Chapter 18
Eighteen
The bell above the diner door jingles again as we step outside, greeted by the cooling desert air. The sky's turning spectacular shades of orange and pink as the sun begins its descent.
Maude wasn't lying about the food. Those were damn good eggs. "What's next?" Naomi murmurs beside me, her voice low enough that only I can hear.
I automatically scan the street. "We need to recon more of the town."
Naomi nods, then holds out her hand toward me, speaking at normal volume. "Let's go for a walk."
It's a smart play. A couple taking an evening stroll, nothing suspicious about that. But I wasn't prepared for the jolt that runs through me when she offers her hand so naturally. I take it, hoping she doesn't notice my hesitation.
Her hand is small in mine, but not fragile. Her fingers fit between mine like they belong there. I push down the feeling that swells in my chest.
We start down the town's main street. I'm cataloging tactical details automatically—distance between buildings, vehicles parked along the street, number of people visible, vantage points—but I'm also aware of how the pink sky reflects in her eyes, turning her gray-blues warm.
"It's pretty here," she says, leaning slightly against me in a way that looks natural to anyone watching. "I didn't expect that."
"Small towns usually are at sunset," I reply, playing along.
We pass the gas station, a small general store, and what looks like a sheriff's office. Most buildings look neglected but not abandoned.
"See anything?" she asks quietly.
"Nothing that doesn't belong in a dying border town," I admit.
Naomi nods slightly. "I know. Everyone's been... nice. Too nice? Or maybe I'm just paranoid now."
“It’s only paranoia if you’re wrong," I say, steering us down a side street. “And I don’t think you’re wrong.”
The evening air carries the scent of mesquite and dust. Naomi's shoulder brushes against mine as we walk, and I find myself leaning in to the contact without thinking. Just playing the part, I keep telling myself. Just leaning in to my wife.
We pass what looks like an old schoolhouse with dark windows. Across from it stands what might have been a church once, but the cross is missing from the steeple.
"Walker," Naomi says softly, "what if we're wrong? What if this isn't the place?"
I squeeze her hand gently, my “wife’s” hand, no longer surprised at how natural the gesture feels. "You’re not wrong. And Static isn’t wrong. There's something here. We just haven't found it yet."
I spot a residential section cresting over the hill ahead. Without a word, Naomi follows my gaze, and we exchange a silent agreement through our eyes. That's our next target.
"I'm sorry I got so mad about getting lost," Naomi says, her voice carrying just enough to be heard by anyone nearby.
I glance down at her. Her performance is impeccable as always. But there's a little twinkle in her eye that only I can see.
"Don't need to," I respond, matching her tone. "I'm sorry I got us lost."
We turn onto a quiet residential street lined with modest houses. Some have lights burning in the windows, others sit dark.
"Well, you're usually pretty good about keeping us on the right track," she continues. "In fact, I couldn't have done this trip without you. Thank you."
She rests her head against my shoulder. Her free hand comes up to rub my arm affectionately. It's all for show, I know that. Or at least my mind knows it. My body and heart are begging to differ.
But she can't see my face from that angle. Can't see how my jaw tightens slightly at her touch. Can't see the momentary flash of something real in my eyes.
"You don't have to thank me for that," I say gruffly. We’ve made it to the residential section of town. Most of the houses appear empty, clearly marked by a sea of For Sale signs on dusty lawns.
Naomi looks up at me. Her eyes are open and honest, reflecting the last purple light of dusk and not any part of a performance. "I do, though. I mean it. I don't think I would have been able to handle this... trip... without you."
"I don't think that's true. You're one of the strongest people I know."
Naomi looks down, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face. "Thank you."
She’s thanked me before. I waved it off. But I see that she needs me to acknowledge it.
And I can’t deny her anything.
“You’re welcome.”
We walk in silence for a while until she asks, "Why did you decide to go on this trip?"
"I couldn't let you do this alone."
"You could have," Naomi points out, her voice soft but certain.
I shake my head, the truth spilling out before I can stop it. "No. I don't think I could. I can't say no to you."
Naomi smiles and laughs a little. She’s so natural that I can’t tell if it's part of her performance or if she’s really talking to me. "Oh yeah? Why not?"
My first instinct is to hide, to retreat behind the walls I've built around myself. But the real reason, my honest-to-God feelings about her, aligns with the story we're trying to tell anyone who might be listening.
"You’re the prettiest thing I've ever seen," I say, my voice low. "You are strong. Determined. And I love your commitment to go after what you know is right.”
We stop walking, standing beneath the shadow of a mesquite tree. Naomi turns to face me, looking up with a vulnerable expression I haven't seen since she broke down at the motel. It’s raw and almost desperate. The very last ray of daylight catches in her eyes, turning them into liquid sapphire.
"When we met, I was in a dark, broken place," I say, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper, which means it isn’t a show. It’s just for her. "You're a light, Naomi. A beacon. Who you are makes me want to be with you always. To protect you. I'd give my life for you."
Our faces are inches apart now. I can feel her breath on my skin, count every eyelash, see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
"I don't see any cameras," Naomi barely chokes out, her eyes darting back and forth between mine, her mouth parted slightly. Her voice trembles, just enough that I can hear it.
"No," I agree.
She swallows, her throat working. "But better safe than sorry. So I guess you should kiss me. Because my husband can't say something like that and not kiss me."
So I do.
I kiss her because I have to. Not because we’re being watched. But because I—Walker, the man—need to have my lips on this gorgeous creature. Every good piece of me that she’s unearthed and dusted off cries out to be near her.
Her lips are soft against mine, hesitant at first, then responding with a hunger that matches my own. My hand comes up to cradle her face, thumb brushing against her cheekbone. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, pulling me closer.
Time stops. The mission, the town, the danger—it all falls away. There's only Naomi, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against me. For the first time in years, maybe the first time ever, I feel fully present in my own body. Not a weapon, not a ghost, just a man.
When I pull back, we're both breathing heavily. The taste of her lingers on my lips.
"Walker," she whispers, and my name in her mouth sounds like a prayer.
Movement flickers at the edge of my vision—a shadow shifting behind glass. I snap back to reality, my senses instantly on alert.
"Did you see that?" I ask Naomi, keeping my voice low, my body still close to hers.
She nods, eyes sharp despite the flush on her cheeks. We both switch seamlessly from whatever just happened between us back to the mission.
I’m thankful my jeans are dark, and the light is fading, because my erection would be pretty obvious otherwise. The sudden possible threat helps dampen my dick’s enthusiasm so I can at least walk.
We approach the house casually, arms around each other like we're just curious tourists. The For Sale sign in the yard is weathered, sun-bleached to near illegibility.
"Maude at the diner said all these houses were abandoned," Naomi whispers, leaning into me like she's saying something intimate. "Nobody's lived here for years.”
We reach the picture window, peering through the dusty glass. What I see doesn't match the exterior at all. While the outside looks neglected, crumbling at the edges, the interior, while not pristine, isn’t in decay. Used but clean furniture. Cluttered but clean surfaces. It looks lived in.
My spine tingles. I feel him before he makes his presence known. I don’t reach for my hidden weapon, but I’m ready.
"Can I help you folks?"
The voice comes from behind us, and we turn to find a man in a sheriff's uniform standing a few feet away. His hand rests casually on his belt, not far from his holstered weapon. His face is dark and weathered, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hat.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," Naomi gushes, shifting effortlessly into character. "We were just enjoying your lovely town and wanted to see if there were any houses for sale. I love home renovation and real estate shows. Big HGTV girl. Isn’t that right, honey?"
She squeezes my arm, looking up at me with such convincing adoration.
The sheriff doesn't quite buy it. I can tell from the way his eyes narrow slightly, the subtle shift in his stance. He chews on nothing for a moment, considering us.
"Well, I saw the two of you getting pretty hot and bothered with each other on that street corner," he finally says, his drawl a little too practiced.
"Probably a little too PG-13 for our little town.
There's a motel—that way." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
"I suggest, and I mean this literally, that you two get a room. "
The threat beneath his words is clear as day to me, though his tone remains casual. He's not suggesting.
"Will do, Officer," I say, adopting a sheepish grin. I pull Naomi closer, easily playing the part of a man who can't keep his hands off his wife. "Sorry about that. We're newlyweds."
The sheriff nods, but his eyes remain cold. "Congratulations. Motel's that way. Owner's name is Reggie. Tell him Sheriff Dawson sent you."
"Thank you, Sheriff," Naomi says, her voice sweet as honey. "We appreciate it."
As we walk away, her arm still wrapped around my waist, I can feel the sheriff's eyes boring into our backs. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder.
The hair on the back of my neck is still up. But that’s not what makes me nervous.
Because I don’t know if I’d feel more in danger out here with an unknown enemy.
Or alone with Naomi, whose kiss, real or not, still burns my lips.