Night Resurrected (12 page)

Yet, he couldn’t seem to keep his

mouth shut. “I used to read them stories

on the nights I was home, just before

they went to bed. I wanted them to learn

to love books.”

Silence. A blessed lull. But her

question brought back the bleakness and

desolation he fought earlier today, and

now he couldn’t help but slip back into

the ugly darkness.

“And you blame yourself. Why?”

Her question surprised him—not only

because he hoped she wasn’t listening,

but because it was so unexpected, yet so

damn sharp it stabbed. A rush of nausea

overwhelmed him, rising bitterly into his

mouth.

Must

be

the

whiskey.

Goddammit, he wished he hadn’t

finished the bottle. No, he wished he had

a whole ’nother bottle.

Hell. He just wanted to be left the

hell alone.

“Go to sleep, Remy.”

“Angry, guilt-ridden, closed off, and

cold. You’ve got a lot in common with

my grandfather.”

He laughed bitterly. “Not really.

Your grandfather didn’t want to die.

Me? I wish to hell I could.”

Chapter 6

W
hen Remy awoke, she found herself

alone in the truck. Surprised that she’d

slept through Wyatt and Dantès rising

and going out to do their business, she

was nevertheless glad to have some

privacy.

The sunlight seemed dimmer than

usual, and a quick peek through the open

window told her it was a cloudy day.

But the temperature was still warm and

humid, and she happily pulled out one of

the new, long stretchy tank tops along

with an equally new bra and panties to

bring with her to the lake. Might as well

take advantage of the proximity to wash

up while she had it. If they began

traveling again tomorrow, she might not

have the time or convenience.

She tucked her gun in its place at the

back of her pants and finger-combed the

tangles from her hair. She was just about

to climb out of the truck when she heard

Dantès and Wyatt outside, his voice

hardly more than a rumble as he spoke to

the dog. To her consternation, a little

clutch of something caught her in the

belly, and she paused to consider its

meaning. Something had changed in how

she felt about facing Wyatt again, in the

daylight.

Sympathetic, of course, now that she

knew why the man was so dark and

angry. Or, at least, she knew part of the

reason.

And, okay, there was a little

nervousness, too, knowing she’d have to

interact with him after he’d had his

hands all over her bare skin. A shiver

took her by surprise, fluttering in her

stomach. All right, so she was acutely

aware of his maleness now that she’d

seen him bare-chested and he’d touched

her so intimately, but she needed to get a

grip.

He’s the same rude, arrogant

dickhead he’s been ever since you put a

bullet in the wall above his shoulder.

The sounds of Dantès barking outside

broke into her thoughts, and, wanting to

appear busy, Remy turned to look in one

of the cupboards as Wyatt helped her

pooch climb into the truck.

“Were there any other pairs of rubber

gloves?” she asked, rummaging through

the plastic bin he found the first night. “I

want to go back to the trailer and see if

there’s anything else there, and mine

ripped yesterday. They’re still usable,

but not perfect.”

“There might be another pair of

gloves in the first aid kit. I’ll go with

you. We could probably dig in that truck

for a week and not find everything.”

Huh.

He

sounded

surprisingly

amiable.

“Okay, I’ll look,” she said as he

clambered into the cab room next to her.

Dantès was there, too, swiping her with

his tongue and nearly knocking her over

in his pleasure at their reunion. It was a

good distraction.

“I’m going to see if I can catch a

couple trout in that lake,” Wyatt said,

standing as tall as he could in the low

room. He opened a short, long cupboard

that ran along the separator between the

driver’s seat and the rest of the cab and

pulled out a fishing pole. “They were

jumping like crazy this morning. How

are you at cooking fish?”

“Great, if they’re cleaned. But I was

going to walk over and wash up—uh—

first. Do you mind?”

“Hell no. Knock yourself out.”

Well, now, didn’t they sound

domestic? And not one cross word or

cross-eyed look.

Remy turned back to the plastic bin

and pulled out a purple cardboard box.

“Trojan,” she said, reading the label.

“What’s this for?”

“Nothing,” Wyatt said, and snatched

the box from her hand before she had a

chance to finish examining it. “We don’t

need that.”

Well, okay then. Back to his normal

self. She stood. “I’ll go swim. Maybe

you can find more gloves?”

“I’ll look.”

The lake was great. Remy felt better

after washing up, and even better after

she poured herself into a pink and white

bra sporting more lace than anything

she’d ever owned. It was different

because it hooked in the front, and the

straps crisscrossed in the back. And it

also made her breasts seem a lot bigger

than usual, lifting and pushing them

together a little. She wasn’t lacking in

boob size to begin with, but pulling on a

new, tight white tank top over this bra

made her curves look even more

pronounced.

At least, from her perspective it did:

looking down. It might not be so obvious

from a different angle, and of course she

didn’t have a mirror. She braided her

damp hair in a single over-the-shoulder

plait and was just getting ready to hike

back to the truck when Dantès loped into

the area.

Fair warning that Wyatt was not far

behind. Obviously, he was making

certain

he

wouldn’t

accidentally

encounter a naked woman swimming.

Heaven forbid.

Remy mentally rolled her eyes, but

just as quickly her ire faded. What was

wrong with her? She should be thankful

he wasn’t Seattle. Or even Ian, whose

come-on had been nothing more than

practicality:
Everyone thinks we’re

lovers. We might as well make it a fact.

Not that she had complained. Ian was

handsome and had a great body. He

definitely knew how to push a woman’s

pleasure buttons . . . in a mechanical sort

of way.

“You decent?” Wyatt shouted from a

safe distance.

“Yes,” she said, picking up her gun

and clothing, then the one towel she had

and the small bottles containing soap and

hair wash. “I’m going back to the truck.

Then I want to go to the trailer and

scavenge some more,” she told Wyatt

when he came around a tree carrying

fishing equipment.

His eyes swept over her and his face

changed. He opened his mouth to say

something and then closed it and

pivoted, turning to look out at the lake.

He shielded his eyes from the pasty sun

filtering through the clouds. “You’re

going to get sunburned,” he said in an

odd voice.

Frowning, Remy looked down at

herself. In lightweight nylon pants, she

was completely covered except for her

tanned arms and the U-neck of her tank

top . . . although there was a lot more

pale breast skin showing than usual. She

tugged the neckline up a little as Wyatt

added, “Trout aren’t jumping right now.

I’ll wait till later in the day to fish.”

“Okay.”

He was still looking out over the

water, as if trying to count the

nonexistent jumpers. “Did you say you

wanted to go to the trailer?” he said,

turning back toward her. His expression

could only be described as irritated.

“That’s what I said,” she replied,

looking at him closely. He was almost

babbling. “Whether you’re coming or

not.” She turned and started back the two

miles to the truck rig. Dantès came along

with her, his tongue hanging out happily.

To her surprise, Wyatt followed.

They dropped their things off and, at her

suggestion, emptied out their packs to

carry back their loot.

“This isn’t exactly traveling lightly,”

he lectured. “Don’t forget, once we

bring it here, we have to get everything

back to Envy.”

“I’ve got plenty of things I can get rid

of if I find replacements,” she told him,

adjusting the gun in the back of her

waistband. Aside from that, once Dantès

was recovered, he could carry a pack

too. He enjoyed helping that way.

They were halfway to the trailer

when Remy realized she forgot her

water bottle. She wasn’t about to ask

Wyatt to share his, so she decided to go

back and get her own. He made a

disgusted sound when she told him, but

waved her off without argument.

“Take Dantès,” was all he said as he

climbed into the trailer.

The round-trip took almost twenty

minutes, but it was hot and she was glad

she’d gone back for the water. Dantès

would appreciate it, too, although Wyatt

would have shared his with the dog, at

least.

When she got back to the trailer, she

called out, “Wyatt? You decent?” and

snickered to herself.

No surprise, he didn’t respond. She

didn’t think anything of it until Dantès

went stiff and his ears went up. He was

looking into the trailer.

Shit.

The dog gave a low growl, edging

toward the opening. “What is it, boy?”

she asked, walking closer, using a hand

motion to halt him. She could see only a

little of the inside: dark shadows, a faint

light. Wyatt’s silhouette standing near

the back, frozen, arms half extended as if

surrendering.

“Keep him out of here.” Wyatt’s

voice was tight and low.

Remy’s adrenaline spiked as she

peered into the candlelit interior. She

didn’t see anything threatening yet, but

there were lots of shadows. “Dantès, sit.

Stay
. Guard.”

The dog whined then growled, but

did as he was commanded, which left

Remy the freedom to get closer to the

entrance. It was off the ground about five

feet, but she’d used a tree stump

yesterday after Wyatt left, and it was

still in place.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you

doing?” Still tight and low and now

furious, Wyatt’s exclamation bounced

off the steel walls when she climbed

onto the stump and peered into the space.

“Get
out
of here!”

She ignored him. Now she could see

the raccoon, who’d been obstructed from

view because he was short and amid

piles of trash. The creature was about a

third of the way into the trailer and he

was angry. Spitting, drooling, foaming at

the mouth. He’d trapped Wyatt, who

couldn’t get past the beast. The

raccoon’s eyes gleamed with a red tinge

in the flickering candlelight and his

black claws were raised and menacing.

He looked as if he were ready to attack

at any moment, dividing his attention

between the two humans.

“He’s rabid,” Wyatt said from

between clenched teeth.

“I can see that. The foam at the mouth

and red eyes gave it away.”

“If he charges at—”

“Stay.”
She spun to glare at Dantès,

speaking in her firmest, most serious

voice even though the dog hadn’t moved

except to give another low growl. Then

she directed her attention to Wyatt,

reaching behind to the small of her back.

“Are you okay? Did he—”

“Christ, Remy, what the hell are you

doing? Get out of here before he turns on

— What the
hell
?”

But she’d already aimed the gun at