Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) (11 page)

"Yes, that is good," I agreed. I noticed his eyes hadn't strayed from mine—not once.

"What's your favorite food?" he asked back.

"Easy! Angel hair Alfredo with grilled chicken and portabella mushrooms. We'll have to get a plate of it for you to try." Here I was making "us" plans again. "My mom used to make it every year for my birthday," I added.

"When is your birthday?"

"December nineteenth. Yours?"

"July tenth. How old are you?"

"I turned seventeen four-and-a-half months ago."

Theron grinned widely. "We're the same age," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes we are. But technically you're five months older."

"Favorite car?" he fired off.

"Jeeps with a wide wheel base. Those things can go anywhere," I mused.

"Yours?"

"Dodge Chargers."

"What's your favorite song?"

"I couldn't choose—they're all so incredible," he replied. "What kind of career do you want?"

"I want to be a writer
—a documentary journalist," I explained. "But that might be an unreachable dream if I can't find my mother."

I instinctively started to snatch back my hand, but he was quick. He didn't let it go. Instead he turned it over and simply held it
—as if he had wanted to all along.

I continued, "If the Takers keep coming or their activities increase, we could have a real war on U.S. soil, which hasn't happened since the Civil War almost one hundred and fifty years ago. Not many of us will have much of a future if that happens. But chances are it won't. America is pretty tough. I can't see us letting the Takers take us down. What do you want to do
—for a career?"

"I don't know yet. I was raised and trained to be a soldier, but
… " He shook his head then shrugged with a small smile. "I don't know."

I smiled with him and then noticed something. "Listen." Everything was quiet. "The rain stopped!" I said.

The rain had dwindled, but the drops from the saturated branches and boughs above us continued to wring themselves out.

"Do you want to go for a walk and see what the storm did?" I asked.

"Sounds like a plan. Do I have to let go of your hand?"

I nodded. "Yes. But you can hold it again while we're walking."

He liked that. He bounced up, unzipped the front tent flap and held it open so that I could pass through first.

The forest was a glistening, wet wonderland. New streams had developed. Several areas were flooded and we were forced to forge new paths. The tornado had carved a huge divot in through the trees that went on for who knew how far. So many trees had been ripped violently from their roots and flung as if they had been weightless.

The river and lake had overfilled, escaping their boundaries. Canadian geese, swans and ducks took advantage of this watery refuge, bobbing lightly on newly formed ponds.

"Those are one of my favorite types of birds," I said.

"Which ones?"

"The Canadian Geese. I don't understand how hunters can shoot them," I said sadly.

"You wouldn't hunt Canadian geese?"

"They mate for life," I answered simply.

As I stared at the geese, their regal forms skimming the surface of the water and sending out ripples behind them, a serious thought occurred to me. "We're going to have to leave," I said. The tornado had forced our hand.

"Why? How soon?" Theron looked concerned.

"Rangers and work crews will be coming out to assess the tornado's damage and to clean up the debris." I shook my head mournfully. "They could start coming around as early as tomorrow morning."

I guess Theron caught the weight of my glance because he put his arm around me and pulled me in close to his side.

"Everything's going to be okay, Freya," he comforted me. "We'll get to New Orleans and we'll find your mother—whatever it takes."

He sounded so sure that I believed him.

The next morning we packed rather quietly. I put my iPod in the docking station so we could listen to music. I had a feeling we were both disappointed to be leaving so soon. When everything was ready to go, we sat down on our bench logs and ate a hardy breakfast.

The iPod had started playing "Iris."

"Dance with me?" Theron asked, offering me his hand. "It is our song, you know."

Our song? We had a song?
I wondered.

"It was the first song we ever danced to." Theron answered my inner thoughts.

"You're right," I said out loud, but inwardly my mind was still rather happily stuck on
our song.

Theron's hands lay on my hips while my hands lingered on his wide shoulders. Then he leaned in closer to me. His right cheek hovered over mine almost touching it, like two puzzle pieces, and he breathed into my ear, singing the lyrics to the chorus.

He pulled back to look directly into my eyes. He wasn't just singing along with the chorus. He was singing the words to me.

"'I just want you to know who I am,'" he breathed.

Our bodies stood still. His hands left my hips and came up to either side of my face. He drew me in closer to him as he moved toward me. I could feel the air from his mouth play over my skin. It was intoxicating. I closed my eyes so that I could experience him even more as his warm, soft lips pressed fully against mine.

Tentative and cautious at first, the small kiss became several small kisses. Then they grew into something stronger, hungrier.

Electricity coursed through my entire being in unabated bolts. Theron's hands slipped behind my head and his fingers tangled into my hair, anchoring me to his mouth.

Full of feelings I didn't understand, I brought my arms up tighter
—cradling the back of his neck in the gentle inside bend of my elbow.

I was on fire.

We hitched a ride out of Homochitto with a logging truck headed to the Port of New Orleans. In less than three hours we were walking in Louisiana.

New Orleans was a cornucopia of sights, sounds, smells and colors. Jazz music and the blues filtered through the air as tangibly as the aroma of Creole food and jambalaya, while the exotic syntax of the French language with a touch of Caribbean spice wafted to our ears like soul food. I loved this place—the raw energy in the streets, the architecture of its neighborhoods, the unique style and beauty of its citizens.

As Theron and I made our way through the French Quarter, a slender woman in her mid-thirties with light chocolate skin beautifully accented by her orange sundress smiled brightly as we walked past.

"
Bonjour
," she sang. "
Beaux jeunes amoureux
."

"
Bonjour
," I said back.

Theron flashed me a smile. "What was that?"

"
Français
,
Monsieur
," I cooed.

"What did she say?"

"Never mind."

On our way to Iberville Street we walked through an outdoor carnival. Jazz notes bent and held in the sultry air. Performers paraded through the streets in colorful and elaborate costumes. White painted mimes cast their shadows on the pavement while dancing girls dressed in strategically-arranged plumage pranced by. Bright-colored vendor tents lined both sides of the street, displaying their goods.

We started past a booth with a banner overhead that read, "Earthen Hippie." Under the canvas, gorgeous silk dresses were displayed on hangers—the sunlight streaming in danced along the fabric. One especially caught my eye. It had been so long since I had even worn a dress. My fingertips played against the soft blue, gold and olive silk.

"Try it on," I heard Theron's voice urge.

"What?" I responded. "No way. I have no use for it." Truthfully, I couldn't remember the last pretty dress I had owned—they weren't very practical for my rugged lifestyle.

"It would look beautiful on you," he said. "Please, try it."

"Fifty-percent off sale," said the twenty-something dark-skinned vendor with a deep Caribbean accent, his dreadlocks draping past his shoulders. I looked over at him in protest and he winked at me.

"That means you have to try it on," Theron said as he took the dress down from the rack and put it into my hands.

He obviously chose sides,
I thought as I ducked behind the rainbow colored curtain and swiped it closed.

I tugged off my regular clothes and slipped into the silken handkerchief dress. It had soft circular and angular lines patterned throughout with a halter neck that fully bared my arms and back. The fabric fell just perfectly so that when I moved my knees would flirt out. The dress fit my slender form perfectly. It was exquisite.

I combed my fingers through my light brown tangles and fanned my hair over the front of my shoulders then stepped out to show Theron.

"It won't go with my hiking boots," I said.

Both Theron's and the vendor's mouths dropped open.

I squirmed. "Yeah, I'll just change." I started to turn.

Theron protested, "No, don't. It's perfect." He smiled. "Here, give me your clothes and your boots." He stood with his hand outstretched.

I handed him my clothes, puzzled, and he immediately plunged them into my pack.

"Wait a minute," I began.

"I already paid for it
—the dress is yours. Choose a pair of sandals," he said, pointing to a rack.

I started to argue, but he countered, "It's a done deal."

I chose a pair made of simple brown leather with straps that hugged my foot and ankle and a connecting single strap up the center of my foot that was accented with brown and blue beads.

I bit my bottom lip to hold back my delight. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome, Freya," Theron said, slipping his fingers between mine as we walked away from the vendor.

Soon we arrived at Cafe Giovanni, an Italian restaurant in the heart of the French Quarter. We went inside where a tall blond waiter in a crisp white shirt and pleated black pants escorted us to an intimate corner table with a pressed white tablecloth and a flickering candle under a short glass.

Theron pulled my chair out first, and I sat as he pushed the chair underneath me and then took his own seat.

The waiter handed us two menus. "Can I get you drinks to start with?"

I looked at Theron, who shrugged slightly.

"Two colas with ice, please," I said. "And we would like two orders of your grilled chicken and portabella mushroom Alfredo, please."

He smiled pleasantly. "Certainly," he replied and disappeared around the corner.

It was only four-thirty in the afternoon and we were the first customers of the evening. The waiter came back with two long-stemmed glasses filled with cola and ice and set them in front of us.

I looked around.

"What are you looking for?" Theron asked.

I let out a sigh.
Caught me
, I thought. "Cameras," I admitted.

"I didn't see any inside or outside. I was checking."

"Thanks."

An Italian instrumental ballad played quietly over the restaurant's speaker. This was so special
—all of it. Back in the dress shop I had to fight that nervous tremor in my stomach. Shopping like tourists was something only normal people did—definitely not me. But now, here we were together—it was like a real date. I was all dressed up, sitting at a white-clothed table in an elegant restaurant. Theron's features were illuminated in the candlelight. I couldn't get over the feeling of how
special
everything was.

Just then the waiter came back with two steaming white oval dishes of Alfredo and set them down on the table in front of us.

"If you need anything, let me know. I will be back to check on your meal shortly," he said and quickly walked away.

I watched Theron's face in anticipation, waiting to see his reaction to trying my favorite food.

He inhaled the rising steam. "It smells incredible." Then he twisted his fork around a pile of pasta, secured it with a small piece of chicken and a mushroom slice, blew on it and put it in his mouth. He chewed. Before he swallowed he mumbled, "This is the best thing I've ever tasted!"

I couldn't help but laugh.

We wasted no time. We politely gorged ourselves until we were stuffed.

Although we couldn't eat any more, I couldn't leave without ordering a piece of tiramisu for later
—Theron had to try it. The waiter brought it back in a clear plastic container that I placed carefully into my pack. Theron paid, and we left a good tip.

Outside on the sidewalk I said, "It's going to be a really late night and we have a few hours before we can catch up with the crew we're meeting. We'll be safe resting under a tree in the garden square." Young people were always hanging out on the green grass, often with books or laptops.

We walked over and chose a magnolia tree. Theron leaned against the trunk, laid his jacket on the ground next to him for me to lie on and said, "You can put your head on my lap. I'll nap with one eye opened."

I curled up on his jacket, feeling his lingering warmth and his worn denim jeans against my cheek. His fingers played through my hair soothingly. Serenity came over me and I fell asleep.

~

"Freya." Theron's voice broke through my dreams. "It's nine o'clock."

"Oh!" I sat up with a bit of a start. Then, realizing that everything was still alright, I stretched my muscles. I could hear music in the distance and the sky was dark.

"Did you sleep at all?" I asked.

"A little," he lied.

I took the tiramisu out of my pack. "A wake up snack?" I suggested.

He was all for it. We dug in with abandon. Because of the soft consistency, the dessert wasn't easy to consume without utensils, but it sure was fun! We laughed almost the entire time, while the sweet cake slipped through our fingers as we tried to get it into our mouths. When Theron dropped some on his chin, I giggled and he wiped it away with his finger and onto my nose!

All of a sudden his laughter calmed and he said, "I never knew I could feel like this."

I looked back at him, thinking the same thing.

We finished and cleaned up with a few napkins. Fireflies were flitting along the bushes. Theron took both of our packs (which I was getting used to) and took my hand.

We walked through the upper French Quarter now. Ornate iron railings decorated with vines and leaves tangled in a dance and weaved their way elaborately around the porches and balconies of the two-story structures. Colorful American, British, French, Canadian, Caribbean and Haitian flags waved proudly everywhere. Musicians were set up on every corner playing trumpets, banjos or saxophones. Old buildings flavored the bustling city with old-world charm in a hue of vibrant colors like ice cream in a shop: orange blast, black raspberry, mint, peach julep and bubble gum.

It was said that Bourbon Street and sin were synonymous. Strings of bars and clubs lined both sides of the street with neon signs advertising drinks, dancing and girls. The streets had a pulse and rhythm all their own here. It was hypnotic, like a siren's song. The blues called out, luring you closer.

It was already nine-thirty. I skirted into an alley and rummaged through my pack.

"What are you looking for?" Theron asked.

"Knife," I said as I found it and strapped the sheath to my inner thigh. "It could get rough."

"You know that's hot, right?" Theron stated, watching me.

I smiled up at him and shook my head.

Parties were everywhere. Drunken people staggered through the streets, whooping and hollering. The smell of liquor was heady, and wisps of tobacco floated through the air. A man and woman embraced passionately, kissing against a brick building. Down a ways, two men were hurling obscenities at one another.

We turned down Toulouse Street to North Rampart. It was so thick with people that it was hard to push through. We made our way into a long line winding outside of a building that looked to be a large warehouse. It didn't look like a party zone, but that's what it was. Everyone was milling about and talking so loudly you couldn't hear yourself think. Somebody pressed an unopened beer into my hand and moved on.

"Like I need this," I quipped sarcastically and handed it to a woman in a bandanna style top.

"Thanks!" she hollered over the din of the crowd.

"We have to get to the bouncer at the door," I just about shouted into Theron's ear.

He got in front of me, grasped my hand and pulled me along behind him through the throng. It was a young crowd—most everyone was between sixteen and thirty.

We got to the bouncer attending the door. He had to be over two hundred pounds of muscle and about six foot five. He was wearing a black T-shirt and had his arms folded angrily over his chest. Theron pulled me around in front of him, facing the bouncer. I smiled and, surprisingly, the stacked angry-looking guy smiled back. Every time the doors opened music flooded out from the building and into the crowd that had swelled into the street.

I pointed to my mouth and then his ear. His smile widened a bit. I cupped my hands around my mouth and came closer to his face.

"
Occulta
abscondito
," I said as softly as possible. These were the Latin words for "hidden secret."

He sized me up for a moment, his eyes trailing up and down the front of my body
—then he noticed Theron behind me and frowned.

"Go on in." He opened the door and let us through with sounds of protest firing off behind us like, "What about us?" and "We've been here for hours!"

The heavy door slammed closed behind us. I took a deep cleansing, centering breath. I didn't much like this atmosphere—it was way too volatile. People were packed in wall-to-wall like sardines. The metal music exploded through the speakers and, already, I could feel my temples begin to throb.

We squeezed our way to the bar and waited until the bartender noticed us. She had short spiked black hair and was wearing a white blouse that was unbuttoned to the top of her ribcage.

"What can I get ya?" she asked.

I followed the same routine as I had with the bouncer at the door. She said, "Follow me," and led us around to the kitchen and into the walk in freezer. She placed her hand, palm down and fingers wide, over the wall near a crate of white milk gallons. A second later, a computer keypad protruded from the wall and she typed in some kind of code. The large steel racks holding the heavy crates of milk sunk back into the wall to reveal a hidden passageway.