evil.”
“I thought I was a nun.”
“You forget, I grew up in Catholic schools. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Are we going to keep chatting or are you going to let me sleep? We’ve been running for our lives for the last forty-eight hours, and I wasn’t any too comfortable before that.” Determinedly she shut out the vision of Father Pascal, his hand still clutching his rosary. “If you want to talk, go curl up with Dylan.”
“And you seemed so meek and mild when I first saw you.” His voice was faintly mocking. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll watch over you.”
She should have protested, kicked him off the cot. She couldn’t. She felt too safe. “I am meek and mild,” she said firmly. “Just not when people are trying to kill me.”
“That works.”
She wouldn’t have thought he could get any closer, but he did, his body so close he was almost inside her, his body heat radiating into her. “You’re too bony,” she complained, settling back against him, unconsciously aiding him.
“The Guiding Light doesn’t believe in generous rations for prisoners.” He must have felt her laugh. “That amuses you?”
“I can’t help it. What self-respecting rebel group takes their name from an American soap opera?”
“It’s a soap opera? I wouldn’t know. I don’t watch television.”
“It’s been cancelled anyway.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, and felt a blossoming of heat in her body, in inexplicable places. She knew full well that any feeling between her legs was extremely dangerous. “Stop talking.”
He nuzzled her neck, and against her will she felt another odd, answering flare. “You started it this time,” he said. “Complaining about my bones. Can’t help it, sweetheart. Any of it,” he added mischievously.
And she wasn’t going to think about that particularly hard part of him, pressing up against her butt. “Go to sleep.”
And for a short, blessed while, they did.
She felt him shift, moments before his hand clamped over her mouth, and her eyes flew open in sudden terror. He’d rolled on top of her, immobilizing her, but there was no slumberous lust on his face. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, so quietly it was more a suggestion of sound. She nodded, and he removed his hand, then slid off her, leaving her cold and alone and frightened.
The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the small shack they were in. She couldn’t even remember clearly how they’d gotten here, and she looked around in sudden panic to see Dylan on the floor, MacGowan looming over him, waking him a little more roughly than he’d done with her.
She scrambled off the narrow cot, leaving its remembered warmth with regret. The shredded remains of her sneakers were on the floor, and she shoved her feet into them, barely aware of the pain of her wounded feet. She stayed low, out of sight of the window with its rough burlap covering, and MacGowan turned back to look at her, the flash of approval in his eyes almost as warming as his body had been. He moved back to her, dragging the yawning but compliant Dylan with him, and they huddled together on the floor.
“That old bitch sold us out,” he said. “Either that or La Luz has become suddenly more efficient, which I doubt. They’re coming.”
“How can you tell? I don’t hear anything,” Dylan complained.
MacGowan cast him a withering glance. “I’m trained for this kind of thing, idiot. We need to get the fuck out of here. There are too many of them to take in a fight.”
“How?” Her word was simple – it was no time for them to argue tactics.
“La Luz is coming down the mountain and they were never any good at being quiet. We sneak out the back, through the underbrush. It’ll be rough going compared to what we’ve been doing, but it’s our only chance.”
Rough compared to what they’d been doing? She didn’t say a word as defeat swamped her. She’d barely
“I thought I was a nun.”
“You forget, I grew up in Catholic schools. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Are we going to keep chatting or are you going to let me sleep? We’ve been running for our lives for the last forty-eight hours, and I wasn’t any too comfortable before that.” Determinedly she shut out the vision of Father Pascal, his hand still clutching his rosary. “If you want to talk, go curl up with Dylan.”
“And you seemed so meek and mild when I first saw you.” His voice was faintly mocking. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll watch over you.”
She should have protested, kicked him off the cot. She couldn’t. She felt too safe. “I am meek and mild,” she said firmly. “Just not when people are trying to kill me.”
“That works.”
She wouldn’t have thought he could get any closer, but he did, his body so close he was almost inside her, his body heat radiating into her. “You’re too bony,” she complained, settling back against him, unconsciously aiding him.
“The Guiding Light doesn’t believe in generous rations for prisoners.” He must have felt her laugh. “That amuses you?”
“I can’t help it. What self-respecting rebel group takes their name from an American soap opera?”
“It’s a soap opera? I wouldn’t know. I don’t watch television.”
“It’s been cancelled anyway.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, and felt a blossoming of heat in her body, in inexplicable places. She knew full well that any feeling between her legs was extremely dangerous. “Stop talking.”
He nuzzled her neck, and against her will she felt another odd, answering flare. “You started it this time,” he said. “Complaining about my bones. Can’t help it, sweetheart. Any of it,” he added mischievously.
And she wasn’t going to think about that particularly hard part of him, pressing up against her butt. “Go to sleep.”
And for a short, blessed while, they did.
She felt him shift, moments before his hand clamped over her mouth, and her eyes flew open in sudden terror. He’d rolled on top of her, immobilizing her, but there was no slumberous lust on his face. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, so quietly it was more a suggestion of sound. She nodded, and he removed his hand, then slid off her, leaving her cold and alone and frightened.
The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the small shack they were in. She couldn’t even remember clearly how they’d gotten here, and she looked around in sudden panic to see Dylan on the floor, MacGowan looming over him, waking him a little more roughly than he’d done with her.
She scrambled off the narrow cot, leaving its remembered warmth with regret. The shredded remains of her sneakers were on the floor, and she shoved her feet into them, barely aware of the pain of her wounded feet. She stayed low, out of sight of the window with its rough burlap covering, and MacGowan turned back to look at her, the flash of approval in his eyes almost as warming as his body had been. He moved back to her, dragging the yawning but compliant Dylan with him, and they huddled together on the floor.
“That old bitch sold us out,” he said. “Either that or La Luz has become suddenly more efficient, which I doubt. They’re coming.”
“How can you tell? I don’t hear anything,” Dylan complained.
MacGowan cast him a withering glance. “I’m trained for this kind of thing, idiot. We need to get the fuck out of here. There are too many of them to take in a fight.”
“How?” Her word was simple – it was no time for them to argue tactics.
“La Luz is coming down the mountain and they were never any good at being quiet. We sneak out the back, through the underbrush. It’ll be rough going compared to what we’ve been doing, but it’s our only chance.”
Rough compared to what they’d been doing? She didn’t say a word as defeat swamped her. She’d barely
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