possibility of love and hope in any situation. There are no disappointments in the end. But there’s love, and a hope for the future. How many people really get that in real life?”

  “Not many,” he said softly.

  She watched the expression on his face turn blank and flat, and she realized his hope for a future was locked into being a Gravedigger, and never knowing if he’d survive one mission to the next.

  He cleared his throat and she diverted her gaze to give him a minute.

  “All I’m saying,” he said, “is that this isn’t a vacation. You seem much too excited about all of this.”

  She took a deep breath and decided to get things back on track. Emotions were running high, and something had changed in Elias since he’d woken her from the casket. It was time to get back in control. They were going to be in very close quarters for the next few days at least. There was no need making things harder than they were already going to be.

  She smiled as she put the clothes they couldn’t use back in the duffel bag. “Every adventure is an opportunity for great research.”

  “Yes, until you die,” he said. “It’ll be hard to write those pages from six feet under.”

  “Isn’t that why you came along?” she asked. “To keep me alive?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m just not fond of relaxing vacations where I can lie in a hammock and do nothing but drink beer and watch the waves roll in for two weeks. That’s boring. I’d much rather be doing this.”

  “I’m sensing sarcasm in that statement,” she said.

  “Huh,” he said. “And I thought I was hiding it so well.”

  Elias stood in front of the rows of weapons, carefully making his selections and placing them on the table. She wondered how they were going to carry them all.

  “Make sure you get one for me too,” she told him. “I’m not going anywhere unarmed.”

  “Can you shoot?” he asked. “Or am I going to have to worry about a bullet in the back?”

  “If I shoot you,” she said sweetly, “it’ll be in the front. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “That’s good to know.” He took down a Sig P229 that was just like the one she had at home, grabbing a couple of extra magazines to go with it. “Good thing you don’t hold a grudge.”

  “Isn’t it?” she agreed.

  Being in the same room with Elias for this extended period of time was taking up more energy and concentration than she had. Her brain and her body were warring back and forth between jumping his bones and gi
ving him a swift kick to the backside.

  When he’d helped her out of the casket earlier, just the simple act of his hand touching hers had her heart fluttering like a teenager in love for the first time. The shock wave of a binding connection shot through her body, and she’d tried desperately to look everywhere but at him, afraid she was the only one who felt it. And how pathetic would that be? The man had already made up his mind. If a man could stop that close to sex, he must really not want it. The sting of rejection was harsh, but she could deal with it. She’d always dealt with it.

  “Don’t think about it,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Nothing. What were you looking for when you said I could change hair and eye color? I don’t want to wear a wig. Seems like it would be a pain in the ass to keep up with the whole time if we’re going to be schlepping through the jungle. And hot.”

  “Simple changes are best. Hairstyle, makeup, eye color … things like that. And dress and pack appropriately. You’ll want to dress in layers. The weather is odd. The Pacific waters are cold, but there will be a few hours in the day where it’s hot, and then the Pacific winds will blow in with the rain and drop the temperatures drastically. They’re volcanic islands, so there are areas that are also completely barren.”

  “Probably not something they like to promote on their tourism brochures.”

  “It’s not Hawaii or the Virgin Islands. We’ll put it that way,” he said. “The train will stop in San Antonio. Then we’ll charter a flight to the islands. We’ll take the cash and I’ll have our new names printed on a couple of the credit cards.”

  “Man, working for the government is awesome,” she said. “It’s like free money everywhere.”

  “Think of it as your tax dollars at work.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t make it near as fun. I pay a lot of taxes.”