Melissa la Cruz - Frozen

NAT DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF RYAN Wesson—whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Slap him, definitely. He looked so smug, standing at her doorway, with his hair slicked back and his collar turned up, a gun belt strapped low on his hips, his beat-up vest shrugged off his shoulders like some kind of snow cowboy, grinning as if he’d won the fireball lottery.

She’d just left the casino that evening, only a few hours after closing the deal with Shakes, and while she had impressed upon him her need to leave immediately, she was still surprised at how quickly Wes had appeared.

“Hey there, remember me?” His voice was low and pleasantly hoarse, sexy, she thought, just like all the rest of him. Nat shoved the thought out of her mind. He’s a runner and a con man, she reminded herself. A liar.

“How could I forget?” she asked.

“Ryan Wesson,” he said, offering a hand.

“Like the gun or the cooking oil?”

His grin broadened. “What about you, Nat? Like the insect or the princess?”

“Clever,” she said. “Neither.”

“Right. Just call me Wes, okay by you?”

“Fair enough.” Nat nodded, and shook his hand.

“I believe you have something of mine,” he said. “Four platinum chips, perhaps?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she retorted. Too bad for him. She’d taken her chance when Wes didn’t.

Sucker.

“You’re cute when you’re lying.” He smiled. “But since you have them and I don’t, I guess the only way to get them back is to take you where you want to go. So hop to it, peaches.”

“I’m ready,” she said, showing him her packed bag.

He tried to hide his surprise. “Once we drop you off at New Crete, I’m taking my boys back to Vegas. You’re on your own, no matter what we find there. We’re not sticking around after that. Got it?”

“Who says I want you to stick around,” she said tartly.

His dark eyes sparkled. “Careful, you might change your mind about that once you get to know me.”

“Doubt it,” she said, even as her cheeks flushed a little.

“Gotta say, you don’t look like someone who believes in that hoodoo stuff about some door to nirvana in the ocean,” he told her.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, New Crete? You’re looking for the Blue, just like all the true believers.”

“I’ll keep my reasons to myself, won’t I? I’m paying for passage, not therapy.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “No questions asked, that’s our motto. Can’t help but be a little curious is all. You got the deposit?”

Half the fee. Right. She handed him two of the platinum chips.

He smiled. “Let’s go. Breaking curfew’s not going to be easy.”

She followed him out to an LTV parked in the alley behind her building. The truck was painted with a swirl of white arctic camouflage, and even its wheels were cut from a thick white rubber that rendered it almost invisible. It was a modified Hummer, with three rows of seats and a cargo hold in the back.

He opened the door and hustled her inside.

In the row behind her were a few guys dressed in thermals and gray-and-white snow camos outfitted with an impressive array of weapons. She wasn’t surprised to find the guy who’d drawn a gun on her the other day was part of the team.

“You’ve met Daran,” Wes said. “That’s his brother, Zedric, and that’s Farouk. Guys, this is Nat, our new client.”

“Well, hello again,” Daran said, as he shook her hand just a little too long. “Sorry about the thing at the Loss. All in a day’s work, right?”

She regarded him coolly. “Where’s Shakes?” she asked, looking for the boy with the friendly smile.

“Hey, Nat,” Shakes said, turning around from the driver’s seat.

She smiled, seemingly relieved Shakes was here, and Wes felt a hint of jealousy at that.

She was even prettier than he remembered, the kind of girl who could get anyone to do anything for her, he thought. A mouth on her, too, and she sure hadn’t blinked when he accused her of stealing those chips. Still, he’d been sure she would fold; her room was warm and cozy. No palace, but a place to call home. Why not use those credits for something else? He wanted to tell her not to waste it on him and an impossible dream of freedom. There was nothing out in the ocean but trash and trouble.

She seemed like a cool chick. Not that he was looking for anything in that direction right now, even with that bit of harmless flirting earlier. Just wanted to see if he could charm her was all, to get on her good side if he was going to figure out if she had the map or not. He had no need for any kind of attachment, especially after the thing with Jules ended so badly.

He helped her into the backseat and Shakes gave her a thumbs-up from the wheel, then the truck sped off into the darkness, spitting sparks into the air as they brushed icy concrete on both sides.

“How does he know where he’s going?” Nat yelled, struggling to fasten her seat belt as the LTV careened through the empty streets.

Wes tapped the infrared goggles on Shakes’s helmet. “Here, have a look,” he said, throwing his own pair her way so she could see.

She put them on. The truck was barreling through a back road that ran parallel to the Strip, where the redevelopment efforts had carved a trench in the ice.

“What about the Willies?” she asked. It was after curfew, when the only vehicles allowed in the streets were the Willie Winkie patrols or those with the right after-hours licenses, and from her tone, it was clear she didn’t think Wes had one of those.

“Let me worry about them,” Wes said curtly. “Most patrols are around the eastern perimeter, and we’re headed the other way.”

“Boss!” Shakes yelled, as the red flare of a rocket flew overhead.

Wes cursed. He’d spoken too soon. One of the heavily armored tanks that usually lumbered around the ice desert, transporting grunts to the eastern base, just happened to be in the area. “YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF ORDER 10123: EVERY CITIZEN MUST BE INDOORS. STOP YOUR VEHICLE AND PREPARE TO SURRENDER YOUR SECOND-LEVEL INDENTIFICATION PAPERS.”

“I don’t have any,” she said worriedly.

“You and everyone else in here,” he said. “Keep going!” he urged Shakes.

A bullet shattered the rear window, the truck struck a wall of ice, and everyone was thrown forward.

“Gimme those!” Wes commanded, and Nat threw his goggles back to him as he barked orders at his team. “Farouk! See if you can track their signal and jam it. Slaine boys—take out their snipers! I’ll take care of the behemoth.” He reached for his gun even as he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Guns were antiquated weapons for a dying empire. Wes carried one because he had to, but he’d never killed anyone with it; he’d threatened many, of course, he’d waved it around, and shot drones and trucks and who knew what else, but his hands were clean, and so were his boys’. There was enough killing in the world. He turned to Nat. “Cover me—you know how to use one of these things?” he asked, motioning for her to pick up a rifle.

She shook her head, and he stared at her for a moment. Every child in the RSA was trained to shoot; “every citizen an armed citizen” was the country’s unofficial motto . . . but there was no time to question. He called to Farouk and the boy shouldered the rifle, peered through the scope and set off a few rounds through the window. “Okay, go!” he yelled, backing down as Wes popped through the roof, rifle in hand.

Wes scanned the area, the goggles having turned the world green and black. He could see the tank coming after them a few blocks away. They were past the Strip now, close to the edge of the city, not far from the border. If he could stall it, they would be home free. There had only been one rocket.