J Ward - Crave

As time dragged and a whole lot of nothing-but-wind went on, he thought maybe he’d lost his mind altogether.

“You okay?” he whispered without turning around.

There was a rustling and then Grier was shoulder-to-shoulder beside him on the floor. “What’s going on? Can you see anything?”

He noted she didn’t answer the question-but come on, like she had to? “It’s nothing we need to be a part of.”

Nothing, period, it seemed. Although… well, actually, if he squinted, the shadows did seem to form patterns consistent with fighters engaging in hand-to-hand combat. Except, of course, there was nobody out there-and he was seeing logic to the way things moved. To get the effect he was seeing, a legion of lights would have had to be shining in from all different directions to get even close to the optics.

“This doesn’t feel right to me,” Grier said.

“I agree.” He looked over at her. “But I’m going to take care of you.”

“I thought you were going to leave.”

“I didn’t.” The couldn’t part was something he kept to himself. “I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”

Her head tilted to the side as she stared at him. “You know… I believe you.”

“You can bet your life on it.”

In a quick move, he put his mouth to hers on a hard kiss to seal the deal. And then just as he was pulling back, the wind stopped-sure as if the industrial fan causing all the blowing had been unplugged: In the back forty, there was nothing but utter silence.

What the hell was going on?

“Stay here,” he said as he stood up.

Naturally, she didn’t take the order, but rose to her feet, her hands resting on his shoulder as if she were prepared to tail him. He didn’t like it, but he knew arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere-the best he could do was keep his chest and shoulders front and center to block any shot at her.

He inched forward until he could see outside better. The shadows had disappeared and the tree limbs and bushes were still. Distant sounds of traffic and the far-off wail of an ambulance were once again an ambient city song playing like Muzak all around the neighborhood.

He glanced over at her. “I’m going out there. Can you handle a firearm?” When she nodded, he took out one of his two guns. “Have this.”

She didn’t hesitate, but man, he hated the sight of her pale, elegant hands on his weapon.

He nodded down at the thing. “Point and shoot using both palms. Safety’s off. We clear?”

When she nodded, he kissed her again because he just had to; then he moved her back into position in the shelter of the floor cabinets. From that vantage point, she could see anyone coming in from the front or the rear, but also cover the interior door that he had a feeling led to the basement stairs.

Palming his other gun, he exited in a quick shift-

His first breath brought an unholy stench into his sinuses and down the back of his throat. What the…? It was like a chemical spill-

From out of nowhere, one of the pair who’d been with Jim appeared. It was the guy with the braid and he looked like he’d been spray-painted with WD-40-and had dry ice shoved in all his pockets: Tendrils of smoke were steaming up from his leather jacket, and shit… the smell.

Before Isaac could what-the-fuck him, Jim’s boy cut the question off. “Do us a favor and stay put. Coast is clear for now, though. If you understand what I’m saying.”

As Isaac met the man’s eyes, there was no question that even though they were strangers, they spoke the same language: The guy was a soldier.

“You want to tell me what the hell just happened out here?”

“Nope. But I wouldn’t mind some white vinegar if she has it?”

Isaac frowned. “No offense, but I think making salad dressing is the least of your concerns, buddy. Your jacket needs a hose-down.”

“I’ve got burns to take care of.”

Sure enough, on the side of his neck and on his hands there were raw, red patches on his skin. As if he’d been hit with some kind of acid.

Hard to argue with the steaming bastard, considering he was injured. “Give me a sec.”

Ducking back in the house, Isaac cleared his throat. “Ah… do you have any white vinegar?”

Grier blinked and then pointed with the gun muzzle to the sink. “I use it to clean the hardwood. But why?”

“Damned if I know.” He headed for the sink and found a huge jug with a Heinz label on it. “But they want some.”

“Who’s they?”

“Friends of a friend.”

“Are they okay?”

“Yeah.” Assuming the definition of okay included a section for roasty-toasted.

Outside, he handed over the stuff, which was promptly thrown around like cool water on a sweaty football player. It did kill the smoking and the stench, though, on both Braid Guy and the pincushion.

“What about the neighbors,” Isaac said, glancing around. The brick-to-window ratio on the backs of the buildings worked in their favor, but the noise… the smell.

“We’ll take care of them,” Braid Guy answered. Like it was no biggie and something they’d done before.

What kind of war were they fighting? Isaac thought. Was there another organization past XOps? He’d always assumed Matthias was the shadiest of the shady. But maybe here was another level. Maybe that was how Jim had gotten out.

“Where’s Heron?” he asked them.

“He’ll be back.” The one with the piercings returned the vinegar. “You just stay where you are and take care of her. We got you.”

Isaac waved his gun back and forth. “Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Braid, who seemed the leveler of the pair, said, “Just part of Jim’s little group.”

At least that made some sense. Even though they’d clearly been in a rough-and-tumble, neither seemed bothered at all. No wonder Jim worked with them.

And Isaac had a feeling he knew what they were doing-Jim might just be after Matthias. Which would certainly explain the guy’s desire to get involved and play Orbitz with the plane tickets.

“You need another soldier?” Isaac asked, only half-joking.

The two glanced at each other and then back to him. “Not our call,” they said in unison.

“Jim’s?”

“Mostly,” Mr. Braid replied. “And you’ve got to be dying to get in-”

“Isaac? Who are you talking to?”

As Grier walked out of the kitchen, he wished like hell she’d stay inside. “No one. Let’s head back into the house.”

Turning to good-bye Jim’s boys, he froze. Nobody was around. Heron’s wingmen were gone.

Yup, whoever and whatever they were, they were definitely his kind of soldiers.

Isaac went up to Grier and walked them both back inside. As he threw the lock and turned on one track of lighting waaaaaay across the room, he grimaced. Man, the kitchen didn’t smell much better than those two out back had: burned egg, charred bacon, and blackened butter were not a party for the ol’ sniffer.

“Are you all right?” he asked, even though once again the answer was self-evident.

“Are you?”

He ran his eyes down her from head to foot. She was alive and he was with her and they were safe in this fortress of a house. “I’m better.”

“What’s in the backyard.”

“Friends.” He took his gun back. “Who want both of us to be safe.”

To keep himself from dragging her into his arms, he sheathed both guns in his windbreaker and picked the pan off the stove. Dumping the remains of her almost-dinner in the sink, he washed the thing out.

“Before you ask,” he murmured, “I don’t know anything more than you do.”

Which was essentially true. Sure, he had a leg up on her when it came to certain things-but as for the shit in the backyard? Fucking. Clueless.