Uncharted by Adriana Anders

Chapter 9

Back in the cave, he threw the pack down with a thunk and bent to find the first aid supplies.

“How long will we stay here?”

“They’re out there. Storm’s coming. Nobody’s moving tonight. Beyond that, got no idea.” He rifled through the pack—noting that she’d turned it inside out—pulled out the first aid kit and then snagged a few of the energy bars he’d stocked for an occasion like this. “Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

He handed Leo a bar, a water bottle, and a couple pain pills, all of which she accepted with a nod, then set food out for Bo.

The cave was tight, maybe fifteen square feet total. The low ceiling hemmed them in even further, making the space small, though not warm and nowhere near as cozy as the cabin he’d been forced to destroy.

Without the blue tint of the glacier cave, Leo’s skin had taken on a wan, gray cast. But the stubbornness to her jaw said that it would take more than a couple bumps on the head to stop this woman. “So, where is Campbell Turner?”

He sank to the floor beside her and let his head thunk back against the stone wall, cushioned by the thick fabric and fur of his hood. “How’d you know I wasn’t him?”

He didn’t have to see her features to hear the Oh, please in the air between them.

“The man’s last driver’s license—which he got sixteen years ago—says he’s five eleven.” She handed him the water, eyes closed, and breathed for a few beats, then leaned her head back and gave him an exaggerated up and down. Though he didn’t think it was meant to be sexual, the attention licked at his nerves. “I don’t need a tape measure to see that you’re well over six feet.” She let out a humorless laugh. “And even in my current state, I know you’re not fifty-three years old. Or blond.” She arched one fine eyebrow. “Natural or otherwise.”

He thought about making a stupid crack and reconsidered. Instead, he gave her silence.

“Do you know him?”

For the first time since this whole thing broke open, he was tempted to spill it all. But what if Amka had made a bad call and Leo wasn’t one of the good guys? What if Amka hadn’t sent her at all? That possibility pricked at his spine, alongside the pull of hope he couldn’t quite tamp down.

“What’s Amka call that plane you were flying?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Dolores.”

Relief flooded in. No way would she know that if Amka hadn’t sent her. “I knew Campbell,” he finally conceded. “Good man. Got caught up in something way beyond his control.” He leaned forward so she could see his face and lifted his eyebrows, nodding to indicate her head. “Can I…” Their eyes met for a long moment; hers flicked down to his mouth and back up. It sent a bolt of pure heat through him. He blinked and focused anywhere but on her lips.

At her nod, he examined her scalp, breath coming in fast and light. “I’m no expert, but this doesn’t look good.”

“We talking stitches?”

“Might be able to manage with butterfly bandages.” He grabbed his flashlight. “Let me check your pupils again.”

Both pupils contracted, so that was good. He set to work cleaning her wound, noting the way her body shifted, not moving, per se, but sort of sinking into itself, as if gravity and fatigue were finally taking their toll.

The silence between them had lulled him too, he realized, when she broke it. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He pressed a butterfly bandage to her head, moving on to the next one when it appeared to be holding.

“You get caught up too?” Her voice was low and rough.

He went still but didn’t respond. If she heard the shakiness of his breathing—and she had to, given how quiet it was—she’d know she hit a nerve.

“In something beyond your control?”

A dozen seconds went by in silence while his brain fought an internal tug-of-war. How good would it feel to share the burden?

No. Not now. She was injured. She needed to sleep. There’d be time to rehash it all later. If he decided to.

The secret, kept too close for too long, felt as impossible to let go of as an addiction.

Who would he be without it?

Didn’t matter. Who he’d been, who he could have become. This kind of what if conjecture served no purpose but to stir up regret. And he’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

Ignoring her question, he stuck another bandage to the cut on her head, then another, each press as gentle as he could make it. The laceration wasn’t what bothered him—it was the bump. Add to that her exhaustion and the dry heaving near the crash site and there was a good chance Leo whatever her last name was had a concussion.

He bit back a yawn, recognizing his own exhaustion for the first time—aching muscles, gritty eyes, heavy head. He worked hard to concentrate as he covered her injury with a clean white bandage. Yeah, so maybe she wasn’t the only one who was close to passing out.

“This’ll have to do for now.” He fought the urge to let his hand linger around her ear and shoved himself back, then up to standing. “Let’s rest.”

Her only response was a long, low hum. He unpacked a few more items and grabbed a bedroll, spread it beside the first, and caught a glance from her. “Not much room.”

“It’s fine.”

“You can go up the hall if you need to use the, uh…”

She shook her head.

And then, because he had the feeling she wouldn’t settle in until he did, he zipped himself up, careful to face away from her, definitely not touching but, by necessity, close.

Once she’d done the same, he doused the oil lamp. The silence that followed lasted so long he was convinced that she’d fallen asleep. Then: “What’s your name?”

He swallowed, considered pretending he hadn’t heard, and changed his mind. A first name couldn’t hurt, could it? “Elias.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Suits you.”

Eyes wide-open, he stared into complete darkness, breath held. Would she put the name with the face and figure out who he was? He hoped not. After her smiles, disapproval would kill him.

“Pretty sure you saved my life back there, Elias,” she finally whispered. “Thank you.”

He released a long breath. “Anytime.”

She snuffled and shifted, as if getting comfortable—not exactly easy on the hard ground. Though he couldn’t see, he pictured her snuggling deeper into the bag. He listened to the short, shallow sound of her breathing, layered with Bo’s slower cadence.

When maybe ten minutes later it deepened into a more restful rhythm, he considered waking her to check her eyes again. Or had they decided you didn’t have to do that for concussions anymore?

Waking her up wouldn’t help at this point. What could he do out here if there was brain swelling? If they were going to survive this at all, it would be by taking their time and being smart. Not acting stupid. If she didn’t sleep, she wouldn’t make it. They wouldn’t make it.

They.Not him.

And that, right there, freaked him out more than any of the day’s events.

A part of him—the feral loner that had kept him alive all these years—shouted at him to get up and get the hell out of there. Company, he’d learned, wasn’t an asset when running for his life. It was a ball and chain.

But leaving her right now would likely sign her death warrant, and that wasn’t something he was willing to be responsible for. One more life.

She shivered and he shifted closer, sharing his warmth and whatever comfort he could provide in this bare-bones setting.

They’d be safe here, he hoped, for now. But there was always the slight chance their pursuers would find these caves, in which case they were screwed.

He clicked tongue to teeth and nudged Bo to the woman’s other side. Unlike the humans, his canine companion had no trouble giving in to slumber. As usual, it took about three point two seconds for her to pass out, happily unaware of the danger surrounding them. Bo was probably enjoying this.

Hell, he was almost enjoying this woman’s presence. With a happy sleepy sound, he let himself fall deeper into slumber, let his body heat mingle with hers, let himself come as close as he ever did to relaxing.

He was warm, floating somewhere in that place between sleep and consciousness, when he awakened to the ball-shriveling sensation of a blade piercing his neck.

***

“Leo,” an unfamiliar voice rasped as the speaker’s chest rose and fell, moving her with it.

Leo shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to see or understand something—anything—in this absolute pitch-black, dark so thick it coated her tongue. Or was that blood?

“You okay?”

She pressed the blade deeper. “’s going on?” Her slurred whisper sounded frantic to her own ears. She couldn’t calm her breathing, couldn’t manage the wild beating of her heart.

The man between her legs barely moved, his only reaction the slow expansion and contraction of his rib cage. She tightened her thighs around him and dug her toes into the ground, wondering for a handful of seconds if her brain had somehow shorted out and turned a one-night stand into a nightmare.

Not that she did one-night affairs, but she couldn’t remember. Not who this was or how she’d gotten here or even where here was.

“You forgot.” A statement said in a gruff, strained voice.

Her head hurt like hell. Had she been drugged?

She took a second to get her bearings. The place gave her nothing at all. Just dank darkness and quiet. She cocked her head. Not absolute quiet, though. Something dripped not too far off. “Where’re we?”

“Cave.”

A cave. Definitely not a one-night stand. Unless it had gone very, very badly. Or unless this guy had some interesting kinks. Her tongue was thick and dry and took up too much of her mouth. She screwed up her face in concentration. A deep sniff gave her the smell of earth, along with the unmistakable scent of blood. Fuel too. But that made no sense.

Think! Figure this out!

Where was she supposed to be right now? Which deployment? Had she been captured outside the wire? He sounded American, so if this was a prisoner situation, he was probably in the same position. Confusion swamped her, turned even the dark hazy, unsteady as a wave of seasickness, which she’d never had in her life.

“Trying to kill me, Leo?”

Her name in that low, hoarse voice gave her pause.

“I know you,” she whispered. Not a question.

“Yeah.”

“Why can’t I remember?”

“Bumped your head. Couple of times.”

“There a light?”

“Gonna reach for it, okay? Don’t cut my throat out in the dark.”

Right. Much better to do that in the cold light of day.

“Easy,” she finally conceded. What choice did she have? She could only assume they were trapped here together. Who the hell had she wrapped her thighs around? “Any fast moves and I do it.”

The shape beneath her shifted, something scuffled at their side, and a light came on, blinding her. In the split second before her eyes slammed shut, she recognized him—not who he was, exactly, but that she knew him.

And she liked him.

She released the pressure on her push knife, let herself feel the width of him, hot and thick between her legs. Before she’d finished inhaling, he’d rolled them and she was trapped.