The Survivors: Book One (62 page)

2

As dawn finally broke, Tonya and the reporter rolled into camp, flanked by Kyle’s team, while Kenn waited nearby. He lingered in dawn’s last shadows, waiting for the camp to get settled around the Mess for chow.

A few minutes later, her tent flap opened, revealing a dim, smoky interior. A small red glow winked on and off, and he moved forward. No one else was around. Not that it mattered anyway. If she and Adrian had been an item, it was over now.

Kenn stepped inside the pungent tent, inhaling from the thick joint that slid between his lips. The flap closed them in darkness, and he remained still, smoking as unseen hands rubbed him, opened his jeans…stroked.

The redhead was aware that something was happening with Adrian’s right-hand man. She’d seen his loaded Bronco, and wanted to be sure her place with him was secure before he left. Kenn was her ticket to power here, and Tonya gave him an amazing effort, trying to dig her hooks in deeper. For a little while the hard new future was forgotten by them both.

Chapter Thirty Three

March 28
^th
, 2013

Pitcairn Island

1

“Want to sleep with me?”

Face sweaty and flushed, Luke stopped in the middle of a sit-up, shocked before his mind replayed what she’d really said, what his male mind had misheard.
“Want some company?”

The smile in her eyes made him look away. Her skin was evening out, weight finally coming up, and these awkward moments of tension were happening more and more as she recovered. “I’ve got more books if you’re bored,” he offered, finishing number eighteen.

He’d already done the 40 push-ups, Kendle forcing herself to pretend to be reading, but her eyes had stayed mostly on him and she wondered if he knew. “I’d rather get back in shape and that looks like it works.”

LJ grinned at her, at the compliment, and she blushed, but didn’t look away. He might be 50, but he wore the frame of a very healthy 35-year-old. “I mean it. I get out of breath just carrying our basket to the fishing hole. I used to be so…” she trailed off, eyes wistful as memories swirled over her, something Luke understood all too well.

“In the morning?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She dropped her eyes back to
The Stand
, the last book on his wall shelves that she hadn’t read yet, but her mind was on leaving…on going home. She dreamed of it most nights that the ocean didn’t claim her, of facing her terror and trying to get back. It made her stomach clench painfully and her spine look for a place to hide, but so help her, she really was considering the attempt. She wasn’t pushing herself much and Luke wasn’t pushing her at all, but she wasn’t going to be content here for very long. She had to get healthy. Right now, she was weak, tired, and it would still be at least a month or two, on top of the seven weeks she had already spent here, but in that time, she planned to find a way back to America that didn’t involve those awful waves that called to her…mocked her.

“Lotta hard words?”

Kendle looked down into his understanding face, thinking she might not go if Luke wouldn’t come with her. Being alone was something she didn’t ever want to face again. “I’m sorry?”

“You haven’t turned a page. I thought maybe you were stuck.”

She smiled sadly, closed the book of death and destruction with gentle, reddish-brown hands that her eyes lingered on. “It’s too depressing.”

Luke wiped his face with the towel from the pocket in his cutoff jeans, and then slid it back. “Great writing, though.” He fell silent, thinking America was now experiencing it firsthand and knew she was too.

“Alright, enough of this,” Luke said, “Let’s do something.” He was pulling on his running shoes, trying not to stare at the long legs her dark shorts allowed him to see. “I’ll skip the run and we can play some cards or something.”

He paused, looking around the neatly-cleaned cabin. No carpet on the wooden floor, two recliners, a table, two beds, two doors, four walls, white curtains she’d sewn, a three drawer stand he’d made for her things, all of it dusted, washed, and made up. They were inside too much. She needed to get out there again if she was going to recover. What had helped him when he’d first come here?

“Hey. We could work on my garden.”

That got Kendle’s attention and she smiled eagerly, forgetting how loud the ocean was outside the safety of his small cabin. The only time she was alone was to get a shower or relieve herself and she liked it that the small generator would come on anytime they used water in the
M*A*S*H
-style shower and outhouse set up because it drowned out the noise that tormented her.

“Now?”

Warm breeze blowing on his skin, Luke shrugged, trying to remember the last time he’d broken his exercise routine, but couldn’t. Making her happy here was important, and sometimes, like when they were sitting in his leather recliners, reading, listening to his records, it was hard to remember how quiet (lonely) his life had been before she came. “After lunch. We’ll have grilled salmon hoagies and then play in the dirt.”

Kendle’s spirits picked up a bit, adventurous soul long since bored. She was looking forward to having work to do, instead of just staring at him when he wasn’t looking her way, and staring at the walls when he was.

2

Hearing albatrosses and seagulls fighting over a beach full of small, red crab hatchlings and the dull roar of an upset, unhealthy ocean, Kendle’s eyes were wide as she looked over the terribly tangled vines and sticker bushes. They were at least five feet high and so thick, she was unable to determine where the brambles ended and the jungle began or how big the area behind the cabin was.

“When’s the last time you came out here?”

“Couple years. Planted a big garden when I first came, spent a lot of time letting the earth soak into me. It seemed to help.” Luke let out a sigh. “Then the ocean took it back.”

Kendle heard the haunted tone and understood more than anyone else could have, but she said nothing as she dug through the box of tools he’d pulled from a small attic space. “Clippers?” she asked, holding them up.

She saw his eyes darken. Clearly, he was struggling with something, a deep frown planting itself on his forehead. When he turned back toward the cabin without saying anything, she wondered again what crime had made him choose the painfulness of solitude over the quick end of suicide. He wasn’t a coward, but he was doing penance, she was sure of it. Luke had been hurting himself for a long time and Kendle wanted it to stop. He’d done so much for her! She almost felt like a normal person again. There had to be something she could do for him in return, some way to ease his pain.

The jungle was alive around her, monkeys and squirrels chattering from vine-covered banyan trees and leafy palms that waved in the warm, dry wind. The sun was shining comfortably, the breeze light, and sometimes, like now, it felt like they were the only ones on this nearly deserted southern island. If not for the heavy, hurting heart that needed to know, she thought she could be happy here.

Luke came back out carrying a long, black sword case decorated with Marine patches, an American flag, and the initials, L.L.J. His blue eyes were dazed, far away, and Kendle watched curiously as he unzipped the bag, removing a worn machete. Shiny and no doubt deadly, he dropped the empty sheath into the thick paddle grass by her feet, mind clearly not in the present. She left him alone, eager to inspect the markings on the case.

The past instantly, vividly, came alive for Luke as he held the machete, the memories running up the blade and into his heart. He hadn’t touched it in years, not since clearing the land where his cabin sat. After that, he had locked it up with the rest of his old life. The first swipe was sweet, powerful, and Luke was jerked through time, suddenly facing his greatest joy and his biggest bête noir.

The other men in his platoon had hated cutting a path through the dense jungles of Cambodia, griped constantly about the back-breaking, mind-numbing work, but not Luke. He understood that clearing their own road meant they were there before the enemy, before the mines and homemade traps meant to blow their legs a mile away. He’d been known as Whacker then, had used that excuse to explain always volunteering for point, but more than safety, hacking his own path gave him a feeling of power and control that the 16-year-old runaway had fallen in love with.

Sweat rolled into his eyes and Luke automatically pulled off his white tank top and wiped his face, keeping the deadly weapon in hand. He pushed the shirt into his pocket and went back to work, enjoying the only good thing that had come from his time in the service.

 
Frank
, his mind insisted,
Frank had been good.
The POW hadn’t been from Luke’s platoon, but he had been another American soldier (teenager much too young to be killing people) and they had formed a bond that was stronger than with the other prisoners. They had been hostages together, tortured together for their friendship, and when they’d gotten the chance, they had escaped together, taking nine other survivors along.

It had gotten them both medals and citations, but there was no erasing everything that had happened during the escape. An award couldn’t bring back all those lives. Regret rolled over Luke in waves and he stopped swinging, breathing harsh. That world was decades gone, but it always seemed much closer.

Bright blue-gray eyes drawn to Luke’s bare back, Kendle was surprised by her reaction. She hadn’t expected the hard, sexy muscles or narrow strip of hair running down his flat stomach to capture her attention so completely. And then he’d started swinging again, tan, naked back flexing gracefully, and her mouth went dry.

Luke turned in time to see her staring and there was no way he could mistake the desire as a light breeze blew deliciously over his sweaty skin. The male inside him demanded he grab her, kiss her…claim her.

Sun beating on his gritty neck, LJ took a single step before stopping, pulling back. He turned away instead, putting his shirt back on. Would she have denied or welcomed him?

Kendle’s face was red, but with his sweaty, sexy skin covered, her mind seemed to wake from the sexual daze she’d fallen into. Her eyes went back to the machete, realizing the weapon hadn’t left his hand once.
Must be special to him,
she thought, and was surprised when he came over and gently pushed the handle into her grip.

“You can do the rest.”

She hesitated. “I don’t have a clue.”

Luke threw her a challenge in response, very aware of the salty air and the thick green jungle around them. It felt like he was caught between the past and the present. “I’ll show you. Unless you don’t think you can?”

Kendle carefully took hold of the sharp weapon’s worn handle; stepping over to the area that was almost a third cleared, and looked back at him expectantly.

Not quite smiling, Luke answered by stepping behind her and tugging her gently into his big arms. Barely suppressing a groan of pleasure, he wrapped himself around her and guided them, mouth near her ear, giving soft instructions.

It went awkwardly at first, Kendle too aware of the hard male body molded to hers to work with him, and the images of his naked skin flashed through her mind as they bent and swung, dipped and cut.

“Close your eyes.”

She did it reluctantly, hating to give up control, but almost immediately, the feeling hit her. Total power, it was undeniable and consuming. She grinned against his jaw, not opening her eyes as he led.

They settled into a rhythm that made her stomach jump, as primitive and sexual instincts converged stunningly with each carefully controlled and yet harshly violent swing.

For Kendle, it was the release she needed and the attraction she’d long ago lost hope of finding. She had wanted the real love that her parents had shared, the kind that set off bells and whistles in her heart, and while this wasn’t that, it was definitely lust and she let her body melt against his as they ducked and swung, bent and rubbed.

The area was cleared too quickly for both of them and they stopped reluctantly, neither of them moving away as sparks flew.

Kendle was lost. Even the sand in her shoes felt right. When he placed a light kiss on her jaw, she turned toward him, eyes still closed.

Moving slowly, the lonely Pilot slid his lips to the corner of her mouth for a chaste, erotic kiss that gave her chills of want, and drew a moan of frustration when he started to move back.

Luke felt the denial, her need, and tilted her head up, sealing their lips.

It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever had, one to remember a lifetime later and he leaned back to look at her dark blue eyes, thinking it shouldn’t go any further yet. Liquid pools of desire looked back and Luke forced himself away from her, putting the machete back in its case. Would she want that room in town now? A line had definitely been crossed.

Kendle could still feel his lips against hers, his hardness behind her as they moved together, and she went to the box of tools with a smile of pleasant discovery. It was what she’d been looking for since high school and she was a bit stunned that she had found it here and now, and without even looking.