Night Betrayed (32 page)

“I have my sources,” replied Seattle. “And they also tell me that although the old man is dead, his daughter or granddaughter or someone is alive.”

“Sounds like we ought to be looking for a young woman, then, instead of an old man,” Ian said. He rested his plate aside, the utensils clattering. He lifted a bottle of beer and drank, long and easy.

There was a woman, the wife of another bounty hunter named Jose, who got to her feet and took the dishes away to wash. Ian didn’t spare her a glance as he lowered the bottle and leveled his cold blue gaze at Seattle.

“If you believe the rumor,” Seattle replied. “Hey, Lisa, right here,” he said, pointing to his own dishes. Jose’s wife returned and scooped them up without comment.

Remy hadn’t moved and now she reminded herself to start chewing. How the hell did they know this? Or was it just, as Seattle said, rumor. It meant nothing.

No one could connect her to Remington Truth . . . except for those men from Envy. But the one thing she knew about the men from Envy was that they weren’t doing any favors for the Elite or their bounty hunters.

Still. She didn’t trust them anymore than she trusted anyone, including her so-called partner. She felt Ian’s gaze on her and she swallowed the bite of venison stew and scooped up another one in her spoon. It was time to get the hell out of here.

Between Seattle’s contemplative looks and the fact that if Ian knew who she was, or figured it out, she’d be turned over to the Strangers for whatever compensation he could get.

As she forced herself to eat, to listen to the conversation about the raids in Yellow Mountain and how they would be going back to “finish things up”—whatever that meant—Remy glanced toward the fringes of trees. The sun was just setting, and soon they’d all go inside the old house to the second floor, where they could sleep safely from the zombies. Dantès was in the shadows somewhere, beyond the circle of four vehicles that were parked in a small clearing.

He’d be ready to leave whenever she was, if he wasn’t off hunting a rabbit or fox.

If she only knew how to drive one of those trucks, she’d be set. But Remy didn’t, and she didn’t dare try it now. She should have watched Ian more closely, maybe even asked him to teach her.

After all, she was his partner. Her lips moved in wry humor.

Instead of waiting for Lisa to take her plate as she’d done for the others, Remy pulled to her feet and brought it to the woman.

Then she took the opportunity to wander away from the others and their talk of the raids and their plans for Yellow Mountain and the two young men who had been found with “dangerous” equipment.

She had to get away from them, even just for a minute. The malevolence and ugliness of the group made her feel dirty. Yes, she’d participated with the raids because she had no choice, but to watch the destruction, to see the expressions on the faces of the people in the settlements made her ill.

Ian was the worst of them. The mere sight of his icy blue eyes and harsh features was often enough for even the boldest of the people to step back. And when he smashed the windows of a house because the residents didn’t come out quickly enough, there was such an underlying edge to his violence that Remy shivered and moved away.

Seattle had joy in his destruction; there was a haughty smile on his face when he smashed a computer monitor or set fire to something. He reveled in the work and the fear he generated. Power made him greedy for more.

Ian, on the other hand, did everything with such cold, emotionless intensity that his actions were that much more disturbing.

A noise behind her had Remy pausing near the edge of the wooded area. The back of her neck prickled and she turned to find Seattle standing there. His long blond dreadlocks hung free today; and although his face wasn’t particularly unattractive, it was the expression in his eyes that made her stomach pitch.

“It’s getting dark,” he said. His voice was smooth, as if he was aware of her dislike for him and was trying to alleviate it. “I hope you aren’t going into the woods alone.”

Remy took comfort in the weight of the pistol stuck in the back of her jeans. Even Ian didn’t know she still carried it, although, he might suspect—because it was the pistol that had convinced him to help her escape from those people who’d found her in Redlo. She’d shoved its barrel into his back to made him drive her away.

“Thanks for your concern,” she replied coolly.

“If you want company—”

“I don’t want company.”

Seattle’s eyes narrowed. “You know Ian Marck isn’t well liked by the Inner Circle. If you want to get the sort of information and respect I have from the Elite, you’d do best to stay clear of him. He’ll taint your experience.”

“I have my own ways of getting respect from the Inner Circle,” Remy replied.

“I wonder what Lacey would say if she knew you were trying to trying to manipulate a new partner?” Ian’s voice cut through the night. “I don’t think she’d be very pleased.”

Seattle didn’t seem surprised by the approach of his rival. “Lacey can go fuck herself. Or you, which I know is a common occurrence.” His voice had turned from cordial to cold.

“Sore point for you, hmm, Seattle?” Ian hadn’t spared a glance for Remy, nor did he move near her. He simply stood there, watching them.

“Fuck you,” the other man replied.

“I suspect you’d enjoy that,” Ian said. “Stay the hell out of my business.”

Remy started to slip away, having no desire to watch two alpha dogs square off, but Ian’s hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

After a moment, Seattle turned and stalked off, thrashing through the bushes back toward the others.

Remy tried to pull away, but Ian didn’t release her. “You’ve made an enemy,” she commented dryly.

“Oh? Another one? How terrible.” His reply was thick with sarcasm. He pulled her around to face him, and she inched her hand toward the pistol in her waistband. Where’s Dantès?

“Don’t bother,” he said, moving smoothly and snatching up her gun before she could get it by stealth means. He shoved it in his own waistband. “You won’t need that.”

Her heart was in her throat but Remy kept her face passive. “I’m going back. Give it to me,” she held out her hand for her gun.

“In a minute.” He’d made no move closer to her, and in fact released her arm. “Seattle is under the impression that we’re lovers.”

“Sounds as if he wants Lacey to know that too—”

“It’s time”—he spoke over her words—“we made it a reality.”

Remy’s stomach plummeted and she looked up at Ian. He still hadn’t made any move toward her, but she read heat mixed with loathing in his eyes.

“It’s the best way to keep him from bothering you,” Ian told her. Still unmoving.

Her hands were shaking and her belly had dropped, but the very thought had other parts of her body heating up. She didn’t trust him, didn’t like him, was maybe even a little afraid of him . . . but there was something about Ian that made her want to slide her hands over his sleek, lanky body and let him have his way with hers.

He moved toward her, then, taking her chin firmly, he covered her mouth with his. It was a harsh kiss; not meant to hurt, but to get the job done. As when they kissed before, his mouth was incredible, molding to her lips with just the right amount of mobility—not sloppy, not dry. Remy’s eyes closed when she really should have tried to keep them open . . . and she felt a rush of pleasure rumble through her as the bark of a tree edged into her back.

One hand moved down to cover one of her breasts as his fingers slid to hold her jaw steady, lifting it, holding her there. The tree lined up more solidly behind her and Remy shifted so that her shoulder blades propped against it, and her hips slid forward to match up to his. He was tall, but so was she, and they lined up nicely. She fit her hands to his chest, at last touching the torso she’d been watching for weeks.

Ian broke the kiss and, watching her with those angry eyes, positioned her against the bark as both hands rose beneath her shirt to cup her breasts, finding her tight nipples, and then lifting her shirt so that he could see as he lifted and caressed them. She watched his shadowy hands on her lighter flesh, her breath growing unsteady and desire billowing through her belly and beyond.

He yanked at her jeans so hard she jolted, opening them so that the breath of night air cooled the skin of her lower belly. Without delay, he shoved them down, and her panties, and found the place between her legs. To her surprise and a little shame, she was swollen and wet, and she had to bite her lip to keep silent when he touched her.

Ian held her in place as he unbuckled his own trousers with the same sort of efficiency and lack of emotion. But his eyes had darkened and hooded, and his breath shifted into something more ragged.

Remy dragged his face down for another kiss as he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him. When he slid inside, she felt him tense and shudder. He paused, resting his forehead against the bark next to her temple, breathing. Then, he straightened and began to move, his eyes closed, his face stony.

She watched him until the pleasure became too great; saw the last bit of daylight illuminating the strong blade of his nose and the sharp, high cheekbones and forehead—and felt her body warming and swelling around him.

His hands shifted to push her more tightly against the tree, ignoring the sharp edges of bark on her bare skin. Remy let her head tilt back and closed her eyes as her world tightened and tightened; and then when he moved faster and harder, she opened her legs, shifting and lifting her hips, meeting him with the same urgent efficiency until she got what she needed.

A soft little oh was all she allowed herself as hot liquid shuttled through her and then exploded. She sagged in his arms, little crunchy pieces of bark rubbing and falling against her as he made one last thrust, then yanked away.

He was leaning against her, breathing heavily; his hands trembling at her hips as he finished with a low groan.

Remy realized what he’d done, and she was flushed with shame and gratitude. The last damn thing she needed was to get pregnant—especially by Ian Marck. What the hell was I thinking?

He released her with more gentleness than he’d shown thus far, steadying her until she had her balance. Her knees were weak and she just wanted to stand there and bask . . . but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Why,” she breathed as he yanked up his pants, “do you always look so angry when you’re kissing me?”

Ian glanced at her, his mouth tight and eyes hot and dark. He gave a sharp shrug. “There’s someone else I’d rather be kissing,” he said. “If I had the choice.”

Remy caught her breath. “Well, that’s probably the first time you’ve told me the truth,” she managed to say. Bastard.

He didn’t smile as his belt clinked back into place. “Probably.”

“Lacey?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Christ. Fuck, no.”

He stepped away, reaching into his pocket. Then he handed her back the pistol. “Don’t think about trying to slip off tonight. You’ll be sleeping next to me. Tonight and for the foreseeable future.”

She glared at him. As if you could keep me here.

He looked at her. “You don’t think I’m about to let Remington Truth’s granddaughter just walk away, do you?”

“I have something I’d like to talk to you about,” Theo said to Selena.

It had been more than two weeks since Sam died, and he’d seen much less of Selena than he liked. A lot less.

For both of them living in the same house, it was amazing how she never seemed to be at the same meals he was at, and how their paths didn’t cross very often. He’d begun to suspect, with a deep, unpleasant knowledge, that she was purposely avoiding him. He understood that she needed time to work through her loss, but there was a large part of him that wondered why he wasn’t a part of it. Why she didn’t share it with him.

Perhaps because Sam had been hers and not his. Maybe she didn’t think he grieved for the boy. But he did.

Not that he and Selena each weren’t busy with other things. The day after Sam died, three patients arrived for Selena. Theo had been angry about that, angry at the world or the universe or whoever for disrupting Selena’s grief. But she had accepted it with grace and peace and attended to the dying with the same empathy he’d seen before.

Perhaps that, too, was a blessing—the distraction and a return to normalcy.

And Theo had been busy too. He and Lou had been working night and day on the Blizek security (it was a joke on him that he thought he’d made it through the first layer so quickly and easily so many weeks ago), as well as the number strings that seemed, as Lou theorized, to indicate geographic coordinates. But they had to figure out how to recalculate them, now that the earth’s axis had shifted. And Theo had been thinking about what he could do with the pinball machines and game consoles, and their blinking, flashing lights.

Aside from that, now that Sam was gone, Frank had pressed the twins into helping him in a variety of other tasks—which they did willingly, even though Lou grumbled about the speed and strength of the ninety-three-year-old man.

“Forget about you. I think he’s the damned superhero,” Lou said once, after three hours of lugging stones to rebuild part of the wall when Frank hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

But now, Theo had managed to catch Selena and suggest a walk after dinner. The sun was a brilliant orange ball sinking toward the horizon, bringing the night. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel that same sort of apprehension he had in the past, worrying that she would go out there.

She hadn’t, since Sam was attacked. He’d been watching.

Maybe she’d given it up, realized that her life here, serving the dying, was more important than out there nearly getting herself killed. Maybe Sam’s death had opened her eyes to the dangers, and to the reality of the murderous zombies.

Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to face them again.

Selena looked at him. “What is it?”

His breath caught for a moment, appreciating the serenity in her smooth face, the way the lowering sun cast an even deeper golden glow over her skin and dark hair. Despite the circles under her eyes, and the deeper grooves of grief radiating from her eyes and mouth, she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her; he’d missed her company, her warmth, her quirky sense of humor that came up at the oddest times . . . but he held back.