Outbreak (8 page)

I stare at the clothes. Something tells me we’d have a tough time passing for drifters up close. We’re too pale and much too clean. But these clothes would help us avoid attracting unwanted attention as we make our way across town.

I wander over to the other side of the store, where there’s a small selection of women’s clothing. I rifle through the first rack of shirts I find and pull out a plum tank top that looks about my size.

As I hunt around for some shorts to match, I look up to ask Eli if we should grab jackets, too.

I never get the words out.

Eli has his head bent low, unbuttoning his shirt on the other side of the store. There’s something intimate about watching him undress, and I can’t stop staring.

His discarded overshirt hits the floor. He pulls his black T-shirt over his head, and the sight of his broad muscled back makes me forget what I was going to ask.

A loud zipping sound breaks the silence, and Eli’s upper body disappears behind the clothing rack. That’s enough to make me come to my senses.

I rip my gaze away from the spot where he was just standing and turn around. But in my haste, I stagger into another rack of clothes and almost impale myself on a rogue hanger.

Eli shoots back up at the rattling noise and lets out a low chuckle.

I jerk my head over my shoulder. “W-what?” But my red face gives me away.

Slowly, deliberately, Eli navigates around the rack and makes his way up the aisle between the men’s and women’s clothing. His low-slung khaki shorts are half unbuttoned, and he takes his sweet time sidling over to where I’m standing. 

He’s still shirtless, and the low light filtering in from the dusty windows throws shadows over his magnificent chest and biceps.

When he’s barely two feet away, he jerks his head up and cracks a wicked grin. My breath catches a little, and I silently berate myself for being so enamored with him. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” he whispers.

I feel myself blushing more, but I shake my head and return to browsing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“
O
-
kay
.”

I feel him edge closer, and I fight the urge to step back into his arms.

“You’re wearing this?” he asks, spotting the tank top hanging sideways on the rack.

“Mm-hmm.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach out and finger the thin strap. He lets out a low sigh, and my heart beats a little faster.

Then, without warning, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back against his bare chest. The shock of it knocks the wind out of me, and he rubs his palms low against my stomach.

“I feel like you have an unfair advantage now,” he murmurs, his breath disturbing my hair.

“Oh, yeah?” I choke. “What’s that?”

“You’ve seen
me
half-naked.”

My entire body feels as though it’s on fire, but I attempt a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing I hadn’t seen before,” I say, thinking of him in the ring.

He chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “Still counts.”

I can feel his heart hammering against my back, which is comforting and a little disorienting. His breathing is shallow and hungry in my ear, and his hands seem to be traveling lower with every pass.

At least I’m not the only one losing my shit. 

I’m not used to this version of Eli — the guy who flirts and says what’s on his mind — but now is
so
not the time to test the boundaries of our weird relationship.

I clear my throat loudly and try to squirm out of his grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“I need to get changed.”

“I know.” I can hear a laugh on his lips, and he situates himself so his rough, bristly cheek rests against mine. “I think we need to even the score.”

Any semblance of composure I just gained evaporates instantly. I know I must be beet red from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes, but I don’t fight him when he pulls away and pivots me around.

When I meet his gaze, my nervousness dissipates slightly. It’s the same old Eli — same probing blue eyes. But they’re filled with a desire that makes me nervous and excited at the same time. 

My hand has a mind of its own when it reaches out to touch his chest. He drags in a labored breath, and his eyes follow my hand as it trails down to his tight stomach.

I stop for a minute to brush my thumb over the smooth skin between his abs and his hipbone, but he grabs my hand away and pulls me into him.

This time when our lips meet, there’s no careful exploration. Eli’s kiss is frantic and a little out of control. My pulse is racing, and his skin feels unusually hot.

My brain completely abandons the situation, and all I can do is grab hold of him and try to take everything in. 

For the first time, I have the chance to run my hands all over his firm chest and beautiful arms, and I take full advantage of the situation. 

But before I’ve finished memorizing every line of him, Eli draws back. There’s a slight smirk playing on those skillful lips, and his eyes crackle with mischief as they flicker down my body. “Fair’s fair, Riley.”

If I weren’t so flustered, I might give him a playful punch right in those delicious abs. But when neither of us moves, everything becomes much more serious.

His smile fades slightly, and his gaze becomes very intense. It feels as though he threw down a dare and I didn’t blink.

Slowly, his hands travel up my arms to my collar, and he starts unsnapping my overshirt. He’s trying to take his time, but his breathing grows a little heavier with every button.

When my shirt is hanging open, he meets my eyes again, and I shrug my shoulders so he can pull it off my arms.

Things have gotten real.

I tilt my head up to kiss him again, and he opens his mouth for me right away. His kiss is deeper — hungrier than before. Then he puts a few inches between us and tugs on the hem of my tank top. 

In one sharp motion, it goes up and over, bra and all. A slight chill prickles up my spine, and when my clothes hit the floor, Eli’s eyes widen.

His rough hands travel down my arms and back up my bare waist, and I shiver when the tips of his fingers brush my spine. We lock eyes, and he brings his lips down again to kiss me softly.

A slow burning heat is making its way down my body, and I’m surprised at the thoughts that flash through my mind.

Then a tiny, annoying voice in my head reminds me that this isn’t the time or the place. 

What did we come here for again?
Oh, that’s right: We’re on an assassination mission.

Eli seems to read my mind. I can feel his hands slowing down, tracing slow circles on my back as though he’s savoring the last touch.

“We should probably get going,” I mutter against his neck.

“Yeah.” His voice is low and rough.

I start to pull back, but he holds me just a few inches away and takes one last lingering look. I flush under the intensity of his gaze, but then he threads his fingers in my hair and places a kiss on my forehead that makes all my anxiety disappear.

“I guess you need this,” he says, grabbing the thin tank top off the hanger.

I clear my throat. “Bra.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He turns away a little as I get dressed, and I mentally shake myself to clear the fog clouding my senses.

Now more than ever, I understand why romantic entanglements are such a bad idea in Recon. It’s going to be tough to focus on the mission after what just happened.

Eli pulls the shirt he found over his head backwards, and I fight a laugh as he twists it around to the correct position. Things are about to get interesting.

seven

Eli

As soon as the blazing sun hits my shoulders, I’m a dead man walking. I’m on high alert for the sound of approaching footsteps, but I’m pretty sure if a drifter jumped out in the street and aimed a gun at me, I’d just stand there and eat lead.

My mind is consumed by thoughts of Harper: her body, her eyes, the way she felt against me . . .

I hadn’t expected that to happen. I was ninety percent joking about evening the score; I never thought she’d go for it — especially after the Mina incident. 

Seeing her staring at me shut off that part of my brain that acts as a filter, and the words just slipped out of my mouth. And seeing that she wanted me as much as I’ve wanted her, well . . .

“Shouldn’t we go this way?” asks Harper, calling me back to reality.

“Huh?” I stop, trying to get my bearings before she realizes that I was completely lost in thought.

She points down a side street. “The restaurant . . . don’t you think we should start there?”

“Oh.” My brain lurches as it tries to refocus on the mission. “Yeah. Owen could show up to deliver a message from Jackson.”

I try to make it sound as though the idea just occurred to me so she doesn’t think I was about to lead us in the wrong direction. 

What is the matter with me?
I know where the restaurant is, but something about her skimpy purple tank top is completely screwing with my internal compass.

“Sorry. I just got turned around for a second.”

She gives me a funny look over the top of her mask but turns down the street.

Harper is way more alert than I am. Her posture is casual, but her right hand keeps inching toward the handgun at her hip. We can’t shoot anyone without blowing our cover, but the instinct is automatic.

We left most of our supplies back at the store. Our compound-issued rifles and rucksacks would have been a dead giveaway that we were with Recon, but traveling so light makes me feel naked. 

If we were really committed, we would have ditched our masks, too, but blending in perfectly isn’t worth breathing in all those radioactive particles.

Luckily, the place is swarming with out-of-towners like the men we saw near the outdoor supply store, so the masks shouldn’t attract attention. For all anybody knows, we could have traveled here from Salt Lake City or another red zone.

To avoid having to speak to any drifters, we stick to side streets and make our way slowly toward the old abandoned restaurant the Desperados use as their base. Every so often, the voices of approaching drifters float toward us, and Harper turns down another street to avoid a face-to-face encounter. If anyone gets too close or asks the wrong questions, they’ll be able to tell we aren’t drifters.

Seeing so many reinforcements puts me on edge. They must be part of Malcolm’s grand plan to bring down the compound, though I still have no idea what that could be.

Even if he gathered all the drifters within a 100-mile radius and rushed the compound, they wouldn’t be able to make so much as a dent in the structure. The founders anticipated being attacked after Death Storm, so they built the compounds to be able to withstand anything from a hail storm to a storm of bullets.

Any drifter siege would end in bloodshed. But then again, a bunch of hostile survivors at our doorstep would raise a lot of questions the board doesn’t want to answer.

The closer we get to the restaurant, the more my discomfort grows. Near the outskirts of town, the buildings are spaced farther apart, which means there’s very little cover. 

A few abandoned cars are still parked along the street, gathering dust and sand and getting buffeted by tumbleweed. Every building we pass looks more dilapidated than the one before. 

When we reach the fast-food restaurant with the creepy dancing burger mascots, I know we’re getting close. Harper draws her gun and leads us toward the filling station just across from the restaurant, and I pick up the pace. 

We duck down behind one of the defunct gas pumps, and Harper glances up at me. I know she’s waiting for me to take charge and formulate a plan — which is what I’m here for — but I still feel off-kilter and nervous for reasons that have nothing to do with the Desperados.

Trying to regain my composure, I clear my throat and flip on my interface, zooming in to see the entrance to the restaurant more clearly. 

The last time we were here, the drifters had a lookout posted up on the weathered wooden porch, but I don’t see anyone. An Indiana license plate has come loose from the mosaic of rusty plates and street signs decorating the front of the restaurant, and when the breeze kicks up, the faded scrap of metal rattles against the wood siding. It’s the loudest thing for miles.

The last time we were here, we left five dead drifters behind. There’s no reason the Desperados would leave the base unguarded. It feels like a trap.

“Do you see anyone?” Harper whispers.

I shake my head, staring at that loose license plate.

“No one?”

“Nope. And I don’t like it.”

“You think it’s a setup?”

“Could be.” I flip off my interface and do one more scan of the deserted restaurant. “Let’s go around back.”

Harper rises into a crouch and surveys the wide stretch of concrete where the crumbling parking lots meet the road. Then she takes off at a run.

I brace myself for the crack of a rifle, but nothing happens.

We skirt around the dumpsters and the old rusted-out pickup truck and reach the back exit without incident. I try the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but I’m surprised when it turns in my hand. 

My heart rate picks up a little. I glance down at Harper. She meets my gaze unflinchingly, which gives me the strength to draw my gun and fling the door wide open.

The sudden gust of air stirs the dirt lining the kitchen shelves, and for a moment, it’s impossible to see anything through the cloud of dust shimmering in the late morning sunlight. 

I step inside, keeping my gun aimed at head height, and Harper takes my other side.

The cramped kitchen looks just the way I remember it, except for the pots and pans lying on the ground. Then there’s the trail of smooth tile gleaming through the layer of dirt where someone dragged the dead bodies up from the basement.

Harper closes the door behind us, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. I listen hard, but I can’t hear anything going on down below.