Burning Darkness Page 12

  She was about to walk past but paused in front of him. “Don’t be nice to me. Holding me, trying to make me feel better . . . don’t do that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to like you, Eric Aruda. Don’t make me.”

  She walked out to the truck. He remained there for a moment, watching her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. That smile dropped. No one had ever accused him of being nice before. Why was he being nice to her? He was proud of being a butthead. It was his nature. So why wasn’t he one around a woman who couldn’t stand him? Probably his guilt over what he put her through.

  He watched her get into the truck and pull the door closed. She brushed her fingers through her hair, her mouth in that hard line. No, it was more than that. Something about her got to him, reached into his chest and squeezed, not unlike the way Westerfield could, only this felt . . . different. A combination of good and scary. Don’t explore that too closely. Last thing you need is to get involved. Remember, bad idea.

  He closed the door and followed her to the truck.

  Fonda tried to keep her gaze from sliding over to Eric as they drove west. She could feel his eyes on her, though. Like he was speculating about her. Wondering about her scars. She had bigger scars inside. She didn’t want him wondering about any of them.

  Holy crap, to wake up from that horrible nightmare with his hands on her shoulders. He comforted her, smoothed away her tears. She had felt safe and protected, something she hardly ever felt. Only it was in Eric Aruda’s arms, and that wasn’t a safe place to be at all.

  He was dangerous. Evil. Bad. The enemy. Yet, he’d been tender twice, this time absolving her from guilt. Apologizing for her pain and meaning it. She’d heard enough empty words to know the difference.

  She found her gaze drifting to him, the line of his jaw, the tendons in his neck, and past his loose shirt to his jeans that encased his thighs. His fingers were tapping on his knee to the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.” Strong hands, long fingers. She’d seen him naked, knew the lines of that big, hard body, the ridges of his flat stomach, the curve of his ass, which was finely dusted in golden blond hairs.

  She felt that stirring deep in her stomach. Stop that! She was so desperate not to have those stirrings about Eric, she pulled up Jerryl’s image in her mind. Feel how you’re betraying his memory. Feel how . . .

  She could only see Jerryl in a hazy way. Bristly hair that was too short to run her fingers through, brown eyes that narrowed in an annoyed way when she’d come to his room and he was concentrating on work. She couldn’t picture his mouth at all.

  Her eyes widened, and it felt as though someone had thumped her hard in the chest. Jerryl hadn’t loved her. What he had loved was killing. And not only killing in general, but killing Eric Aruda. Sometimes when they had sex, she would see a lusty passion in his eyes. As soon as he came, though, the first words out of his mouth were: “I can’t wait to kill that son of a bitch.” He’d actually been thinking about it while they were having sex! Like a woman who ignores the signs that her man is cheating, she had ignored the signs that he didn’t care about her beyond as a sex partner.

  When Eric asked if Jerryl loved her, she’d believed her answer. She had told Jerryl she loved him, and what had he said? That’s nice.

  She had heard, That’s so nice that you love me. I love you, too. That’s not what he’d meant at all. It was, That’s nice, the way someone says those words when you give them an ugly sweater. Her words were an ugly sweater to him . . . because the only reason she’d said them was to hear him say them back to her. She thought sex, and saying the words, meant it was love. Her fingers kneaded her forehead. It wasn’t love at all.

  It was embarrassing to see now how she had thrown herself at him. The act of chivalry in the bar, that he possessed powers like her, such an allure. All Jerryl had cared about was becoming Darkwell’s number one. She wasn’t even number three or four on his list. It hurt, but not as much as she thought it might. It also lessened the loss of him, as Eric had intended.

  He’s done more to protect you than Jerryl ever did.

  The thought walloped her upside the head. She hadn’t seen it, of course, hadn’t wanted to, but there it was. From the beginning, right after she tried to kill him. He’d grabbed her hand when they ran out of the room, helped her get Westerfield out of her head, and stepped in front of her twice, with Westerfield and when Magnus walked into the closet.

  Warmth rushed through her body. No, you’re not doing that again. It’s probably instinct. He has people. He’s used to protecting them.

  She closed her eyes at the thought. People. She had no people. Former coworkers that she hadn’t let in. Nothing more than that.

  “You okay?”

  His voice yanked her from her dark thoughts.

  “You looked like you were in pain,” he said.

  She could see by the crease in his forehead—he cared. “Cramps,” she said. It was hard to keep from rolling her eyes at that lame excuse.

  “Do you need . . . you know, that stuff? Having a sister, I know it’s a life and death thing—”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Double damn him. No, he was probably protecting her because he saw her as weak. That made her feel better.

  At a light, he picked up the map. “Almost there. I want you to stay in the truck. I don’t want him to know you exist.”

  There he went again, protecting her. “I have no interest in getting involved in your wars.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled down a side street and then to a parking lot. He parked, reached into the back and pulled out a gun from the storage area. “Westerfield’s gun has a silencer on it.”

  “He was going to use that on me.”

  He tilted it at an angle, looking at it. “Yeah.” His mouth tightened. “I don’t know why, when he has a far deadlier weapon. Much quieter to squeeze our guts and brains. Or maybe not.”

  His screams of agony echoed in her memory. She shook her head. “Not.” She glanced at the woods. “What are you going to do to this guy?”

  “Can’t burn him. Like you said, it’d send the whole place up in flames.” He was staring intently at those dark woods. “I’m going to figure out which bundle is him and shoot.” The intensity in his eyes burned as bright as any fire. Normally she didn’t like men with very light eyes. His were the color of a wintry blue sky reflected in a pond. Icy blue, hard to read. He looked at her. “Be ready for anything. I don’t like leaving you by yourself, but I won’t be long. Westerfield shouldn’t be able to find you that fast. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, drive the truck away and come back in an hour.” He pinned her with his gaze. “But come back.”

  “I will,” she said, surprised she hadn’t thought of ditching him. No, she couldn’t do that to him.

  He dug around in the back, twisting his body so his jean-clad ass was right beside her. “I thought I saw a flashlight . . . Ah.” He slid back to the front seat. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  She nodded, digging in her duffel bag and extracting it from her purse.

  “Give me your number.” He punched in numbers as she recited it, and her phone rang. “Now you have mine. Put it on vibrate and keep it with you. We’ve found that’s the safest way, so the ring doesn’t give you away in case you’re in a touchy situation.”

  He was used to being hunted. Hunted by Jerryl and the man she’d worked for.

  He got out of the truck. “Be careful.”

  After he disappeared into the woods, she sat for a minute, listening to the crickets singing. Most of the time she’d worked for Darkwell, she was left out of the action. What if Eric ran into trouble? Not that she cared about his personal safety, but she had to admit she felt better having a big strong guy around.

  Telling herself she could prove she wasn’t some scared girl, Fonda slid out of the truck, pocketing the keys, and followed his path into the woods. She listened, tuning into his foots
teps in the distance. Her foot hit something lumpy, and a man said, “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” She stopped, looking around as her eyes adjusted. Tents and sleeping bags were everywhere. The homeless. She’d been so focused on Eric, she hadn’t looked down.

  Ahead, Eric flashed his beam across the ground. Some of the forms on the ground didn’t even stir when the beam lit up their faces. Others covered themselves and grumbled. Eric didn’t linger for more than a second.

  She saw one man standing beside a tree, and something about his posture said predator. She picked up her pace. The man stepped closer to Eric. Danger burned her throat with a bitter taste. She lifted her gun but couldn’t shoot, not without knowing what was behind the man.

  The predator took three quick steps toward Eric, his hand raised in a gesture that screamed Knife!

  “Eric! Watch out!”

  He spun as the man lunged toward him. Both went down, and the flashlight landed nearby, lightening them up. She ran toward them.

  A southern-accented voice said, “Who the hell—Eric Aruda, right?”

  Eric said nothing as he tried to wrestle something out of the man’s hand. Yes, a knife. Fonda stomped on his hand and wrestled the knife from his tight fingers.

  “Fonda, get out of here!”

  She saw Sayre then, his head shaved closer than Jerryl liked to keep his, blue-gray eyes flat. He was looking right at her, even as he struggled with Eric. And he smiled at her, a smile that sent a cold shiver through her body. The men rolled from one side to the other, both locked in a death grip.

  “Nice of you to bring your girlfriend,” Sayre said in a strained voice. “I haven’t been able to visit Amy lately. Me an’ her, we had a good time. Lucas tell you?”

  His voice was filled with his taunting as well as strain. Eric got in a punch, which grazed Sayre’s cheek. Eric was bigger, but Sayre was quick. That punch would have demolished him if Sayre hadn’t moved so fast.

  She aimed the knife, hoping to disable Sayre so Eric could get control over the situation, but she was afraid of accidentally stabbing Eric. She jammed the knife into a tree and jumped on Sayre’s back when they rolled again.

  “Fonda, get out,” Eric growled.

  Sayre flung his arm back and hit her in the side of the face, knocking her off. She heard Eric’s snarl, and by the time she jumped to her feet and faced them, Sayre was also on his feet. Eric rushed him, shoving him against a tree trunk. Sayre’s breath rushed out with a groan. He should have collapsed but instead kicked Eric in the stomach. Eric doubled over, only for a second but long enough for Sayre to get another kick in and dodge around him. Eric’s hands just missed him. Fonda reached for the knife in the tree but it took several tugs to get it free. By then Sayre was gone, his footsteps retreating into the darkness.

  Eric slammed his fist into the tree he was standing beside. “Dammit!”

  “Hey, take this somewhere else, man,” a man’s voice said.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, coming up to Eric.

  With the light coming from below, his face looked even more intense and angry when he turned to her, his breath coming hard. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “Saving your ass, as it turned out. He would have ambushed you.”

  He reached down and swiped up the flashlight with a flick of his wrist. He swept the light around on the ground until it lit up the gun, which had obviously been dropped. “Why didn’t you stay in the truck? I thought you didn’t want to bother with my wars.”

  “I’m tired of being left out. I figured I’d be backup.”

  He straightened up in front of her, his chest still rising and falling, hand flattened over his stomach where he’d been kicked. “You could have gotten killed.”

  “There’s something you don’t know about me, Eric. I don’t like to play it safe. Feeling fear is better than feeling . . . numb. And you’re welcome.” She started back, realizing she’d used his name for the first time. Hearing it roll off her tongue felt strange, intimate.

  He followed, coming up beside her. “I’m supposed to thank you for what, little girl? Exposing yourself to a psycho bastard?”

  She flung a look at him.

  “Okay, thank you for saving my ass. That’s two I owe you.”

  “We’re not keeping score. I don’t want you owing me anything.” Or vice versa. Particularly vice versa.

  They weaved around the people who weren’t quite sleeping anymore. Some were sitting up, grumbling at the intrusion. Within minutes she and Eric walked out of the woods. He smelled of earth and male and had a smear of dirt across his cheek, and somehow those things were arousing in a strange way.

  He took hold of her arm, twisting her around to face him. “It was only a figure of speech. You’re right. There’s no owing anyone anything. Right now we’re working together.”

  The tight feel of his hand around her arm triggered something deep in her body. “Then you shouldn’t have your panties in a wad because I went in to make sure the guy didn’t whack you. Which he would have. If we’re working together, you shouldn’t have a problem with that. And I may be little, but I’m not a ‘little girl,’ and don’t call me that again. Just because I made a big deal about Jerryl standing up for me at the bar doesn’t mean I’m a frail flower. I’ve dealt with drug dealers, thugs in the ’hood, I’ve handled a lot of ugly stuff by myself. So if I want to get in on the action, I will. That is, if we’re really working—”

  His mouth covered hers, and she was completely thrown off. It amazed her, however, how her mouth jumped right in, kissing him back. Her lips softened and parted beneath his. He took that as invitation and slid his tongue inside, sweeping across her teeth, swirling around her tongue. She couldn’t breathe and it didn’t even matter. She felt the urge to tear off her shirt and move into his body, and the thought was so jarring, she pushed him back.

  She covered her mouth with her fingers. “What’d you do that for?”

  “To shut you up. Let’s get out of here.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his back as he walked to the truck. Damn him. Heat was still flushing through her body. She followed, getting into the passenger side.

  He started the truck and looked at her. “I know . . . ‘Don’t ever do that again.’ ”

  “Damn straight.” That was the problem. Those weren’t the words screaming through her mind. Not No, no, no! But More, more, more!

  She put No, no, no on her expression. And what did he do? Laughed! Shook his head and laughed. Honest to God, she didn’t know whether to slap him or laugh with him, and the two warring factions twisted her insides like taffy. On top of that, his laugh transformed his face from hard and chiseled to handsome and boyish. His icy blue eyes sparkled, and his mouth, slightly crooked, revealed perfect white teeth.

  “You think this is funny?” she asked.

  He sobered for a moment. “No, it’s very, very serious.” Then a laugh erupted again.

  “Care to share why you think this . . . this situation is funny?”

  He got control of his laughter. “You remind me of someone I know well. Stubborn. Reckless. Lives for drama. Angry. Full of piss and vinegar.”

  “Who’s that?”

  He waited a beat, that smile still on his face. “Me.”

  Her eyes popped. She didn’t know what to make of that. “So when you kissed me back there, you were . . . kissing yourself?”

  He rubbed his fingers across his mouth. “Interesting thought. Maybe I should do it again”—he leaned closer—“and see if I can figure it out.”

  She leaned back even as her body wanted to meet him in the middle. “Back off, Aruda.”

  “Just kidding.” He was still smiling. Triple damn him. The smear of dirt, the tousled blond hair, the irreverent smile, all made her want to roll around on the ground with him.

  Naked.

  Hush! Naughty thoughts. Dirty . . . funny. She had the dialogue with herself before realizing that again Connie’s vicious words weren’t
playing in her head anymore.

  Change the subject. “You know, I didn’t even think about freezing time back there. That was dumb. I could have stabbed him or something. I’m not used to having that skill.”

  “I didn’t think about it either.” At least he hadn’t agreed on the dumb part.

  He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Hey, Nicholas, it’s Eric.” Defeat permeated his voice. “No, I didn’t get him. He must have sensed me checking on him earlier, because he was ready . . . No, I’m okay.” He glanced at her. “I had some help. I’ll try again later. Right now I want to focus on the guy who can squish our guts with his mind. Can you do a locate on someone you’ve never seen? . . . I figured you’d need a touchstone, and I don’t have a picture of him. I can’t remote-view unless I have a location. Unfortunately, I think he’ll end up finding us; I’d much rather find him first. Everything the same there? . . . Okay. I’m here if you need me.”

  He disconnected.

  She said, “I can locate. I found Nicholas and Olivia for Darkwell a couple of times.”

  “Do it.”

  She nodded. It felt good to be useful. “But I need sleep first. I’m exhausted.” That last rush of adrenaline had wiped her out. Okay, two rushes: the one she’d gotten when fighting with Sayre and the one that came with Eric’s kiss.

  “We’ll find a motel. But now that Sayre knows about you, be careful because he’ll be after you.”

  “After me?”

  “You intrigued him. Plus he’ll go after you just to get to me. I’m sure he thinks we’re together. Together together. Just be aware. He gets into your dreams and makes you do things. You’ll feel a prickle at the base of your neck, but you won’t notice it if you’re asleep. I’ll make sure you don’t go wandering around.”

  “Because we’ll be in the same room?”

  “Makes sense. Money is limited, so might as well keep the costs down. And like I said earlier, you’ve already seen me naked, and I’ve almost seen you naked, so we’re practically lovers already.”

  “Don’t say that.” Boy, those words had come flying right out. Way to not sound like that bothers you.