NINETEEN

THEY’RE WAITING FOR US WHEN WE RETURN. WELL, Marcus and his crew anyway. It’s late and most of the compound is asleep. At first glance, I don’t notice anyone on the main floor below us. It’s quiet as a tomb as we descend the stairs. Until Marcus’s voice rings out. “What’s she doing here? Where is Tabatha?”

I’m not a face anyone in the compound expected to see again. I realize this as Marcus and his thugs crowd around the base of the stairs, backing away only to give us room when we reach the bottom.

“We found her out there,” Caden begins explaining.

“You didn’t blindfold her again?” Marcus’s gaze flits over us, presumably searching for the scrap of fabric that served as a blindfold.

Junie sighs. “Not this again.”

“Yes, that!” Ruben takes a menacing step in her direction. She holds her ground, not even flinching. She trains wide eyes on him as she lifts her chin. Like she’s more than ready to take him on.

“That’s it!” Marcus stabs a finger in my direction. “I want her—”

“They’re dead, Marcus. Tabatha. All of them.” Caden’s voice falls hard. I glance at him. A vein throbs in his temple. I notice his eyes are bloodshot. He’s tired . . . and blaming himself.

“How?” Marcus demands, his nasal voice especially sharp. Some of the color bleeds from his cheeks. He’s not unaffected.

“They were attacked—”

“And she was spared?” Marcus waves a hand at me, the color flooding back into his face in an angry rush of blood. “Isn’t that convenient?”

Caden grasps my arm and skirts me around Marcus and Ruben. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

Feet pound after us. “No, Anderson. Not tomorrow—”

Caden jerks to a stop and whirls around. “Not now, Marcus. It’s late. We’ve been through enough for a day,” he growls, his voice tight and shaking with emotion.

Marcus glares, pressing his mouth into a hard line. He doesn’t try to stop us, and I guess he understands that to push any further would be crossing a line. Caden resumes walking, taking us straight to Junie’s room.

“Home sweet home,” Junie declares, striding into the space after us.

Caden’s eyes scan me, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Those bloodshot eyes stare so intently. I know there’s a lot going on inside him. “I’ll have Phelps come check you over.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow.” His gaze slides to Junie sitting on the bottom mattress, working her boots free. Of course he doesn’t want anyone to know that there is a traitor in our midst.

“Yes. Tomorrow.” I nod, my fingers reaching up to rub softly at my aching shoulder.

“Get some rest.” He turns to go and stops at the door, stands there for a moment looking at me. It’s the first quiet moment since everything happened. Since the shooting. Since he found me running for my life from those carriers out there. For a second, I forget that Junie’s even in the room. It’s like it’s just the two of us, communing privately with each other, our awareness of each other sharp on the air.

Finally, he says, “I’m glad you’re okay.” And then he’s gone.

Junie drops one boot to the floor, then the next. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t seen him look at a girl that way before. I would have noticed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just . . . friends.” It’s safe to say that. He’s not nothing to me. I can’t pretend that anymore.

“Truly. Not even Tabatha.” At the mention of Tabatha, she clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “Poor Tabatha. I mean, dying sucks . . . but dying while pining away for someone who wants nothing to do with you. Blows.” She lifts off the bottom bunk and starts undressing.

Caden wanted nothing to do with her? For a moment I debate my reply before deciding it’s one of those things that doesn’t require a response.

Junie’s fingers deftly unravel her braids. Pulling a fresh shirt over her head, she vaults up to the top bunk. “Looks like you’ll be staying awhile now.”

“I’m still leaving,” I insist.

She responds with an indifferent grunt.

I stare at her on the top bunk for a moment. She laces her hands behind her head, gazing up at the ceiling. Only another day for her. When the lights go out, I wonder if she’ll think about Tabatha and the others who died today. Will she think about the man she killed? Will she dream of their ghosts?

Her words sink in. I’m going to be here for a while. I drop down on the edge of the bed and stare blindly at my dusty boots. I know I disagreed with her, but I’m not sure how I even feel about it anymore. I had wanted to leave so badly, but when I saw Caden tonight—

Phelps knocks once and breezes into the room. “Hey there, Davy, welcome back. Let’s look you over again. Heard you had a rough night. Shame about Tabatha.”

I manage a small snort at this monster of all understatements.

He stops in front of me, chafing his palms together to warm them. “You just can’t stay away, can you?”

Rhiannon follows, looking less exuberant. Her lips press into a grim line as she surveys me. The people who died—Tabatha and the rest—I see them reflected in her gaze. A gaze that settles on me. “Can’t say I’m happy to see you again. I figured you’d be in Mexico by now . . . along with the others.”