Embrace The Night (38 page)

Simon had had a quick wash-up in the river that flowed near Falling Creek and gave it much of its electrical power. He figured it was probably the particular geographic formation that had given its name to this neighborhood once upon a time. Or perhaps the neighborhood had been built first, and the falling creek created to go along with it.

And while he was in the water, which felt so cool and cleansing after the stuffy night in the humvee and the even more stifling day with Florita, Simon decided he needed to follow up on Sage’s lead about the woman who’d had Truth’s ID badge.

When he stopped in Falling Creek to let the community leaders, whose names he never really knew and easily forgot, know about the crystal guard, he also got directions to Redlow.

And here he was.

What had obviously once been a parking lot for the large store and the restaurant was a familiar sight—overgrown with trees and bushes, grass sprouting up from the wide cracks in the old concrete. But here, in a row, was lined up about a half dozen semi-truck trailers, and perpendicular to the former parking lot was a single row of about six townhouses. Still intact and looking fairly well kept. A small little settlement that had probably sprung up some time after the Change, built around the scavengeable items in the grocery store and even in the restaurant.

There was no protective fence around this village—either to keep the
gangas
out or the people in, and he wondered about that. Maybe they took other precautions, like locking their doors and not going out at night, living on the second floor, where
gangas
couldn’t get to.

He was glad he’d parked the truck he’d taken from Rita out of sight of the settlement, behind a cluster of trees. Since most people equated vehicles with the Strangers, he hadn’t wanted to jeopardize his chances of getting information.

A dog barked, deep and low, in the distance, and a small group of children played on a pile of salvaged semi-truck tires. Just another day on Main Street USA—or the closest thing to it now. A few people walked about, going about their business, looking at him curiously as he approached from the distance. But he was a single man, hardly a threat and more of a curiosity, he supposed.

His lips curled humorlessly. What were the chances they’d find this woman, who
might
have been coming here four years ago, and who
might
have known Remington Truth? It was such a slim lead, he wondered why he was wasting his time.

But he knew why. And it had less to do with finding Remington Truth than…other things.

Just then, as he walked closer to the small settlement, he noticed another humvee, parked behind a sag-roofed garage with full bushes sprouting from roof and windows. His instincts went on high alert, and he detoured over to the vehicle. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see whether it was occupied, so he approached cautiously.

Right away he knew it wasn’t the truck used by the Resistance, which had been his first thought. Hope. That they might already be here, following up on the same lead. But this one didn’t sport the dent in the passenger side, nor the scratch along the back.

It was in much better shape.

Simon sneaked up to the truck from behind, wondering if there were Strangers inside, and wondered what would happen if he put a bullet into their crystals. Would that kill them? He gripped the
SIG
, crouching as he came up to the passenger door, readied himself, and flung it open, gun pointing in instantly.

The vehicle was empty and Simon climbed in, shutting the door behind him, figuring he’d take a look around. A few water bottles in the back, a pack of food, some clothes…someone was on the road.

He found a box of pistol magazines under the driver’s seat. Fucker had a gun, and since it wasn’t in the truck, it had to be with him. On the floor were some ropes that looked like they’d been cut off something. His mind humming, Simon searched further…then suddenly a faint glint, very faint, hardly noticeable, stopped him. Hair on the dash, caught in the sun…a few very long, curly, reddish-golden-pink hairs that made him go cold.

No. There were lots of Corrigans nearby; Falling Creek was only a couple hours away. It didn’t have to be Sage’s—unlikely to be Sage’s. But it could be.

Simon backed out of the truck and closed the door, adrenaline pumping. No one was about, and he adjusted the
SIG
in the back of his waistband, making sure it was easily reached, and hidden by his untucked shirt.

He did not like the feel of this.

He swiped the keys that had been hidden under the driver’s side mat and pocketed them, hurrying off toward the settlement. As he approached, he controlled his expression, one that he knew could be frightening when he was on alert as he was now, and made certain to exude calm and casualness when he asked if anyone had seen a woman with long reddish hair.

A young man pointed him in the direction of the semi-truck trailers, then went back to weeding a small patch of carrots and green beans. At least, that’s what he thought they were…Simon hadn’t spent much time in a garden.

Keeping his movements casual, he nevertheless hurried toward the semi-trucks and asked a few more people on the way. The truck trailers had been outfitted with windows, or their doors were wide open, for it was much too hot and stuffy to be closed up.

Simon shimmered into invisibility and sidled up to one of the vehicles, looking inside. Just an old woman sitting on a bed while two young children played in front of her.

The next one was empty of people, but obviously was used as a home. But the third one…Simon stood at the end of the truck, looking in through the wide opening and stared in shock. Then cold, black fury washed over him, nearly shaking his invisibility with its force. But he held on.

And he reached for his
SIG
.

It was fucking Ian Marck…and
Sage
. Marck had his gun jammed into the soft part of her neck, and he had a grip on her arm that, even from where he stood, Simon could see the white marks emanating from around his fingers.

“I’m tired of playing games,” Marck said, and Sage gave a soft little grunt as he shoved the gun harder. They were alone in the truck, which appeared to have been abandoned some time ago. Furnishings and debris cluttered the area as if no one had lived there for a while. “Tell me who this woman is, and quit leading me around in circles.”

Simon had already moved into the truck. It was almost too easy, too ridiculously easy, after everything he’d been through…but there he was, gun to the back of Marck’s head before he even realized it.

But when Simon kissed the back of Marck’s skull with the nose of his
SIG
, the man froze. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drop you right here,” Simon said, shimmering back into visibility.

“What the
fuck
?” Marck said. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Let her go and drop the gun. I won’t say it twice.”

“Simon,” Sage squeaked. He wasn’t sure if it was surprise, delight, or horror.

Marck didn’t move, and Simon pushed the barrel harder. “You got a death wish,
chavala
?”

“You have no fucking idea,” Marck said wearily. And he released Sage, raising his hands.

“Drop the weapon,” Simon told him.
Fuckhead
. “Slowly. To the floor.” Hell, he sounded like a damned cop.

He trained his weapon on Marck as the other man crouched to drop the gun, then lifted it slowly with him, and only then did he move around into the other man’s view. He’d cast a quick glance at Sage, confirmed the absence of blood and bruises, but otherwise, spared her not a look. He dared not.

“You,”
Marck said, recognizing him from the Pub.

Simon ignored him. “Did he hurt you?” he asked Sage, without taking his eyes from the man in his sight. The
SIG
was looking Ian Marck in the eye, steadily.

“No,” she said. And then he chanced a look at her again, saw the expression on her face…and that’s when he knew.
She
knew. All about him.

His body turned cold, not with the fury that had consumed him, but with some other emotion he dared not define. He swallowed and tore his eyes from her, back to Ian Marck. The son of a bitch deserved to die. There was no reason not to pull the trigger.

This world was no man’s land, every man for himself. Hadn’t Marck helped to abduct Jade a month ago? And now he’d kidnapped Sage. Put his hands on her, tied her up…Simon noticed the red on her wrists, which was around them and definitely not from crystal grit.

“So you going to do it or what?”
Asshole.

Simon jerked himself from the pit of his dark thoughts and his finger tightened on the trigger. He’d relish it. He looked at Sage, knowing his eyes were dark and wild, and said curtly, “Get out of here. You don’t want to see this.”

Her mouth rounded and she moved, as if to reach for him…but Simon, intent on proving to her that he was, indeed, not her fucking superman, not her goddamned hero, but exactly the man she thought he was…that she now
knew
he was…gave her a black look that brooked no disobedience. No tolerance. No tenderness.

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her—and he supposed he fairly well had, with his expression, and it was all right because it was necessary—and she ran out of the truck trailer.

Leaving him with the gun pressing into Ian Marck’s jaw.

“On your knees,” Simon ordered.

The man actually hesitated. “What, you don’t want to get blood on you, asshole?”

Simon drew in a long, easy breath and smiled his death-smile. The
SIG
had a nice, long trigger…and he started to pull on it. “On your knees. Hands on your head.”

Marck didn’t move; instead, glared at him eye to eye, boldly and angrily. “Fuck you. I don’t mind the mess. I won’t be around to care.”

His finger tightened a little more, he felt it slip into the second half, and he said, “Good-bye, Ian Marck.”

Sage heard the sharp report of a gunshot. It echoed inside the huge metal space she’d just left.

Simon…no.

Oh, God.

She brushed away the tears and realized her fingers were trembling. It wasn’t for her. It was for him. Damn it.

When she’d first sensed Simon’s presence, when he moved into the room, invisible, she’d had a surge of hope. But then she’d seen his face. The gun. The way he carried it, as if it were an extension of him.

Then, all of a sudden, Simon was here again, next to her. She looked up, searching his face, but it was just as empty and cold as it had been inside the room. She couldn’t help it, she glanced behind him, looking, hoping for Marck to follow him.

“He’s not coming out,” Simon said. Flat and hard. His eyes locked on hers, so dark and angry that she nearly took a step back. “He deserved it for putting his hands on you. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No,” she said. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, to see if she could find her Simon beneath this cold, statue of a man.

“What happened?” he asked. And she saw him adjust the weapon in the waistband of his jeans, there just behind his left hip. “How’d he get you? Where’s Theo?”

“Back in Envy, as far as I know,” she retorted, allowing the anger into her voice. Damn him and the Theo game.

“He never came to pick you up?” Simon said, his voice showing the first bit of emotion—surprise—since she’d seen him.

“He got me, and we went back to Envy. I hit my head and blacked out when I was coming out of the tunnel, and he took me back so Elliott could look at me. Otherwise, we would have come into Falling Creek to look for you.” She measured him boldly, trying to hide her confusion and sorrow. “Obviously, you weren’t in need of our help.”

“Florita is dead,” he told her.

She nodded, her heart filling her throat. Another one dead. But at least she’d been a Stranger. And obviously not his lover.

And she’d meant to kill an entire city, just so she could have Simon. For a moment, Sage empathized with her.

“After she slit the throat of a girl she thought was you,” Simon added. “In front of me.” He moved his shoulders fluidly. “I don’t take kindly to seeing women mistreated.”

“Simon, why—”

“So you’ve done your research, I see.” His beautiful mouth narrowed in a humorless smile. “Now you know who I am. So don’t bother to ask why.”

“But, Simon…that’s not you.”

It was his turn to step back. He looked like a fierce gang member—heck, he had been one, a long time ago—with his dark hair pulled back and the black T-shirt, black jeans he wore. And the gleaming handle of his pistol sticking out of his waistband. “It is me, Sage. You just didn’t understand it until now. And now you do, and now you can put away those happy thoughts of me and get on with things.”

He turned and started to walk away, then paused after a few steps. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find that woman, and then we’ll get you out of here. I’ve got things to do.”

She followed, dazed and lost. Weary and slow. But she noticed the way his shoulders sagged, as though drawn down, and she thought again…
Simon, Simon…why? You didn’t have to fall back into it. You didn’t have to.

He slowed so she could catch up to him, but he didn’t look at her. She had to walk fast to keep up with his long strides, and she struggled to find something to say, to break through that barrier and find the man she loved and drag him back out.

Definitely. The man she loved. Not a surprise to her, that the word had definitely settled in her mind.

I think I’ve known since he asked me if I wanted to go into the Beretta building with him…instead of leaving me behind.

“Have you asked people about her?” he said, pausing and turning to look at her. No, not at her…over her head.

“There’s a dark-haired woman who lives over there,” she said, pointing to the row of townhouses. “And we checked out two already who lived in those old metal things, and one over in that little house over there. But this last one, she’s been here about the right amount of time. So I’m sort of hopeful this is the one.” She looked over at him, hopeful in another way. But there was nothing.