Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) by Skye Knizley Page B

a towel in that bag?” she asked.
    Blaze turned and her jaw dropped. “I didn’t know you weren’t wearing a bra!”
    It was Smoak’s turn to grin. “You didn’t ask.”
    A fluffy white beach towel hit her in the face. She grabbed it and dried off, mindful that Blaze was still watching. Maybe Ashley was right and Blaze was her kind of girl.
    She wrapped the towel around her waist and put the tee shirt on before kicking off her boots and dropping her pants. She finished drying off and tugged on the denim shorts Blaze had offered. They were a little snug around the hips but would do for now. When she was finished, she sat on the hood of the car to dry off her feet.
    “What are those scars?” Blaze asked.
    Smoak didn’t look up from drying between her toes. “Which ones?”
    “The ones across your belly.”
    Smoak tossed her socks aside and started putting her boots back on. “Bullet holes an angry soldier gifted me with while I strangled his buddy to death.”
    “I thought you said you were a dancer,” Blaze said.
    “I am. That was before. I use makeup to cover the scars when I work. You can tell if you look close, but so far, no one has complained,” Smoak said. “Some customers think they add an air of mystery to me.”
    “And the wing tattoos on your back. Those are to cover more scars, aren’t they?”
    Smoak nodded. “The Wings of the Devil is what my CO used to call them. I had them done while on leave overseas.”
    Blaze handed Smoak the hairbrush.
    Smoak took it and began working on the knots that held her hair in place like glue. She could feel the redhead woman’s eyes on her and she said, “Go ahead, you can ask.”
    Blaze looked away, her eyes falling on the knives. “Why were you carrying a pair of swords?”
    Smoak laughed, but could feel butterflies waking in her belly. “They aren’t swords. They’re specially made Khyber knives I picked up in Afghanistan.”
    Blaze looked back at Smoak and frowned. “Give me the brush, you’re making a mess.”
    Smoak stopped and held the brush out to Blaze. The other woman took it with a flourish and attacked Smoak’s hair with gentle vigor.
    “Thank you. So why were you carrying your Klingon knives or whatever? Those things have got to be illegal, even in Florida.”
    “I rarely go anywhere without some kind of weapon. Call it my own special form of PTSD, but I don’t like to go unarmed. It makes me nervous.”
    Smoak was surprised at how smoothly the lie poured from her lips and how guilty she felt as soon as it was hanging between them.
    “It’s lucky you had them. The officer said you saved a busload of kids from that sniper,” Blaze said.
    “I guess so,” Smoak said. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “I’d say you were in the right place at the right time, Kamryn. If you hadn’t been here, some of those kids would be dead, and I’m willing to bet the sniper would have gotten away. You’re a hero.”
    Smoak swallowed a bitter reply and closed her eyes, letting Blaze brush out her hair.
     

     
    Half an hour later, the two women were sitting in a coffee house enjoying iced coffee and some kind of Danish Blaze had chosen. The coffee was good, but Smoak thought the pastry tasted like old pumpkin. Which is what it looked like. She picked at it with her fingers while she listened to Blaze talk. She knew almost everything Blaze was telling her about growing up in Ormond Beach, but it was nice to hear it come from the woman’s lips. Her voice had a musical quality that was almost mesmerizing.
    “Sorry if I’m babbling,” Blaze said after a while. “I just haven’t had anyone to talk to since Rayne…”
    Smoak smiled. “You’re not babbling. I like listening to you talk.”
    “You should hear me sing,” Blaze said.
    “I’m sure I will,” Smoak said. “Those detectives will find your sister, and then you can go back to doing regular gigs. When you do, I’ll come see you.”
    Blaze nodded. “They