Chapter 11 #3
Tom cradled her head and kissed her, catching her gasp in his mouth. She kissed him back, hard. He pushed her against the counter, pressing into the fieriest parts of her. She groaned. Even that feeling was part-memory and part-right-now, with the two parts doubling down to create a nerve inferno.
Wait, this definitely wasn’t the right time for that. She pushed away, but met no resistance—he was pulling back, looking as surprised as she was.
“Sergeant Kamdar did say our memories would return,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Quick, what else do you remember? I mean, anything to do with the rolled-up carpet?”
He frowned, staring out the little kitchen window. “It’s like the things around that moment are all blurry. I try to look straight at something, in my memory, and it scoots away.”
“I remember everything up until we found the brandy. After that, only tiny patches.”
“I remember drinking the first glass, lying on the bed.” He met her gaze with a very sexy one of his own. “Next to you.”
“Yes,” she said huskily. “We stripped one item of clothing off each other after each sip.”
“A ritual.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was so, so turned on.”
She gulped. “Me too. Was that the drug, or… And how about now? Are you feeling…?”
“Oh God, yeah.”
“They do say that life or death situations can make you…” She couldn’t finish the thought.
It would be completely inappropriate, given the circumstances, but the only thought she could finish was that she wanted to tear his clothes off, right here, right now.
The lurch from fear to lust was dizzying.
“I have this incredible urge to…” he said in a rush.
“Right? I mean obviously, we can’t. We need to get out of here. But the feeling is so strong. What’s with that?”
He nodded, stepping toward the back door, then turned back. “Just one more?”
Before he could finish the sentence, she kissed him again.
She’d never kissed anyone like that, like she was putting her whole body into it, hungry for him, and he gave right back and more, until they were ratcheting each other up.
It was as if she’d learned a whole new way to kiss last night and it was just now coming back to her.
Muscle memory. The kiss did nothing to resolve the current issue.
In fact, it made things worse. She broke off, panting, and again he pulled back at the same time.
He doubled over, resting his hands on his thighs like he was recovering from a sprint.
“We’d better get out of here,” she said. “Before we…”
“Yes.” He strode to the door. “We absolutely should.”
She took a second to force her breathing to slow. Maybe once they got to safety, they could…
No. The thing they’d had—it was what it was, whatever it was, and should be left at that. The situation was awkward and complicated enough. That full body rush of awareness was probably just the salamander talking.
“Amelia?”
“Coming.”
He grinned. “That’s something I remember you saying last night too. A lot.”
She took a swipe at him, laughing, and the tension dissolved. At least, that kind of tension did. The someone-is-out-to-kill-me tension swung right back up to take its place.
They followed the tree line back around to the abbey, careful to stay in the shadows.
The wind had picked up, and Amelia’s gaze darted at each leaf that moved.
Every few seconds her breath caught, washing frigid air into her lungs.
The air temperature seemed to be dropping before it’d even had a chance to rise.
When they reached a low brick wall, Tom stopped.
“You remember the tunnel, where the cellar is?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a hatch that leads down to it, on the other side of the incinerator.
A manhole. It was installed as an emergency exit in the war, in case the house was bombed.
” He jerked his head to a red-brick chimney a hundred feet away.
Smoke curled out the top, a couple of shades darker than the gray sky visible behind it.
“It’s probably our best bet to get inside unnoticed.
I haven’t opened it in years, but it will be worth a—”
He stopped, tilting his head as if he’d heard something.
“Tom?” she whispered, after a while.
“The incinerator.”
“What about it?”
“It makes a rusty, metallic squeal when you open it.”
“You think that’s what I heard when I woke in the night?”
His jaw tightened, and he walked on, faster.
They came out of the shelter of the trees into a little compound bordered by brick walls.
He stopped in front of what appeared to be a large kiln with a blackened metal door.
He stared at it like he was sizing up an enemy.
“Duncan had it going all day yesterday. It would still have been hot overnight.”
Amelia caught his meaning. The incinerator was definitely large enough for a body. She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. “Maybe it’s best if I look.” Not that she wanted to, by any means, but she wasn’t the one who’d known Duncan all their life.
Tom looked at her, thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he said with real meaning, “but it’s something I should do. Can you keep watch?”
They were screened from the abbey, though if the brick walls gave them cover, they would also hide anyone approaching.
An enormous pile of pruned branches and other foliage stood under a rusted corrugated metal shelter.
Tom grabbed a pair of thick gloves from beside the pile and put them on.
He lifted the door’s metal latch. It squealed, like fingers down a chalkboard.
“That’s the noise I heard last night,” Amelia said.
Tom looked at her, as if checking for permission.
She nodded, and he opened the door. Something flopped out.
Amelia slapped a palm to her mouth. A corner of a rug.
It must have been sitting against the door, stuffed in.
She crept closer. If breathing had been difficult before, it was almost impossible now, between the tightness in her chest and the buffeting heat from the fire.
The rug’s border was visible. Lotus flowers. And a red and yellow tail. The dragon.
“That’s the rug?” Tom asked dully.
“That’s the rug.”