Hell on Wheels (26 page)

He blinked at her.

“What?” she asked, “Oh don’t give me that look. It’s not like my parents never spent
any
time with us; it’s just that they
preferred
each other. And you’re wrong, you know,” she quickly added, then smiled when she saw his confusion. “The villains? They were always blond, tawny-eyed, and answered to the name Ali. Did you really think Grigg would deign to be the bad guy? He suffered from save-the-world-syndrome even back then.”

Yeah, Nate could see it all very clearly. Grigg guarding the tree fort while a ponytailed Ali stood below, shooting up plastic arrows with suction-cup tips, or brandishing a homemade slingshot armed with rubber balls. “You were never able to vanquish him?”

“Well, once I got old enough to get really crafty, Grigg lost interest in playing Knights and Dragons or Cops and Robbers. About that time he started using the tree house as his personal testing facility for the seduction of Candice Honeypot.”

A startled snort erupted before he charged, “C’mon. You’re kiddin’ me. No sane man names his daughter Candy Honeypot.”

She raised a brow that clearly stated,
oh
yeah?
“You’d believe me if you ever met
Mr.
Honeypot. Let’s just say he could be relied upon to buy us beer while we were underage, not to mention the fact that he smelled like he bathed in his own bong water.”

“Jesus.”

“Mmm,” she shook her head and grinned. “Not even close.”

They were silent for a few seconds as they contemplated the great paternal calamity that was Mr. Honeypot. The rhythmic drone of night insects was a distant hum in the background, the biological equivalent of white noise.

“So,” she finally said. “You wanna see the memory box?”

“Yeah,” he told her, glad for the change of subject because he was seriously considering finding the paragon that was Mr. Honeypot and zealously maiming the guy for encouraging Ali and the neighborhood kids to degenerate behavior.

Man, people should really have to apply for a special license before being allowed to procreate…

With a flourish, Ali pulled a dusty sheet from a large lump in the corner to reveal an old trunk. He raised a brow even as he helped her drag the trunk closer.

“He gave it to me to replace the old toy box we used to use,” she said, running a reverent finger over the stenciled letters PFC MORGAN, GRIGG.

“Mmm.”

Mmm?
Really? That was the best he could do?

He opened his mouth to try to come up with something a little more erudite than
mmm
when she continued. Obviously, she hadn’t noticed the inelegance of his answer. No shock there.

After a dozen years, she was no doubt accustomed to his reticence. At least that’s likely what she’d call it—reticence. But the truth of the matter was, when she got that soft, vulnerable look in her eyes? He was tongue-tied.

Tongue-frickin’-tied.

“You know, a lot of people thought it was strange that Grigg and I were so close. Brothers and sisters usually aren’t, or so I’ve been told. I think it was because our parents were so lovingly…uh,
inattentive
is the best word to describe it, I guess. Anyway, because of that, Grigg and I had to depend on each other. We’d go together, just the two of us, to Dairy Queen to celebrate our good report cards. I never missed one of Grigg’s baseball games, and he never missed any of my piano recitals.”

But then Grigg died, and now all she had was a big old chest full of memories.

Nate had never really realized it before, and it broke his friggin’ heart to suddenly lightbulb it now, but for all intents and purposes, Ali was alone. And even though he wished it weren’t that way for her, he figured there was some comfort to be found in discovering they at least had that in common.

“Grigg,” she whispered, still caressing those stenciled letters, “he taught me to tie my shoes, to ride my bike. He even taught me how to use a condom.” Her smile was faint, sweet. “With this giant, garden cucumber as a model, no less. You can imagine my disappointment the first time I actually got the chance to try out my skill on living flesh and blood.”

He really didn’t want to know but… “How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Christ,” he growled, hating the guy who’d had the unfathomable honor of being Ali’s first and…oh, great
.
What a wonderful time to have a friggin’ epiphany.

As if his day couldn’t’ve gotten any worse.

But hold the phone, it just had. Because he suddenly realized there’d be no more fooling himself. No more pretending this thing he had for her could be explained away as a simple case of unrequited lust.

He loved her.

Bam!
as Emeril would say.

He loved her like he’d never loved anyone or anything in his whole sorry life and wasn’t that a giant
fuck
you
from the universe?

Because it changed nothing.

She could never be his. Not in a million years. Because, and it was as simple and as horrible as this, nothing could change the fact that he’d killed her brother.

Goddamn
fucking
sucking
hell!
He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, give the morbidly unfair universe a double middle-finger salute. Instead, he shook his head and muttered, “I wish…I wish…”

He wished so many things he didn’t even know where to start.

“Yeah,” she saved him from having to finish, “me too.”

And as he stared into her soft, luminous eyes, he thought maybe he believed her. “Let’s do this thing, huh?” she murmured, and for a moment he was arrested.

Do what? Finally admit they…

“Let’s get the zip drive and get the heck out of here.”

Yep. Right. Good idea, lest he break down in tears and declare his love.

And wouldn’t that shock the hell out of her? Nate “Ghost” Weller, or as Ozzie liked to call him, Mr. Emotionless, losing it, sobbing like a baby, and professing undying amour?

She’d probably think he’d gone completely crazy, and she wouldn’t be far off the mark. That was the really sad thing.

He took a deep, steadying breath as he watched her reverently lift the lid to the trunk.

He just had to keep it together for a few more minutes and then they’d be out and on their way. The sooner the better. Not only was he moments away from blubbering like a baby and pouring his heart out, but his unease was growing with each ticking second.

And then the ticking seconds no longer mattered because time stood still.

Grigg…

The first thing to meet Nate’s eyes was the picture taped to the inside lid of the trunk.

“God, I miss him,” she breathed, running one slender finger down Grigg’s photographed face.

Riiippp.
His heart split right down the middle. He was surprised the sound didn’t rent the air.

Sweet. Jesus. This was hell. Forget his irradiated blue balls. Forget his unease about this whole goddamned, goatfucked situation. Forget he was in love with the one woman on the entire planet destined to never be his, because…there was Grigg. Looking like Grigg usually looked.

Even pinned down in the middle of a godforsaken jungle, enemy fire shredding the foliage around them, Grigg’d worn that same devil-may-care expression. Face split wide in a silly grin as infectious as the common cold. The stupid sonofabitch had loved life. All aspects of it.

“Do you miss him?” Ali asked, her voice husky. “Sorry that’s a stupid question. You were closer to him than any of us. Of course you miss him.”

“I knew ’im better than any of you, perhaps,” he was quick to correct her. “But he was closest to you, Ali. You were his heart. And I miss him every goddamned day.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, giving Grigg’s photographed face one last caress. “Yeah, me too.

Chapter Thirteen

Ali couldn’t breathe.

It had nothing to do with the heavy Kevlar vest she wore beneath her jacket and everything to do with the air inside the tree house. It was stiflingly close. Filled with too many memories, too much grief and regret.

She had to get out. Now.

Quickly digging to the bottom of the trunk, she pulled out a plastic bag filled with zip drives. Indelible ink listed the dates she’d received them. She found the one dated one week before her life was changed forever and handed it to Nate.

He stared blankly at the thing for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe everything they’d been going through could actually come down to this innocuous little piece of plastic. Then he carefully slipped the zip drive inside his deep jacket pocket.

She turned to push the trunk back into place, frantic to get out, but he stopped her, taking her hand and curling his warm fingers over hers.

Whatever differences they had, whatever hurts and humiliations had passed between them, nothing changed the fact that they’d both loved Grigg like crazy. They were both still bleeding out from the deep, ragged wound of Grigg’s death.

She glanced up into his handsome face and saw understanding and compassion there…and something more. Something she didn’t understand.

Whatever it was, it made her hopeful and scared and…and…

Oh cripes. She had to get out. She couldn’t think straight anymore. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the fear, but she thought…just for a second…

She shook her head. She didn’t know what she thought.

Giving him a tight smile, she slipped her hand from his, and hastily pushed the trunk back into place. She scrambled toward the trapdoor, but before she got there she stopped and turned.

Here, in this safe place of childhood dreams, she had to know one more thing. “Were you with him? In the end?”

Nate’s agonized gaze snapped to her face, and there was such bleakness there it stole away her breath.

Yeah, she may’ve been Grigg’s heart. But Grigg had been
Nate’s
heart
.

Closer than brothers, her mother once remarked. And now, seeing his tortured expression, she believed it.

“Yes.” His voice was gritty as sandpaper, the muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Was there a lot of pain? Did he suffer?” God, she didn’t know why she was asking
that
.

Of
course
there was pain.
Of
course
he suffered. He’d been
tortured
.

“Yes,” Nate whispered and the flinch of one eyelid was the only indication of what it cost him to admit as much to her.

It was only one word, harshly spoken, but when she thought about it, she realized that one word revealed a hundred things. A hundred terrible, horrible things.

Good
heavens, Grigg, I’m so sorry. So incredibly sorry.

She’d always known her brother wouldn’t go easy, but to hear it confirmed was almost more than she could bear. Dragging in the musty, familiar smell of the tree house, she blew out a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay.”

She dipped her head again when Nate hesitated, giving her a hard, searching look. “Let’s go. I’m all right.”

He ground his jaw, obviously unsure what to do, then he sighed heavily and turned to lift the trapdoor.

She watched him quickly and dexterously clamber down the rope ladder, and furiously dashed away a rebellious tear. She would not saddle him with a blubbering woman when he’d done the one thing she’d asked of him…namely, he’d given her the inexplicably, horrendously, unvarnished truth.

Then his big black biker boots silently hit the soft earth beneath the oak, and she no longer had to dash away tears. They dried quicker than a desert wind when he held up a fisted hand.

Even if she hadn’t been trained by Grigg, she’d watched enough movies to know what that particular hand gesture meant. It meant hold still and stay absolutely quiet. It meant something had spooked Nate “Ghost” Weller, and that really scared the crap out of her.

Awful seconds ticked by like hours, and her already frayed nerves wound as tight as a metal spring.

She never thought she’d say it, but right at this moment she actually
missed
the comfort of Nate’s reserve weapon in her hands. As soon as they got back on Phantom, she’d ask him to hand over the little Colt.

And wow, would you look at what a turn her life had taken?

Thirty-six hours after running to Nate, and she was downright itchy without the solid weight of a handgun in her waistband. Maybe by tomorrow morning she’d be sporting bandoliers and a red bandana. She could give Ozzie a run for his money in the Rambo impersonation department.