In For the Kill (44 page)

She dragged in deep, shuddering breaths and opened her heart to the stark beauty of the place. She knew how a heart felt when it was awake now. She could call the feeling forth at will. It was scary, painful. But bearable.

And full of hope. Like holding out a handful of wildflowers.

 

Sam stared at the parking area below Tam and Val's house, dismayed. There were ten different vehicles parked there, and the space in front of the garage was full, too. Years back they'd engineered a parking area, after bitter complaints from the McCloud Crowd who were sick of parking on the narrow, inhospitable road. All were cars he knew. There were the massive family cars of the four McCloud guys; Nick and Becca's sedan; Miles and Lara's truck; Aaro and Nina's car, with matching baby seats in the back; Bruno and Lily's seven-seater van; Seth and Raine's SUV. People he was specifically avoiding.

A wooden stairway led up from the parking area and zigzagged through rainforest foliage, around huge cedars. Vidcams were mounted on the trees, observing every leg of the journey. Tam and Val liked their guests to arrive on foot, single file and observed from every angle.

He would have saved this suicidal exercise for another day but for the vidcams. He'd been buzzed in at the gate and eyeballed at intervals during the drive. If he rabbited, thirty-odd people would watch him do it. More to the point, those people would watch Sveti watch him do it.

He started up the walkway, half expecting a bullet to take him down. Tam hated his guts, he'd heard. An unhealthy state of affairs, but whatever. A quick death would end his torment, too.

He didn't even know what he was going to say to her. This imperative welled from a part of him that was not particularly verbal. But it knew what it wanted, and went after it, hairy knuckles dragging.

He didn't have the strength to fight it anymore.

The wound in his rib pulled. His thigh spasmed. He did not allow himself to limp. The front porch was full of people when he reached the top of the walkway. Val was in the forefront, his handsome face a grim mask. Nick frowned beside him. Those two men were Sveti's principal adoptive fathers, though all of those guys felt fiercely paternal toward her. Becca stood behind Nick, looking worried. Miles loomed in the back, his face guardedly sympathetic.

Sam stopped at the foot of the porch stairs in front of the human shield. Rachel wove her way between the taller adults, followed by Misha, who was the only welcoming face in the crowd.

“Hey,” Misha said. “What took you so long?”

Only the most unanswerable question in the history of mankind.

His tongue felt as unresponsive as a rock. “What's the occasion ?”

“Don't you remember?” Misha said impatiently. “They're here to celebrate Sveti's book deal!”

He groped for the memory. “Oh, yeah. Good for her. I didn't know the party was today.”

“She has millions of dollars now,” Rachel announced. “Guess that's why you're here, right? Probably all you care about. Jerk.”

His chest jolted in a mirthless laugh. As if he gave a fuck. He was glad for her, sure, but he hadn't cared about money even before he'd gotten his balls tickled by the icy breath of Death.

He chose a random entry point in the mass of bodies and made for it. They gave way for him. Tam blocked his way, clad in her trademark black, red hair loose around her shoulders. Her topaz eyes blazed. “You sadistic son of a bitch,” she hissed. “How could you run out on her when she was hurt? You
prick!
”

He looked past her, searching for Sveti. “She shut the door on me,” he said.

“Bullshit! You're just punishing her for some stupid argument that was probably all your fault! What do you want from her?”

“I'm here to knock on the door again,” he said simply.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Tam snarled. “You make me sick. Putting it all on her. Go find your balls before you show your face again!”

He shook his head. It was now or it was never. “Where is she?”

Tam stomped out toward the kitchen without answering. Sam turned to the others. “Where is she?” he demanded again.

Miles finally took pity on him. “Front terrace,” he said. “She bolted when she heard you were coming.”

Great.
Fuck.
He headed for the sliding doors and stepped outside. This was his first cliff seascape after their adventure, and it evoked a sickening déjà vu rush. His scream of denial when he'd seen Sveti fall had damaged his vocal folds. His voice was still hoarse, after six weeks.

His heart rate spiked, sweat slicked his back. His belly churned. He fought it. Vomiting all over Tam's terrace would not help matters.

Sveti wasn't on the first terrace. He peered down the stairs and saw her a level down. Hair whipping out like a flag, ramrod straight. His eyes drank up the sight. She did not turn.

He couldn't fight this ceaseless pull anymore. It was like living on the end of a bungee cord. He might as well throw himself at her feet one last time. God knows, he had the choreography down.

He gripped the wooden railing as he descended. He thudded clumsily with his bum leg to announce himself, but she didn't turn.

He leaned on the railing next to her. The cove opened before them, flanked by the arms of two ridges slanting down into the ocean, thick with conifers. The wind whipped Sveti's hair around her face. Her profile was so delicate. The shadows under her cheekbones were prominent.

“Hey.” His brain was wiped clean. He was a stammering idiot.

Her silence said so much. He stood there and took it for as long as he could stand. “You hanging in there okay?” he tried again, finally.

She shrugged. “It rolls over me sometimes, like a tank,” she said softly, twisting her hands together. “But I think I've turned a corner.”

“With the book deal?” he guessed. “Congratulations, by the way. Misha told me. I didn't know you were celebrating today.”

She smiled, briefly. “Bet you weren't expecting the crowd.”

“Yeah, it was special,” he said. “Lots of hairy eyeballs.”

She frowned. “They shouldn't blame you. They weren't there.”

He braced himself against the delicate thrill of hope. “Sounds like you're defending me,” he said carefully.

She laid her cool, slender hand on his. Excitement jabbed, hot and bright, like lightning lancing through the far reaches of his being.

“Nothing you did needs defending,” she said. “You almost died for me. Your instincts were always right. I was such an idiot. All I ever did was fight you. I can't believe you hung around as long as you did.”

“Well.” He stared at the marks that marred her hand. “We didn't always fight. There were . . . memorable interludes. Here and there.”

She cleared her throat. “I'm glad it wasn't all pure hell on earth.”

The wind shifted. Voices filtered down from above. A glance over his shoulder revealed that the terrace was crowded with spectators of every age hanging over the railing, all suddenly fascinated by the view.

“They are chaperoning the living shit out of us,” he said.

“Do you want to go down to the beach?” she asked. “They'll still stare, but at least we won't be overheard.”

His heart thudded, but he played it cool. “Sounds good to me.”

She led the way. He could not stop staring, not even to watch where he put his feet. She sat on the bottom step and slid off her shoes. He did the same, but held her arm as she started to get up.

He grasped her ankle, bending her leg so he could get a look at the sole of her foot. She let him study the scars. The glass had sliced her feet to ribbons, and the rest of her hadn't fared so well, either. She'd rolled all over the fucking stuff, shirtless. She'd been bleeding from more cuts than he could count the last time he saw her. But she'd healed. She walked fine on those feet. He inhaled the biggest chestful of air he'd had in weeks and followed her onto the sand.

It was cold, the sun long gone, due to the shape of the coastline, though it still lit Tam and Val's terrace and its load of onlookers. Sveti walked out to where the foam lapped up over the gleaming sand. Whoa. Toe-freezing sensory agony, to root him in reality. So much colder than the Mediterranean, in which they had so recently dunked themselves.

A wave swept in. He danced back and rolled up his jeans. Sveti laughed at him, which was well worth the soggy cuffs.

They fell into step together as they moved across the sand. A seagull strutted in front of them and gave them an insolent once-over before marching away. It left a spidery, twisting trail of tracks. He noticed these random details while he groped for an entry point into this life-altering conversation. He wished she'd just hand him one. Like,
Sam, why are you here?
or
Sam, what do you want?
Anything at all.

But no. She walked quietly, eyes downcast, letting him flail.

“I thought you were done with me,” she said. “I'm surprised to see you here.”

He grasped at the rope. “Oh, no. I'm not done. Not by a mile.”

Her eyes flicked up, questioning. “No?”

“I want more,” he blurted, then hissed through his teeth. “Damn, that sounds all wrong. What I mean is, I'll take what I can get. Aw shit, that sounds all wrong, too. I don't even know how to say it.”

Her eyes looked huge and startled. “Oh, Sam—”

“I know, we've been through it. How you can't go there with me. No love, romance, or eternal devotion. You've got your big, hairy issues. Fine. I'll take what I can get. Whatever you've got, I'll take it.”

She opened her mouth, but he hurried on. “I mean it. Wherever you go. Europe, New York, Brazil, Turkmenistan, I don't give a shit, I want to be there, too. I'll be your lover when you want one, and I'll be your friend forever. I think you're fucking awesome, and I need to be close to that. Wherever you are, whatever way I can. I'm not fussy.”

She looked bewildered. “And that would be enough for you?”

“No, probably not, but who cares?” he said. “I've never felt so alive as I did when you were making me miserable. I'll take that, hands down, over any other alternative on earth.”

“Oh, Sam,” she whispered. “I don't even know where to start.”

He held up a warning hand. “One thing, up front. I may be just a boy toy, but I'll be a jealous one. Whatever perverse arrangement we come up with, it has to be exclusive, or we'll have big problems.”

“Sam. Stop.”

The sharpness of her voice cut through his rant. “What?” he demanded. “No deal? It skeeves you out? Say it quick, if that's your answer. So I can start swimming to Japan.”

“You deserve better than crumbs,” she said.

Dread gripped his insides and squeezed. “That sounds like the classic ‘it's not you, it's me.' Which you've been saying from the start.”

“No! I just mean that you're the one who is awesome. You deserve everything, Sam. Not just crumbs. You deserve the whole cake.”

“What I deserve is not the issue. The issue is what I can actually have.” He paused. “Besides, crumbs from you were yummier than all the other whole cakes I've ever tasted. So? Lay it on me. Make me suffer.”

“I don't want you to suffer,” she whispered.

Good luck with that. He was born to it. He tightened his belly into impervious steel and forced himself to say it. “I take it that's a no.”

“You don't understand!” she said fiercely. “I'm the one who wants more! I'm the one who wants it all!”

He frowned at her, perplexed. “What ‘all' are you referring to, Sveti? Sex? Servitude? My heart's blood? It's yours already. So what?”

“Love,” she said softly.

Heat welled up from someplace very deep, racing through the secret channels inside him like sap through a plant. “Love,” he repeated stupidly. “You lost me. I'm dizzy. I've got whiplash. Help me out here.”

She reached out and seized his hand, and pressed it over her heart. “Love,” she repeated more loudly.

The edges of his hand pressed the lush swell of her breasts. Her skin was so warm, though she had goose bumps. She wore no bra, just clingy, drapey layers. A few inches to the left or right, and he'd be stroking one of her taut dark nipples.

“That was never an issue,” he said. “You want it, you got it. Hell, you always had it. You're the one who needs to talk about love, Sveti.”

“So let's talk.” She placed her hands on his, pressing it to her chest. Her heart thudded against his palm. Steady, rapid, and strong. As if she were offering it to him. The heat, the strength. The certainty.

He didn't dare breathe. She clasped his hand to herself, as if she received some mysterious message in the contact. Who knew, maybe she did. He had a hard time swallowing the mind-reading hoo-ha the others talked about—Edie's drawings, Miles and Lara's wild tales. But Sveti was an ambassador from the Land of Weird who had absolute credibility for him. He'd believe any crazy thing she told him. Just please God, if she would just tell him the one thing he burned to hear.

“Do you feel it?” she murmured.

He laughed. “I feel a whole lot of things. Be specific.”

“My love,” she said. “I feel it coming out of me, like one of those high-power search beams. The kind you can see from space. Blazing straight at you. It feels so hot. So soft.”

“What . . .” He stopped. He couldn't talk. His throat was vibrating.

Sveti touched his face, stroking her fingertips over his cheek and jaw.