Authors: Catherine Mann
He
eyed
her
up
and
down
in
a
visual
caress
before
winking.
“Why
go
to
a
movie
when
I
could
spend
the time
talking
to
a
beautiful
lady
like
yourself?”
She
should
ignore
the
obvious
suckup
but,
hey,
she
was
human.
“You’re
sure
not
stingy
with
the compliments.”
“I
mean
it,
you
know,”
he
replied
as
if
reading
her
mind.
The
Humvee
hit
a
pothole,
jostling
her
almost
as
much
as
his
words.
“Thank
you.”
What
else
could
she
say?
While
the
attraction
was
undoubtedly
there,
the
inside
had
to
be
in sync
as
well.
Bobby
shifted
in
his
seat,
facing
her,
although
his
eyes
were
darting
all
around
them
for
possible
threats.
“Why
don’t
we
talk
more
about
your
father
so
I
have
a
better
idea
of
what
we’re
facing.”
“If
he’s
on
his
meds,
all
should
go
well.
We’ll
have
a
nice
little
family
visit.
If
not…”
She
cut
herself
short and
steeled
herself
for
the
possibilities
ahead.
“Your
father
has
these
issues
and
yet
he
brought
you
up
alone?”
“My
father
did
his
best.”
“Damned
with
faint
praise.”
Parrot
finches
cawed
Greekchorus
echoes
from
the
trees.
“Interestingly
enough
you
said
the
same
thing
about
your
mom
once.” He
grinned,
beautiful
white
teeth
ever
so
crooked.
“Hey,
between
us,
we
had
a
full
set
of
parents.”
“Actually,
I
have
a
mother.”
“Oh.”
That
seemed
to
shake
the
unshakable
Bobby
for
a
full
second
as
she
detoured
around
an
especially large
rut
on
the
ground
covered
by
moss
spreading
over
roots
and
up
trees.
“I
thought
she
died.”
“Why
would
you
think
that?”
“Because
you
grew
up
with
your
unstable
dad.
Why
didn’t
the
courts
give
you
to
your
mother?”
“What
an
unPC
assumption
that
only
mothers
get
custody,”
she
responded,
sidestepping
his
actual
question about
her
father.
As
much
as
she
understood
her
dad’s
illness,
for
some
reason
she
just
couldn’t
go
any further
with
the
talk
today.
“So
there
was
a
custody
battle?”
“No
battle,
actually.”
She
steered
down
the
narrowing
muddy
path,
trying
to
keep
her
voice
as
level
as possible
when
her
insides
felt
more
like
the
rocking
vehicle.
“She
knew
Dad
would
make
the
better
parent, so
she
did
what
she
thought
was
best
for
me
and
left
me
with
him.”
“Bullshit.”
“What?”
She
jerked
to
look
at
him
and
damn
near
plowed
into
a
waxyleafed
bush.
“You’re
bullshitting
me.”
His
expression
hadn’t
changed
except
for
the
sexy
lift
of
one
dark
eyebrow slashing
his
forehead.
“Is
that
a
technical
term?”
She
steered
the
Humvee
back
on
course.
If
only
predicting
Bobby
could
be
that simply
accomplished.
“Or
are
you
just
playing
with
me?”
“Actually,
that
is
a
game,
too,
you
know,
‘Bullshit.’”
Huh?
How
had
they
gone
from
her
mother
pitching
her
out
with
the
trash
to
playing
some
bizarre
game?
“Are
you
smoking
the
hippie
lettuce?
Because
I
can’t
follow
your
train
of
thought
for
beans.”
“Good
luck.
Nobody’s
figured
it
out
yet,
least
of
all
myself.
I’ve
learned
to
just
hang
on
for
the
ride.”
His exhale
rode
long
and
hard,
hinting
at
deeper
depths
and
concerns
than
his
simple
blowoff.
“Anyhow,
back to
bullshit.
I’m
talking
about
that
game
where
you
bluff
and
folks
shout
‘bullshit’
if
they
think
you’re
lying.
Well,
you
suck
at
bluffing.
How
you
manage
to
make
a
career
out
of
psyops
is
beyond
me,
with
a
crystalclear
face
like
that.” She
jammed
the
Humvee
through
a
rightside
rut
guaranteed
to
jar
his
teeth.
“Are
you
trying
to
piss
me
off or
is
this
just
a
natural
gift
you
possess?”
“Touché.”
He
braced
both
hands
against
the
dashboard.
What
did
it
matter
if
she
told
him
the
truth?
It
wasn’t
her
shame,
but
rather
her
mother
to
whom
she
owed zilch
in
loyalty.
“All
right,
you
want
the
truth.
Fine.
Mom
did
know
Dad
would
be
the
better
parent
because what
kind
of
parent
sells
her
kid
in
the
divorce
settlement?
It
was
like
she
hung
out
just
long
enough
for
Dad to
hit
the
big
time,
moneywise,
with
some
of
his
nuclearresearch
patents.
Then,
so
long
family
life.” He
reached
to
cover
her
hand
with
his.
“Oh,
hell,
Gracie—” She
smacked
his
hand
away,
while
keeping
her
left
on
the
wheel.
“Do
not
call
me
Gracie
and
definitely
do not
pity
me.
It
was
a
long
time
ago.
But
yeah,
in
exchange
for
a
kickass
sevenfigure
divorce
settlement,
she signed
away
her
rights
to
me.
She
still
had
visitation.
We
saw
each
other
maybe
once
a
month
to
do
motherdaughter
things.
I
was
luckier
than
most
kids.”
“What
things?”
“Pardon?”
How
could
he
shift
moods
so
easily?
She
was
still
stuck
in
mad
and
he
was
ready
to
play
twenty questions.
But
of
course
that
beat
the
whole
mad
thing.
“What
kind
of
motherdaughter
things
did
you
do?”
She
searched
her
mind
for
memories
she
rarely
visited.
“Shopping,
theatrical
plays,
visits
to
salons.”
“Salons?”
The
memory
flowered
in
her
mind,
bringing
the
acrid
smell
of
polish
remover.
“This
one
time
she
took
me
to get
a
manicure
right
before
school
started.
I
was
maybe
ten?
I
had
my
nails
painted
blue
with
tiny
whale
tails airbrushed
in
white.”
“That
sounds
like
a
good
memory.”
She
nodded.
She
glanced
at
her
bittentothequick
nails.
“But
what?”
“But
nothing.
It
was
a
great
day.
I
had
a
very
lucky
childhood,
no
money
worries,
two
parents.”
She understood
the
reality,
had
even
studied
these
situations
in
grad
school.
She
wasn’t
a
genius
like
her
dad,
but she
was
damned
smart,
even
graduated
a
year
early
from
high
school
and
a
year
early
from
college.
“Divorced
parents,
sure,
but
plenty
of
children
come
from
broken
homes.” He
stayed
quiet.
He
had
a
gift
for
that,
sitting
silently.
Of
course,
his
knee
still
joggled
at
the
speed
of
light.
Slowly
the
smoke
cleared
on
the
rest
of
the
memory.
“Except
every
time
I
looked
at
the
fingernails
I
wanted to
cry.
I
kept
thinking
how
she
paid
for
those
airbrushed
whales
with
money
she’d
gotten
from
giving
me away.”
She
paused,
resisted
the
urge
to
chew
on
her
fingernails
and
continued,
“I
hated
crying
so
I
figured
I had
two
choices—feel
sorry
for
myself
until
I
turned
into
some
screwedup
troublemaker.
Or
I
could
figure things
out
and
make
the
best
of
the
situation.”
“So
you
started
your
psychoanalyzing
young.”
Hmmm…interesting
insight
and
entirely
on
target.
She
admired
his
perception.
“Understanding
helps
keep me
from
getting
blindsided
as
often.”
Blindsided
by
disappointment
when
her
father
faded
to
his
other
world.
It
was
better
to
cast
herself
in
the role
of
caretaker.
Or
blindsided
by
hurt
because
her
mother
forgot
about
one
of
their
spa
sessions.
So
Grace
Marie
learned
not to
count
on
her
showing
up.
She
was
an
expert
at
low
expectations
and
evading
possible
pain.
Hey
wait.
Could
she
have
been
running
from
Bobby
back
in
Iraq?
A
horribly
unsettling
thought
if
she’d
hurt them
both
needlessly.
Except
she
hadn’t
heard
one
word
from
him
in
the
past
nine
months.
Her
conscience
forced
her
to
admit
she
hadn’t
called
him,
either.
Not
even
a
little
howdydo
email.
She
gripped
the
steering
wheel
tighter
and
stomped
the
accelerator.
The
sooner
she
dealt
with
her
dad
the faster
she
would
get
a
reality
check
on
why
she
and
Bobby
were
a
toxic
mix
as
lovers.
Lovers?
Sheesh,
could
somebody
shut
Freud
the
hell
up?
“Gracie!”
Bobby
shouted,
loudly,
jarringly,
the
erratic
shout
scaring
her
more
than
his
deep
silences.
She
looked
away
from
the
road
at
him.
“What?”
Already
he
reached
to
take
over
the
steering
wheel.
“Hit
the
brakes.
Now!” She
didn’t
even
hesitate
to
obey
the
order
in
his
tone,
the
surety
in
his
order.
Her
foot
ground
the
brakes
to the
floorboards.
Too
late.
Spikes
spit
upward
from
the
earthen
path,
puncturing
their
tires.
All
four.
What
the
hell?
An
overlong
branch swung
toward
the
windshield.
She
flinched
instinctively.
The
spikes
resembled
types
used
at
U.S.
military
gates
to
control
traffic.
What
was
going
on
here,
and
did
anyone
happen
to
have
a
paper
bag
handy
for
a
little
deep
breathing?
Even a
cop
profiler
and
Army
Reservist
would
have
a
racing
heart
after
that.
Only
an
idiot
didn’t
recognize
fear.
Embrace
it
if
necessary,
just
never
let
it
control
you.
She
turned
her
head
to
check
on
Bobby—fine,
thank
God.
Okay,
but
dark
and
mighty
darn
pissed
looking.
Now
she
really
needed
that
bag
to
contain
all
her
relief.
She
started
to
speak,
only
to
be
interrupted
in
the
distance
by—
Boom.
She
jerked
toward
the
noise.
Holy
crap,
toward
the
research
facility,
where
flames
were
shooting
from
the east
wing.
CHAPTER
FIVE
THE
CAFETERIA
WINDOWSstill
rattled
in
the
research
retreat
center.
Or
was
the
ringing
in
her
ears?
Felicia
peered
through
dust
and
debris
around
the
overturned
table.
At
the
first
blast,
she’d
hit
the
floor
hard, Matt’s
hand
on
her
back
shoving
her
down,
safe,
which
would
have
been
an
arousing
thought
if
not
for
the frightening
reality
around
them.
The
smell
of
smoke.
The
blare
of
fire
alarms
in
her
ears.
And
what
about Matt?
Matt?
When
had
she
started
thinking
of
him
as
Matt
instead
of
Matthias?
Well,
shit—she
paused,
crossed
herself—she
had
other
things
to
think
about
than
her
sudden
machoing
up of
a
guy’s
name.
They
shouldn’t
have
even
been
in
here.
He
was
going
to
walk
her
to
her
room,
after
all,
but next
thing
she’d
known
they’d
both
decided
the
snacks
and
coffee
weren’t
filling
and
they
wanted
a midnight
meal
at
the
twentyfourhour
cafeteria.
Had
the
kitchen
stove
exploded?
Fire
alarms
still
blared.
Screams
echoed
from
students,
interns,
teachers…
workers
from
every
part
of
the
research
facility
crawled
around
on
the
floor
under
the
tables
amid
spilled soup
and
fruit,
the
latenight
meal
of
workaholics.
One
of
her
lab
partners—Jiang
Lee—had
all
but disappeared
in
the
embrace
of
her
oversize
boyfriend
with
a
goatee,
Rurik
Zazlov.
Kinda
romantic.
Okay,
really
romantic
since
it
was
so
obvious
they’d
just
been
together.
Felicia
inched
closer
to
Matt
and holy
Sister
Mary
Christina
there
were
mighty
taut
muscles
around
his
rangy
body.
She
snuggled
a
little closer
even
though
she
wasn’t
afraid.
She
had
training
out
the
wazoo
to
take
care
of
herself.
She
wasn’t
a dependent
teen
or
weepy
wife
any
longer.
“What
was
that
noise?”
“An
explosion.”
Duh.
It
took
a
Mensa
IQ
to
come
up
with
that?
And
he
hadn’t
even
asked
her
if
she
was
okay.
Definitely unchivalrous
and,
given
all
the
hours
as
a
teen
she’d
spent
reading
romance
novels
for
fear
she
might
never live
long
enough
to
experience
the
real
thing,
well,
she
knew
what
romantic
should
be.
But
doggone
it,
she
needed
to
get
her
head
back
to
reality
here.
What
had
caused
the
explosion?
A
test
gone
wrong?
Or
a
bomb?
As
much
as
she
knew
about
the
safety precautions
in
place
for
the
nuclear
experiments,
there
was
still
the
off
chance
that
at
any
second
she
could be
standing
in
a
shower
for
a
chemical
removal
spray
down.
Not
the
kind
of
shower
she
would
like
to
take
with
Matt
around.
While
Jiang
might
have
lucked
out
in
the
sensitivemale
department,
Felicia
had
to
admit
Matt’s
hand
still resting
on
the
middle
of
her
back
felt
mighty
darn
nice.
Warm.
Broad.
Big.
The
alarm
stopped.
Her
lungs
deflated
and
Matt’s
hand
started
to
slide
away—only
to
have
a
second
pitched alarm
start.
The
kind
that
meant
go
to
the
bomb
shelter.
ASAP.
Matt
hooked
his
arm
around
her
waist
and
hoisted
her
out
from
under
the
table.
Jiang
was
romantically cradled
in
Rurik’s
chest,
and
Felicia
was
jostling
along
with
Matt’s
onearmed
hold
as
he
slung
her
over
his shoulder,
fireman
style,
butt
in
the
air.
Death
might
be
staring
them
all
in
the
face
and
there
was
nothing
she
could
do
about
that
at
the
moment.
MATTHIAS
HADN’Thad
breasts
against
him
in
quite
a
few
months,
and
these
were
mighty
nice
ones
to break
his
fast.
Too
bad
he
could
be
in
the
middle
of
running
for
his
life.
Felicia’s
life,
too,
and
damn
but
that
affected
him more
than
thinking
about
any
of
the
other
students
running
down
the
hall,
bumping
and
pressing,
the
stress of
fear
already
sending
up
a
stench
of
sweat.
They
cleared
the
kitchen,
rounded
a
corner
then
filed
into
the
small
square
room
that
served
as
a
bomb shelter,
with
one
wall
full
of
shelves
packed
with
survival
gear
and
a
small
curtained
portabletoilet
area.
They’d
run
drills
many
times
before—minus
the
explosion
and
smoke
and
real
fear
that
they
could
all
be nuclearfilled
glowinthedark
ghouls
within
seconds.
He
eased
Felicia
back
to
her
feet,
enjoying
the
glide of
his
hand
along
her
body
just
a
little
too
much.
With
so
many
people
in
the
room,
there
wasn’t
much
space
left.
Apparently
no
one
wanted
to
walk
the
extra length
of
a
hallway
to
the
other
shelters.
Matthias
had
to
admit
he
would
have
preferred
the
privacy
of
another
shelter,
and
even
would
have
risked the
extra
seconds
to
get
there.
But
with
Felicia’s
safety
in
the
balance,
he’d
simply
acted
without
thinking.
An
oddity
for
him.
He
always
thought
first,
logically.
He’d
prided
himself
on
that
as
a
parent,
reading
every
book
he
could, keeping
his
child
safe,
like
now,
by
limiting
contact
during
this
controversial
study
program.
He
didn’t
want to
worry
her,
and
yes,
he
simply
forgot
to
call
sometimes.
However
as
he
stood
here
in
this
press
of
people,
he
couldn’t
help
but
think
of
when
sevenyearold
Grace Marie
had
fallen
off
the
swing
and
broken
her
arm,
bone
protruding.
He
was
a
logical
man,
by
God,
but
he hadn’t
been
able
to
think
to
call
a
cab—they’d
lived
in
a
condo
downtown
and
had
no
need
for
a
car.
He’d just
scooped
up
his
daughter
and
run
the
five
blocks
to
the
nearest
hospital.
Totally
scared
shitless
the
whole time.
Like
now.
Except
his
feelings
for
Felicia
Fratarcangelo
bore
no
resemblance
to
fatherly
sorts.
Felicia
stood
facetoface
with
him,
noses
close,
which
made
lips
close,
too,
her
bright
red
lips.
There
must be
a
name
for
that
particular
shade
he’d
never
seen
anywhere
before,
but
how
could
he
explain
asking?
“Thank
you,”
she
whispered.
Someone
jostled
against
his
back,
ramming
him
closer,
leaving
Matthias
no
choice
but
to
wrap
his
arms around
her
waist.
Holy
crap,
there
went
his
entire
blood
supply
surging
south.
“Shit.”
“Shh.”
She
crossed
herself
before
draping
her
arms
over
his
shoulders.
A
puritan
with
a
Jezebel
body?
Heaven
help
him,
because
it
seemed
he
might
not
be
able
to
help
himself.