The Survivors: Book One (25 page)

Marc had taken off the long leather coat, and her eyes were drawn to his thick arms against her will, as he dug out his own bedroll. He did indeed put it between her and the ladder, and they both avoided the boxes, bags, tarp-covered bike frames, and tall mirror layered in thick dust that littered the other side of the wide, 8’ x 10’ room.

There were a million things she wanted to say. Where to start? “Want some hot chocolate?”

“That sounds good.”

She handled his stove with an ease that told him she knew what she was doing, and Marc kept quiet, wishing she would meet his eye for more than a second at a time. What was her problem? Was it so bad that she didn’t think he would help? The urge to start asking questions was hard to resist, even for him, but he knew she was tired, could see it on her pale face. If she said she’d rather wait until morning to talk, he would agree, but never be able to sleep.

Angela lit the Coleman, a twin of the one sitting in the rear of her Blazer. When she’d seen him taking his in, she left her own, and it made her think about their vehicles. They hadn’t just picked the same camping equipment. Of all the cars and trucks in the country, they had chosen the same one, even year (’93) and make. Was that just a coincidence?

“Can you use that gun on your hip?”

Angela turned the fire higher on the small pot of water, thinking again that he looked like a cowboy from the Old West with his silver, crisscrossed gun belts and matching, ivory-handled weapons.

“I can load it and pull the trigger. Does that count?” she asked, dumping the packets into the mugs.

Smiling, Marc shook his head, noticing she bagged the garbage instead of just leaving it. “Not really. You use it before tonight?”

“No. I didn’t want to attract attention. Guess I did that anyway, but I had a flat and the flashlight wasn’t enough.”

She turned to him then, and her eyes were hard to look at, as he read the pain and miserable years she had also spent. His dread of her story increased.

 “Thanks for coming. There’s no one else I can turn to.”

Marc instinctively wanted to comfort her, wanted to say she could count on him, and stopped himself. “I’ll help if I can. It’s the best I can do.”

“Hope you feel that way later.”

Angela sighed, dumped in the hot water and stirring. When she brought their cups over, she set his down and moved quickly back despite his hand being out for it.

She balanced on each foot to slide her shoes off and could feel his eyes on her, but didn’t look up. She didn’t want him to see she was terrified of being alone again at dawn. Settling herself on her bedroll, Angela pulled the blanket over her lap before easing out of her sweater to reveal a simple white T-shirt with an American flag on the front. The jeans now hidden under the quilt, were unfastened around her aching guts, had been for hours while she drove. She had been pushing herself, and now she was paying for it.

Lips tightening at the attempt to hide her pain, Marc settled on the floor too. He busied his hands with cleaning his Colt as the rain drummed steadily and the thunder rolled, but his eyes were mostly on her and the small details that many years of training allowed him to pick out.

There was a pretty (small) diamond ring on a chain around her slender neck, a claim of ownership she obviously still felt, or she wouldn’t be wearing it. She was thinner than he thought she should be - probably only 120 pounds - and her nose was crooked, just barely noticeable, along with the slight shadow of what was probably a nasty scar showing from under the edge of her wrinkled shirt.

She looked scared, sick even, and instead of the guilt or anger he’d expected her to use, he sensed only sadness and felt that old concern rise up - stronger. He wisely kept his mouth shut, though, sure that anything he said would be met with scorn or sarcasm. This was her show until he agreed and he hadn’t done that yet.

Angela looked over at him, their eyes sparking, hers flinching away. There was joy and pain in that brief glance, and once again Marc admitted to himself that there was little she could ask for that he wouldn’t give.

Angela took in a deep breath and then picked another question to stall. “So, are you really a Marine or do you just like being a moving target?”

Marc grinned, a bit surprised she knew he was military and what branch. Most civilians didn’t, and he wondered what had given him away. His tag wasn’t visible.

“Been doing it a long time. Saw no reason to change,” he stated carefully, slowing down his hands on the gun. This was going to take a while.

“What’s your rank?”

“I was a Sergeant.”

She looked at him curiously, “Why only an E5?”

He was surprised again by her knowledge, and he shrugged, heart starting to worry. Was her man military too? “I disobeyed a direct order too many times.”

“When did you enlist?” She hated herself for being unable to stop the old Angela from asking, but couldn’t deny the need to know.

Marc snorted, and noticed she jumped, but said nothing. She’d just been attacked. She had every reason to be a little jumpy.

“I didn’t,” his voice was heavy with sarcasm. “It was either put in my time, or go to prison for statutory rape. I’ve been a jarhead for fifteen years.”

Her eyes were guarded. Fifteen years. Right after they were caught in her bedroom.

“The first year was bad, but I learned not to draw fire, and I made a life. I do...
did
things that most people can’t even imagine.”

“Sounds like you’ve enjoyed it.”

“For the most part, I did. It was good, knowing I was making a difference.” Marc tried to get her to meet his eye. “What about you, Angie? Have you been okay?”

The question was abrupt and she lowered her eyes, trying hard to control her voice as she answered, “It’s had good days and bad days.”

Simple. He studied the bags beneath her long, dark lashes, the broken, jagged fingernails, and the unhealthy color of her pale skin. Too simple.

“More bad than good, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.”

She nodded, but didn’t give any details and Marc felt guilt roll over him as if she were screaming. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

Angela lit a smoke, annoyed that he wasn’t clear on what he was sorry for. Did he regret loving her or not coming back? “I don’t need your apology, just your help.”

Their eyes touched, and he gave her a small smile. “I will if I can. Tell me.”

She let out a deep sigh that told him he wouldn’t like any of it, and as with the note, he read between her words and missed little.

“I left some things out of the letter. Important to you and me, but it’s nothing my son needs to have confirmed and feel bad for."

Marc waved a hand, understanding what she wanted from him as the wind gusted. It moved things around outside and caused her to flinch and Dog to continue pacing restlessly, picking up on her tension. “This all stays between us. My word.”

Angela inhaled, blew out a thick cloud of smoke. “We’ve been living with a man named Kenny for the last fourteen years. We met at the hospital where I gave birth. He was there for rehab on his arm. I had just talked my way into a job as a lab assistant, running packages between floors to pay for my medical classes. He seemed normal enough, safe, dependable, and I ended up telling him everything one night on my break," she paused and sucked in a breath.

"He acted horrified that I was a single, underage mother on the run, living in a sleazy hotel, working ten hour shifts, and then putting in another six hours, four days a week in classes. Was scandalized I had to have the hotel manager's drunken sister and teenage daughter babysit."

“And the concerned Samaritan offered you a deal you couldn’t refuse.”

She nodded and the hate in her eyes left no doubt. He’d been forced to leave her, and she had been hurt. Marc braced himself. “What was the deal?”

She met his eyes with pain that he knew wasn't faked. “Me. I had to accept him as my owner until my son turned nineteen.”

“Nineteen?”

Angela crushed out her butt, opened a flat, black case to pull out a thick, neatly rolled blunt. Outside, the wind howled in warning, but neither of them noticed.  “He said the extra year was his bonus for being such a good citizen. He never let me forget he was caring for someone’s bastard.”

Fury filled Marc’s heart, but he could say nothing. After all, it was true. “So what do you need me for?”

His voice was a bit more defensive than she cared for and Angela lit the weed, inhaled before answering. Getting mad here wouldn’t help.

When she passed the joint, he saw how careful she was not to touch him at all.

“Help me get my son back. Clearly I’m not cut out for the trek.”

“So just for the trip?”

She met his gaze, shaking her head. “No, probably not. Kenny’s a Marine too. My son’s a cadet. They’re together now, in Western Utah, and Kenn can be… harsh when he doesn’t get his way.”

His worry confirmed, Marc didn’t respond, mind busy running over what that confrontation might be like. She wanted him to challenge a fellow Marine. He could do that, but only for the right reasons.

“When he gets like that, I can’t handle him alone. I need you to stay close once we find them, while we talk. Maybe we’ll work things out.”

Marc heard a mix of emotions in her words, but doubt was the clearest. “You don’t think so?”

She took the smoldering blunt back, and again, made sure they didn’t touch, drawing a deeper frown. Where was
his
Angie?

“No. Kenny doesn’t know what a compromise is, never had to before, and unless the War changed him, he’ll fight to keep what he considers his. I still owe him six years.”

Marc knew trouble when he heard it. “So, I get you there and what? Keep an eye on you so you can tell your man you don’t love him anymore?”

Her eyes blazed, and he knew it was at the accusing tone more than the words.

“It was never love! We made an unfair deal, and he’s had over a decade of my life that I can’t get back! You don’t know, so don’t sit there and think I’m playing games. Kenny will be furious I’ve left Ohio, and he won’t care about my reasons or needs. When he finds out I want to change the terms of our deal, that just maybe, I want complete freedom, he’ll do whatever it takes to hold me…unless he’s changed.”

“And you hope he has?” Marc asked slowly, not wanting to know, and yet needing to. When she hesitated, his heart stirred. There was room there…and it was still wrong.

“We were a family for a long time, and if he can stop...” Angela caught herself quickly, “If he can compromise, I might be willing to settle back into our old life.”

“And if he won’t?” Marc stubbed out the roach, and when she met his eye again, there was no mistaking the fear, but there was also a wall of determination that reminded him of the old Angie,
his
Angie.

“Then I’ll grab Charlie and go north. Kenny would never expect a weak woman who speaks a little Spanish to head for Canada.”

Marc let out a frustrated sigh, sure she wasn’t telling him everything. “We could do that anyway.”

“No. I have to give him the chance.”

“So, I take you there and hang around until you make up your mind, and then maybe take you north. What’s the catch?”

Angela sighed ruefully, not meeting his eye. “There’s more than one, but the biggest is that Charlie doesn’t know for sure that Kenny’s not his father. I’ve never been... able to tell him, but he’ll figure it out and then Kenny will know. Once my Marine finds out who you are, he’ll never agree to anything. You may have to fight for both of us.”

Marc said nothing, waiting, and she let out a worried noise that called to him.

“He’ll be madder than I’ve ever made him, and…maybe it’ll come to blood.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating?”

“No, I’m not. He’ll see you for the threat you are, and try to run you off or hurt you. It’s only fair you know what you’re getting into.”

Marc felt a fresh tremor of unease at the tone. “Then why take the chance the boy will get caught in the crossfire? We’ll grab him and go.”

“No, Brady. I would have been sent home, and they would have taken my baby from me. Kenny saved me that. We made a deal. Eighteen full years no matter what, and while I can’t keep that promise now, I at least owe him the chance to accept that things have changed and keep the family he had, just on different terms.”

Marc was quiet as he studied her, not liking it. If her man was that possessive, there was bound to be ugliness he wanted no part of. “What you’re asking is unfair. I can’t even spend time with my son. It’s a bad deal now, too.”

The storm had broken overhead while they talked, rain now thumping roughly on the roof as the wind gusted, slamming things around, and she looked at him with eyes that said she didn’t think she could do it on her own.

“You won’t help me?”

 The crushing disappointment in her voice had him looking away, sure if he held her gaze, he would give in.

“I’ll think on it, but probably not. I can’t be your show of force and maybe even your attack dog, just because you can’t live up to a decades-old promise and are too honest to skip out on it, even after all that’s happened. I certainly won’t challenge a fellow Marine for those reasons.”

Angela nodded, holding back hot tears. “I understand. I’ll go my own way come morning…I’m sorry, Brady, for all of it.”

She lay down with her back to him, trying not to cry. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell him the awful truths about how bad her life had been. He had to see on his own how much she needed him. There was no way guilt would hold him through all they would face.

Marc wanted to talk more, wanted to convince her she didn’t have to stay with a man she didn’t love, that even after all these years, others were still waiting. He also loathed the idea of being a Jody. No real Marine let himself become the guy that stole a fellow grunt’s girl while they were away.

Brady blew out a sigh of frustration, frown growing when the small sound made her flinch. What the hell was he supposed to do?
"Whatever she asks!"
his heart reproached miserably, already aching at the thought of being split from her again so soon. His emotions insisted she was the real thing, a true damsel in distress, and he went over her words and reactions repeatedly, looking for clues to what he was missing. What hadn’t she told him?