Angela Knight - Unbound

Leaving the bomb, they crawled out into a forest that was bursting with light emanating from the Fragment on stage. High above, the bared branches of the trees reached into that light, as though they, too, wanted to be blessed.

A tingle on his senses brought his head around, his eyes peering into the pitch of the forest. He’d been chasing Wes long enough to know his signature, that he was near. The asshole wouldn’t have missed this show for the world.

“Stay here,” he told Kelsey. “I’ll send someone to get you and the bomb. And for stars’ sake, listen to me this time.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get Pritchart.” He slid the flashlight into his vest pocket but kept the knife at hand.

Now worry darkened Kelsey’s eyes. Not when faced with a messy, explosive death herself, but when he was about to charge after the enemy. He didn’t know whether to roll his eyes or kiss her.

He stepped close enough she had to lean back to look up at him. “You want to know what I really wanted to ask after I won that stupid game with your cat?”

She nodded. A piece of copper hair blew across her face, attaching itself to her lip, and he tugged it down.

“I was going to ask you why you didn’t want to marry me,” he said. “And then whatever you said was the reason, I was going to fix it. Fight for you. Make you mine. Because I’m in love with you.”

Then he stepped back, basking in her surprise, delighting in the way his heart felt lighter in her presence now. Twelve years of hiding how he felt . . . gone. Like that first kiss, he should have done it much, much sooner.

With a smile of his own, one that showed her everything he felt, he turned and sprinted into the forest.

“Teams C, F, and M with me,” he huffed into the radio. “Circle around the western forest.”

Tonight, he would finally bring in his prey.

Three days later, David finally got some sleep. Noon on a Tuesday and he was stretched out on the couch, sun on his face, one arm thrown above his head. A new puzzle book lay split over his belly.

Griffin had given him the day off. Which was completely expected since David had chased Wes Pritchart through the forest for nearly thirteen hours before finally catching him as he tried to steal a car. After dragging Wes out of the woods, David had had to escort the criminal to the jail located in the old Plant in bumfuck Nevada. He’d spent another whole day making statements and giving testimony.

The capture had been huge news, quieting the dissidents—for now; he wasn’t sure how long that would last—and rallying Griffin and Gwen’s supporters.

Griffin had decided to keep the bomb a secret. No one needed to know, he’d said, how close Wes had come to succeeding. The soldiers knew, of course, but they were loyal. David was fine with Griffin’s decision. He didn’t need or want recognition. That wasn’t why he’d done what he had. Protect Griffin and Gwen and the Fragment—that’s all he’d been focused on. That’s all he’d ever wanted.

Well, not all.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to Kelsey since the Ice Rites. As soon as he got back to San Francisco he’d asked about her, but she’d been immersed in her lab. Still was, as far as he knew. There’d been trouble at her clinic, and he’d been reluctant to disturb her in the middle of it.

He’d wait for her. He’d been waiting for twelve years; what was a few days more?

A gentle knock sounded on his door, so quiet he was sure he’d imagined it. But no, there it came again. He sat up, the puzzle book sliding to the hardwood floor. The prickle of an Ofarian signature out in the hall buzzed in the back of his brain.

He opened the door and could not suppress his wide smile.

Kelsey looked like sunlight after a month spent underground. She wore those jeans again—the ones with the holes, as though she’d known they drove him crazy—and a fitted, white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She carried her winter coat in the crook of her arm, and he wondered how long she’d been standing out here before she’d knocked. Her hair was down, and he hoped it was because of what he’d told her in the hotel.

She gave him a quick once-over, skimming up his bare feet, plaid flannel pants and white undershirt. Her eyes landed on his face with a gasp that was very un-doctorlike. “Look at you. Why didn’t you come to the clinic?”

He’d avoided the mirror since he got back. The black eye was probably still pretty purple, but the throbbing along his cheek where Wes had landed a fist or two had lessened.

He waved her off. “It was just a couple of punches. I’ll live.” The way she frowned at him was turning far too impersonal, so he steered her attention elsewhere. “How’d you know which apartment was mine? Not that I’m complaining.”

At first she tried to look away, to hide her blush, but then she seemed to change her mind and looked him right in the eye. “I’ve always known where you live.”

Today was just getting better and better.

He opened the door wide and stepped back. “Then maybe it’s time you came in.”

She wandered inside, and he tried not to stare at her ass in those jeans, but who was he kidding? He let her look around his small, bright apartment, just as he’d assessed hers days earlier.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this. I should’ve called.”

He closed the door, excitement steadily pumping through his body. He gave her a lazy grin. “No. You should always come over unannounced. Look how I dress up for you in preparation.”

Her bow lips quirked, but there was sadness and trouble behind her sky blue eyes. He could only guess it was because of the clinic. “I heard,” he said seriously, “about what Emily had done to your records.”

She ran a hand through her hair and he noticed her fingers quivering. “Yeah. She’d been altering results. Changing patient reports, tainting findings, and messing with samples. I can’t recreate the tests. I’ll have to start all over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not why I came.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She took a deep breath. “I came to tell you a story.”

“A story?” The sun burned through the corner bay window, hotter than a day at the beach. He gestured to the big, comfy chair in shadow. “Have a seat then.”

She lowered herself to the cushion and put her purse on the floor. “You like puzzles,” she said with a bit of wonder, pointing to his book. “Emily’s cipher.”

He shrugged and sat on the couch opposite her, hands clasped between his thighs. “Just a hobby. The cipher they were using is one of the simpler ones.” He didn’t want to talk about that, now that she was here. “So, what’s this story about?”

She matched his stare. Amazing how twelve years of protecting his feelings had always led to such agonizingly awkward and terrifying encounters with her. Now that she knew how he felt, it was so much easier to be around her. How did that work, exactly? Shouldn’t it have been the opposite?

“It’s about you and me,” she started, “and why we were matched. Didn’t you ever wonder about that?”

He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. “All the time.”

“It was me. I did it.”

She was acting all bashful, like he’d actually be mad about that. He hid his smile, but it was trying its best to poke out.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She licked her lips. He wanted to lick them, too.

“At last year’s Star Gala, I got pretty drunk. Well, drunk for me. I was excited to be almost done with my residency and I just wanted to let loose. My mom, she must’ve had a bottle of champagne all by herself, and she found me and asked me about finally being matched in marriage. She’d been matched right after school, too, you see.”