“Oh goodness,” she said, pretending to check the clock behind her. “I promised my sister I’d be home by now. Excuse me, David.”
Jamansky didn’t move, trapping her in the small booth. “Your sister can wait. You were about to tell me where you live. Here in South Elgin? Or do you live closer to Officer Simmons?”
Oliver dropped back on his red cushioned seat, stomach ready to lose his dinner. Carrie looked panicked by the question. He gave her the tiniest shake of the head, begging her to say anywhere but Shelton.
“Um…north of Campton Hills,” she said.
Oliver’s gut unclenched. A perfect answer.
“Ah.” Jamansky smiled at her. “And how did you come to know my older employee?”
Oliver grunted angrily. “We met when—”
“I asked her,” Jamansky barked. Then he turned back to Carrie with another swagger smile. “Yes?”
Her hands twisted in her lap. “Oliver and I have been friends for years. Our dads were friends years ago. They were cops together.” Her words were tight with lies, but the others didn’t seem to notice. “I haven’t seen Oliver for ages, so we just wanted to catch up.”
She couldn’t have answered better if Oliver had fed her the lines. If Carrie’s dad had been a cop, she would have clout in the government now. Maybe enough Jamansky would back off.
Jamansky didn’t.
“Interesting. So you and my buddy Ollie are just friends?”
“Yes,” she said, “but if you’ll excuse me, David, I really did promise my little sister I’d be home before dark.” She scooted a little. “Do you mind?”
Though it took a moment, Jamansky shifted out of the seat and stood, clearing the way for her to exit the booth. He took her hand again, only a little friendlier than a handshake. “It was lovely to meet you, Carrie. I hope to see you around again.”
She nodded but didn’t return the sentiment.
Oliver whipped out his wallet, dropped some bills on the table, and stepped toward Carrie. But Jamansky shifted sideways, purposely blocking her. The mayor laughed. So did the other guy.
Oliver was done.
“Move,” Oliver hissed at Jamansky. “Now.”
Jamansky gave a last menacing smile to let Oliver know that this was far from over, and then he stepped out of the way.
With all three men watching, Oliver took Carrie by the arm and led her outside. He opened her car door and screeched away from the curb, barely able to think straight enough to drive.
They rode in silence while Oliver relived it over and over. Even with papers, he couldn’t believe he’d been so reckless. He vowed never to take Carrie anywhere again. She belonged in Logan Pond. Not with him.
He sped down the road, hoping to get her home faster.
Not with him.
“Oliver?” she said.
It was just that after seeing her so fascinated on their drive through Shelton, he wanted to show her more of the world. He wanted her to know that there were still happy places and—if she chose—she didn’t have to stay in Logan Pond. He’d given her a gift of freedom. She just didn’t know it yet.
“Oliver?”
Although Carrie didn’t know, she had options now. She could wander and shop and eat in towns like South Elgin. But the last thing either of them needed was David Jamansky sniffing around—which he would now because that’s what Jamansky did.
Oliver cursed himself for the hundredth time.
“Oliver,” she said, grabbing his arm to catch his attention—which it did. “I’m fine. You’re fine. It’s all fine. Please don’t worry about it. Dinner was very nice. Thank you.”
He should tell her. About the papers. But he was scared of her reaction, and technically they weren’t fully processed yet. They still needed a signature—her signature—and then it would take at least another week for it to be official.
For her to be legal.
And free.
He was tempted to tear up the papers and be done with the whole stupid idea in the first place. He dreaded what she’d think once she found out, especially since he’d done it without her permission. Yet…even if she never spoke to him again, she’d still be safer than not having a card at all. Those papers were her ticket to freedom, Zach and Amber’s, too, and they all deserved to know.
Once they reached her driveway, he parked the car and ran a hand over the bulge in his pocket.
“Thanks again, Oliver,” she said. “It was nice to remember what life used to be like—or what it still is for some people, I guess. Can I repay you?”
“No,” he said adamantly. Not only was she dead broke, but he had been a fool taking her. “Dinner was my gift.”
“I meant”—she tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear—“can I make dinner here for you next time?”
He froze. “Next time?”
“Yeah. When did you say your day off was?”
He swallowed a few times. Blinked, maybe. He couldn’t believe she was still talking to him let alone asking him out in return.
“Um. Saturday?” He said it like a question because he was an idiot. How was she supposed to know his day off? “Except…except I have training during the day in Joliet, so it would have to be later.”
Carrie smiled. “Okay. Dinner here Saturday night. I don’t have a lot of choices, but I can make soup or noodles. Which do you prefer?”
“Carrie…” he whispered, “you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. You’ve done so much for me—for all of us.” Her chin dropped, and in the fading light of day, she played with a string on her blue blouse. “It would be nice to do something for you for a change.”
He immediately stiffened. “You don’t owe me anything.” If that’s why she’d said yes today, if that’s why she wanted to make him dinner… He looked her directly in the eye. “What I do, I do because I want to. Not because I expect anything in return. If you’re just being nice or trying to repay me somehow, I just, I just…” He couldn’t find the words. “Please don’t.”
She cocked her head. “Oliver, I want to make you dinner. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Well, you’ll just have to get over it because right now I want to know if you want soup or noodles.”
Stunned, he stared at her. She stared back with those huge blue eyes, looking lovelier than any woman he could imagine. He couldn’t think up a single food he wanted because all he wanted was her. Not in a bad way. Not in a creepy way either. Just in a long-term kind of way, in a way he knew could never happen.
Done with his cowardice, he felt the wad in his pocket again. But that was only part of the story. The full paperwork, including the spots that needed her signature, was in his glove box.
“May I?” he asked. Then he leaned across her seat, reaching for the glove box.
Carrie jerked back, eyes wide, cheeks paling. When he realized why, his face flushed with mortification. She’d misinterpreted his leaning.
She thought he was going to kiss her.
“No, wait,” he said. “I was just grabbing something from the…” The word slipped his mind, and he made the mistake of looking at her lips. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lean into your space.”
Your space?
Idiot!
“No, you just startled me. That’s all.” She brushed down her blouse with a tight smile. “It’s fine.”
Fine?
His stomach flopped. She thought he was going to kiss her, and she said it was fine.
Was it fine?
Had she just…given him permission?
Without meaning to, he glanced at her soft, pink lips again. Even in the fading sun, he could see a lovely blush settle on her freckled cheeks. But she didn’t back away, and she didn’t bolt out the car door.
She loved Greg, but she kind of loved Oliver, too. That’s why he was here. That’s why he’d asked her out. To see what could happen, and now it was happening.
While he
was an idiot in many ways, he wasn’t dumb enough to waste a chance like this.
A chance at those lips.
Pulse hammering, he did something he had wanted to do for years. He reached up—very slowly so she had time to slap him away—and cradled her warm cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb. Even that much of her sent chills down his arms.
Her soft lashes lowered, and she leaned into his hand.
That was invitation enough.
His heart thrummed in his ears, drowning out all other sound. He told his heart to shut up because he was going to kiss Carrie and he was going to do it without a heart attack. Leaning carefully across the seat, he closed his eyes and closed the distance.
But when his lips met her skin, it wasn’t her lips. At least not fully.
His eyes flew open.
His lips had caught the corner of her mouth, that tiny spot between her lips and her cheek. She had turned at the last second.
Carrie had turned.
Her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap, and he finally understood. She hadn’t given him permission to kiss her. She’d meant that it was fine that he had startled her.
He was too stunned to apologize, too stunned to do anything but stare at her. The car went deathly quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he found his voice again. “I didn’t mean to…I mean, I should have…”
What?
Asked first?
Aimed better?
Never asked her out in the first place?
He wanted to find a cave and never come out.
“No. I’m the one who is sorry, Oliver.” Her eyes flickered to him but only for a second. “I’m just not ready yet.”
Yet.
With considerable effort, he talked himself into that word. Yet had potential. It wasn’t a complete rejection. It was a not yet. Only it felt like a rejection, the slap in the face he deserved. Even then, even with the mortification, he had enjoyed kissing that much of her, feeling the softness of her skin. She hadn’t pulled back at his touch. She’d just turned a few millimeters.
Not yet.
That was more hope than she’d ever given him because it implied that she might be ready someday. He could wait. He could.
He would.
With a tight smile, she grabbed the door handle. “How about I surprise you for dinner Saturday, okay? Thanks, Oliver.”
Before he could clear his thoughts, she was up and inside her house. Oliver watched her go, shocked that he was still invited to dinner. He would see her again, but this time she was asking him out.
Reaching up, he touched his lips and smiled.
* * * * *
Amber met Carrie in the kitchen. “How was dinner?”
Carrie picked up a muffin. She wasn’t hungry, but she needed to eat. To do something. She slathered on a heap of butter.
“Carrie?”
She looked up. “Yeah?”
“How was your date?” Amber asked.
Carrie’s mind was a whirlwind. Meeting the man who had attacked Greg and Mariah. The mayor who turned down Greg’s proposal to save their clan. And then kissing Oliver—sort of. She’d watched the rejection wash over him when she turned. He’d wanted it so badly, and part of her had, too, but…
But what?
“It was…” She looked around her house and out the front window. Oliver’s car was long gone, but Greg’s house sat across the street. Empty. Dark. Alone.
Amber waved a hand in front of her. “Hello?”
“Sorry.” Carrie blinked. “It was nice.”
“Nice?” Amber scowled. “What’s going on? What happened?”
Carrie struggled to breathe normally. Oliver had kissed her. That was more than Greg had ever done.
And she rejected him for it.
Setting down the muffin, she turned. “Um…I forgot something outside. I’ll be back in a second.”
“What? Where are you going?” Amber said. “It’s almost dark, and Zach already went to bed. Carrie!”
“I’ll be right back.”
Carrie raced outside, checked up and down for anyone, and then darted across the street. She didn’t dare go in Greg’s front door. Someone would see her. So she ran down one more abandoned house, crept around the backyard, and headed back toward Greg’s.
In the fading light, she slid up the deck and perched next to the kitchen door. She tried the handle. Thankfully, Greg kept his house unlocked like the rest of them did to keep patrolmen from breaking down doors during sweeps.
She slipped inside and looked around Greg’s kitchen, bathed orange and pink with the last rays of day. It was still perfectly clean. She’d probably spent more time in his new house than he had. Everything looked empty and abandoned, but she knew it wasn’t. Greg hadn’t had time to pack, which meant his stuff was somewhere inside here.
An overwhelming urge washed over her to see what he’d left behind, to hug a stupid t-shirt, quilt, or anything of his, but she knew that was too intrusive. Besides, she had a hat back home that would do the job. She shouldn’t be here, uninvited, intruding, yet she didn’t want to leave because she needed to be here.
Desperately.
She sank down on the hardwood floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. Just because Oliver wanted to kiss her didn’t mean she had to let him. She’d never seen anyone move so slowly, but she’d only turned at the last possible moment. Why? One split-second decision and the outcome would have been completely different. She could still be kissing Oliver now.
Her throat constricted, feeling like she’d betrayed both men.
She hated herself, hated the situation, hated that Greg was gone, that he didn’t love her more than he did, that Mariah was dead, her parents were dead, and everyone was dead.
Everything felt entirely wrong and stupid.
“Greg,” she whispered. “Where are you?”
By the time she pulled herself together, it was fully dark in Greg’s house. She crept back across the street where Amber waited at the front door, arms folded, looking ready to strangle something.
“I’m trying really hard not to hate you right now,” Amber said, “but you promised to be home before dark. What the heck is going on?”
“Are you ready for that talk now?” Carrie said. “Because I could really use it.”
thirty-seven
THE EVENING AIR STARTED to cool, and the small band of rebels gathered around the large campfire while dinner crackled and smoked over the flames. Nobody was pointing guns anymore as Greg and Isabel explained their story.
It wasn’t hard for Greg to fabricate hatred for the government as he spoke. It consumed his soul. He used the same counsel he’d once given to Oliver:
“Truth sells, so use as much as possible.”
He spoke of his time in Raleigh, receiving the lashings on his back, his sister dying, and his mom and him coming north. He talked about being recruited and ripped from her arms by David Jamansky before being sent off to fight. It only took a few tweaks to allow Isabel into the story. They’d met in training, a woman who’d also been captured and punished. They watched the guards for weeks on end, waiting for a chance to escape. That chance came a short time ago. Since then, they’d been making their way to this area, looking for groups who hated the government as much as they did.
Oh, and Isabel was pregnant.
His story was nothing like the one Isabel wanted, but she sat quietly next to him on the log, taking his hand, rubbing his back, and leaning against him throughout the narrative. A few times, she pinched his leg when his story took another turn that she didn’t like, but this version rolled off his tongue with little effort. Six years of pent up hatred vented in a single sitting. An easy sell. A few times Isabel looked as mesmerized as everybody else was, surely realizing how much of his tale was true.
At first, the two dozen rebels glanced at each other with skepticism. But the longer Greg talked, the more they shook their heads and spouted off rants about President Rigsby, Chief J
amansky, and the whole bitter lot.
“Live free or die,” they muttered.
As Greg finished, their leader, a man they called Kearney, stood.
“Well, we can always use more on our side,” Kearney said. “So, welcome to our sorry lot. In the morning, we’ll catch you up on strategy and where we’re looking to hit next. For now, do you two have a tent?”
“No,” Greg said. “We’ve been sleepin’ under the stars—”
“—or rain,” Isabel added, squeezing his hand with a smile. “We’re fine wherever. We’re just grateful that you’ll let us join the cause.”
Kearney nodded. “Let’s put you in Perry’s tent for the night. He’s gone to headquarters for a few days. Tomorrow we’ll figure out a better place to put you. For now, enjoy your privacy while you have it.”
Isabel’s hand slid onto Greg’s thigh. “Oh, we will.”
Greg ignored the insinuation and instead focused on that one word: headquarters. That sounded more official than he had expected.
It was disconcerting how easily they’d let Isabel and him into their group. Isabel was right. They’d have no problem getting to the heart of the rebellion. To headquarters.
An hour later, Greg and Isabel lay side by side on the scratchy tent floor, no pillows, and only one blanket to share. He gave her the blanket even though the night air was cooler than comfortable. It was a single-man tent that barely fit the two of them, but it beat sleeping under the stars. The mosquitoes were out in swarms, plus it smelled like rain.
He brushed the dirt aside and lay on his back, staring up at the dark tent ceiling a few feet above them.
Isabel’s leg brushed his. He slid further away. Instead of taking the hint, she rolled toward him, body pressing against him as she brought her mouth to his ear. He flinched, wanting distance. At least she was fully clothed. She’d tried to shed a few layers, but he freaked. Still, she was too close, but it was the only way to communicate without being overheard.
“This group isn’t too bad,” she whispered. “Better than some I’ve encountered. And we’re in, easy enough.”
“Yeah.” Too easy. The rebellion would never last at this rate. “Did you hide your bag?” he asked in a whisper.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 68
