Lora Leigh - Primal

“Does your siren voice have a drawback?”

“Siren voice.” She laughed quietly. “I dig that. And yeah. But I’m not telling you what it is. It’s . . . personal.”

Shit. He was sorry he’d asked. “Thanks, Mockingbird. I appreciate the extrication. Not just for me either.”

“Thank me by kicking some goon ass.” The holo sounded almost . . . sad. But why would he?

“All set?” Tanager closed the laptop without a farewell and rolled into motion. “Then let’s hit it.”

The bus station in Houston was grungy. Not unusual in that regard.

When she’d emerged from the warehouse, Juneau hadn’t even known where the hell she was. They’d flown in at night and then hopped a second plane. They’d worn blindfolds, too, all enough to set off her fear-o-meter. Fortunately, it had been daytime when she slipped out, and she’d felt safe enough to ask directions from a couple of milling teenagers.

“Bus station’s about eight blocks that way,” one kid said.

His friend added, “Can’t miss it. It’s right by the McDonald’s.”

Easy enough. She felt conspicuous in her wrinkled shorts and tank top. The weather didn’t quite match her attire, but it was warm enough that she didn’t look crazy, at least. Just maybe . . . overly optimistic. A fair number of people hung around in the fast-food restaurant parking lot. Others made their way by crossing an actual set of railroad tracks. Doubtless the bus station’s on the wrong side, too.

But there was no help for it. She brushed past two seedy men who stood smoking by the front doors and found the pay phones. Deep breath. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handset. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Make the call. Leave all the crazy behind. And I have his email, if I decide I want to get in touch later. Thus bolstered, she dialed zero for the operator and asked to make a collect call.

“What number?”

She gave her mother’s and then spoke her name at the tone. Thirty seconds later, she had her mother on the other end of the line. “Where are you, honey? Can you talk more now?”

“I’m in Houston,” she answered. “And yes. But my stuff got buried in the quake. I’m going to need a hand getting home.”

“What can I do?”

Wiring money could be tricky, since she had no ID and no friends here. “Could you buy me a one-way ticket to Chicago, online, and then call to confirm my description with the ticket agent? I hope they’ll give me a break if my mother vouches for me.”

“Absolutely. I’ll book you on the next bus and be waiting for you at the station on this end. Give me ten minutes to make the purchase and then call.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

And she was. Juneau never minded the live up to your potential talks because her mother delivered them with warmth and concern, never nitpickery. But by this point, even her mom had accepted she would never fit the corporate mold. She went into the bathroom to wash her face and hands, and braid her hair. She used a thread unraveled from her tank top to tie it off. It was amazing what one could become accustomed to. In the mirror, her face looked thin and tired.

She left the bathroom and headed up to the front counter. The woman seemed to recognize her by the slight smile. “I just talked to your mom. That hair’s unmistakable.”

“I don’t have ID. I lost everything in Ecuador. Now I’m just trying to get home.”

“Oh man. You’re a quake survivor.” The agent looked as though she wondered how the hell Juneau had wound up in Houston, but she didn’t ask. “It’s not a problem. You have twenty minutes until your bus arrives.”

“Good timing. Thank you so much for this.”

“Anytime. Enjoy your trip.”

Well, that would take some doing since she had no money. But fasting for twenty-four wouldn’t do her any harm. Spiritual types did it all the time.

The bus ride seemed interminable. She transferred in Dallas and then passed through Garland and Greenville. Juneau spent fifteen glorious minutes, drinking from a water fountain in Texarkana, trying to fill up to drive away the ache in her belly. She was weary and heartsick, so ready to come home. Midnight found her in Little Rock, and by four a.m., she was sitting in Memphis, waiting for the driver. They spent an hour there. At last exhaustion took its toll, and she slept. The next thing she knew, it was two fifteen in the afternoon, and she’d arrived in Chicago.

As promised, her mother was waiting for her. She hugged Juneau and then stepped back to look at her. “So glad to have you home, safe and sound. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

If, going forward, she never spent another minute in a bus station, that’d be fine. To Juneau’s vast delight, her mom had brought food . Praise the glorious midwestern obsession for feeding people in times of trouble. The nylon lunch bag held a chicken salad sandwich, an apple, and her favorite sweet: peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips. To cap it off, a bottle of sparkling water. She dug in while her mom drove, navigating the afternoon traffic. It was colder here than in Houston, so she was glad for the car’s heater.

“There’s a sweatshirt in back if you need it.”

Juneau finished the apple and then snagged the hoodie. She wriggled into it with a sigh of satisfaction and then went back to her meal. Her mom knew enough to be patient, so she could enjoy the food. She still makes the best chicken salad ever.

“Thanks.”

“It’s what moms do. I hope you intend to stay awhile this time.”

She thought about it. “Yeah. I think I’ve had enough traveling for a bit. You haven’t turned my room into a home gym yet?”

“No. I keep it up for you, since you don’t have your own place.” But there was no disapproval in her voice, just statement of fact.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week. After I shower. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. It must’ve been pretty rough.”

Juneau thought of her lost coworkers and the children, and the big, dark eyes of the survivors she’d left behind. Even she couldn’t muster up a light reply, so she merely nodded and turned her head against the window, wondering where Silas was right now. It felt strange to be alone; he had been right to call their bond one formed in extremity. But she didn’t feel whole without him nearby. Surely that would change in time. It wasn’t love. It had been sex—and a memory she could treasure.

Naperville. Juneau couldn’t believe she was here. It was all so . . . normal with the neighborhoods laid out in organized grids, streets planted with flowers, and trees standing stately in the yards. This time of year, everything was greening up. Springtime in the Midwest was beautiful. So different from the tropical climate she’d become accustomed to in Ecuador.

It took two days to prove her identity sufficiently to replace driver’s license and passport, and then fill out the requisite forms. Her mother fussed over her, and she didn’t mind. After everything, some TLC hit the spot.

For the rest of the week, Juneau tried not to think about Silas. She didn’t think about the sharp curve of his nose, how good he was in bed, or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Not about how he’d stepped between her and a bullet or how he’d protected her every step of the way.

That weekend, her brothers came from Chicago to check her out personally. They’d both called to make sure she was all right, but her mother insisted they should all be together her first weekend home. Not for the first time, she wondered how Jack and Joseph felt about being asked to drop everything just because she’d turned up like a bad penny. They never complained, though. Apart from the hideous teasing they’d forced her to endure as a tween, her brothers were pretty cool guys. Both were disgustingly successful—a credit to her mother, who’d raised them on her own. Juneau couldn’t remember her father; he’d died when she was four.