Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
He waited until she was asleep. Eased himself onto the bed, a millimeter at a time. Clothes still on, boots still on, belt still in place and his backpack next to hers, right on the floor.
You’re real to me. Really real.
Maybe she even meant it. The beginning stages of dependence on him; Reese should have been overjoyed. He was, in a way. When he wasn’t feeling like the lowest fucking worm on the goddamn planet.
Holly moved restlessly; he froze. Waited until she settled again. Warm and safe under the covers, her inky hair spilling over the pillows. Maybe he could roll over and smell her up close, maybe even slide an arm around her just to make sure she wouldn’t get any damn rabbit-ideas while he slept.
So tired. And the weather wasn’t giving him anything but worry. First real serious storm of winter meant things were going to get dicey. Add his growing certainty that they were being tracked somehow, and he was a ball of nerves just when he needed clarity and control most.
Pushed her. Held her down. It didn’t help that her response had been immediate, and pretty goddamn volcanic. Smelling the sudden wash of coppermusk heat from her had just about made him embarrass himself.
Which made him think about Tangiers.
Don’t. Reese found himself edging closer, hardly daring to breathe, moving up slowly as if she was a target.
She muttered something formless, moved again, and as his arm curled over her waist, Holly sighed and scooted backward, settling against him with an absolutely scorching little wiggle of those hips of hers.
Reese let out a soft breath into her hair, closing his eyes.
It was just as good as he’d thought it would be.
No. Better.
He could finally inhale, fill himself with her. It wasn’t as close as he wanted to be, but it was a good start. She sighed again, made a tiny sleepy sound, and was gone into boneless unconsciousness.
You’re real to me.
Even if she didn’t mean it...well, it was just the sort of thing you’d expect from a woman who would hold a dying man’s hand or give every child an extra peppermint.
Christ, of all the reactions he’d expected, that had to be last on the list. She was downright amazing. How could anyone ever have let her go?
Sometimes, in his head, the kid he had been still showed up.
The dopey, happy, stupid little idiot hadn’t even realized when he was being hazed, taken advantage of, picked on.
Just sailing through the world with everything around him so baffling that the only response was stupid deadness and a wide uncertain grin.
What would that kid say, if he could get close enough to the woman Reese held?
It ain’t just the way you smell. It’s that when you smile all of you lights up, and when you sad the whole world goes black. You a pure miracle, Miss. You even feel bad for puppies and kittens.
No, that wasn’t what that kid would say. That kid would probably just stare gapmouthed at Holly, unable to even leave a tip to make her backsore waitress days easier. That kid would never even know she existed.
Not the way he did now. Maybe Reese should thank them for that, the whole goddamn clutch of program bastards from the architects on down.
Another deep breath, and he was floating. Relaxing, to just pretend she was there because she wanted to be, was sleeping next to him because he was...
Nothing, then. Sleep.
* * *
White light. An unfamiliar sound. He was off the bed in a heartbeat, the knife yanked free and ready for play.
Holly, at the window, turned slowly. It was her opening the drapes and eerie directionless snowlight pouring into the room, not any threat, and she looked slow because he was moving much faster than even an agent should.
Reese stopped dead. Blinked, orienting himself.
Her hair, wet from the shower, was raveled silk along her damp shoulders.
Wrapped in a towel, still steaming from warm water, and the clean lines of her long bare legs threatened to leave him breathless.
Milky pale, glowing under the light, blue eyes wide—it was as if she’d just appeared, angelic, offering water to a dying man.
“It snowed.” Childlike wonder. “Look at that.”
Uh-oh. “Get out of the window.” He stowed the knife, made it across the room in quick strides, and yanked the curtains closed without bothering with the chain-pull on either side.
The mechanism resisted; a tiny piece pinged off in a different direction, hitting the wall with a metallic, ignored click.
The parking lot below was full of featureless humps of white. It looked bad.
The storm had run faster than they could. If he hadn’t been so tapped-out last night, they would have had a chance.
Goddammit. “Great.”
“Oh.” She tightened the towel with a quick casual motion, the terrycloth compressing her breasts. Looked up at him, still wide-eyed, her collarbones so fragile and her neck so thin. Her hair was brittle, too; he had to feed her more. “I suppose it’s bad for driving, isn’t it.”
“Yeah.” He stalked for the flatscreen television above the useless dresser—did anyone ever actually put their clothes in that thing, for God’s sake?
—and tried to ignore the fact that she was incredibly, softly naked under a skimpy hotel towel.
It didn’t help that he could see her in the mirror set to the right of the TV, or that her smell was all over him.
Small consolation that he felt fully sharp now as well, in more ways than one. Mental and physical both clicking along nicely, now that he’d had some rest. He and the virus were still getting along.
Holly paused. “So... what do we do?”
It was jungle warm in here, maybe from the hot water. Or maybe it was just her, heating up everything inside him. Still, she was looking to him for direction. She’d said we.
That was good.
“I’m going to check the weather report, clean up.” Priorities arranged themselves inside his head. “If it’s bad for driving, we’ll see. This part of the country gets snowplows out regularly, so that might be okay. We can’t stay here.”
“Oh.” She absorbed the news. “If we can’t drive, then what?”
“I’ve been through here before. There’s options.” His throat had gone dry, because the temptation to turn around and fill up his hands with her was well-nigh irresistible. “Put some clothes on. It’s cold, and you’re distracting me.”
“Distracting?” It wasn’t fair, she sounded honestly baffled. Did she not get it? He’d done everything but hit her on the head and drag her into a cave.
“Incredibly distracting.” He found the remote, clicked the television on, clamped down on his pulse. If you don’t want me tossing you in that bed a second time, get dressed.
This sudden détente was still fragile, so he couldn’t say anything like that yet. But he could think it all he wanted, couldn’t he?
Down, boy.
The TV’s sound came on with a roar; he winced and turned it down.
“The National Weather Service has issued a severe warning, asking you to stay home if you possibly can. With tonight’s forecast calling for freezing rain and two feet of snow reported in the metropolitan area—”
He hit mute. The blonde reporter continued, blithely silent, her trained expressions flickering. School closures, power outages, all sorts of fun and games outside this calm little bubble.
Damn.
The percentages were bad either way. Staying put was risky; he wanted to be moving.
Crawling along in the snow with a civilian to keep alive was bound to be worse, though, and the chance of a fender-bender or even getting stuck was uncomfortably high.
Weighed against that was the persistent unease, lingering even when he was fully rested.
He kept watching, hearing Holly move in the bathroom.
No APBs saturating the airwaves. Of course, there could be one on the cop scanners, but the press would get hold of that.
Which meant either they thought him dead—the gas, whatever it was, still might have some sort of effect—or they hadn’t halted the program and liquidated agents.
If they hadn’t, well, guess who would be hunting him? Which made moving even more imperative.
Most of the available options were bad. Time to pick one and hope for the best.
“Holly?”
“Hmm?” She peered out of the bathroom, a black plastic comb in her hand. Jeans again, and that same well-loved bra. No shirt yet.
Christ. He told his hormones to settle down, hoped they’d listen. “Do you like camping?”
“In this weather? Not really. But my dad used to take me out hunting with him.”
Better than he’d hoped. “We’re not going to be in a tent, sweetheart.” Though that might be nice, you’d have to snuggle up to me.
“Then where are we going to be?” A little defiance, as if she expected him to resist telling her.
It was probably too late, but he could at least try to ease some of the tension. He tried for an easy grin, and found one. “Out with the wolves, little girl. Finish up, I want a shower.”