Strangers wouldn’t matter to them.
But she had some time to think. And
maybe Vaughn would have a solution.
No one knew she was here, in his
private suite—and Remy wished she
weren’t. She should be down on the
ground, in the remains of the party,
helping to clean up. Helping . . .
whoever needed help. Whoever might be
buried in the rubble.
Her throat closed up. She wasn’t
going to think about Wyatt.
Instead, she made herself focus on
inane things, like her surroundings. Not
only was the mayor’s suite much larger
than the room she was staying in, but it
had a small kitchen area, a living room,
two bathrooms and a bedroom, plus the
office. Spacious. Clean and bright. High
off the ground. Very unlike any living
area she’d known.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the
mirror as she stalked past it. Good grief.
What a mess! Dirty face, soot-streaked
and exhausted. Eyes bloodshot and
puffy. Hair falling in a terrible tangled
mass. Her white dress was more gray
and brown than white and sported a
bloodstain on one side, not to mention
dirt along the hem, thanks to Ian.
She couldn’t hold back the twitch of
a humorless smile. He was probably
still nursing the clout she’d given him on
the head with an empty beer bottle.
Served him right for trying to manhandle
her off somewhere . . . wherever.
Even now she wasn’t certain whether
it had been good fortune that she’d
encountered Vaughn shortly after, still in
the midst of the chaos. But he seemed to
have been looking for her, and he
seemed to know what to do right away.
“Hide yourself,” he muttered, pulling her
away from the craziness. “Keep safe
until we figure out what to do.”
Remy looked at herself again. A
shower wouldn’t be a bad idea. She had
nothing better to do, and who knew how
long it would be before Vaughn
returned?
But time was ticking . . .
It was beneath the rhythmic pounding
of the water that she let herself go. The
warm cascade—nearly as hot as Flo’s—
was like a catalyst for the release of her
emotions. She let the tears come, her
sobs deep and harsh. Confusion. Stress.
Fear. Loneliness.
Grief.
Wyatt
.
How could she feel such a sense of
loss for a man she hardly knew? That
she wasn’t even sure she liked? The
image of the roof caving in over him
replayed in her mind over and over . . .
and there was no happy ending.
No one could survive that. She knew
it.
What she didn’t know was why it
affected her so deeply.
Maybe it was because he was the
only one who knew about the crystal,
who understood what she’d been
through. She’d lost the only person she
could talk to.
Or because of the stoic, matter-of-
fact way he’d said,
That’s what I do. I
risk my ass. For people.
And the way
he’d always just seemed to turn up when
she needed something, whether she
wanted him to or not.
And now the world was less such a
man. An arrogant, angry man with a good
heart. A man battling himself and
everyone around him. Her eyes stung.
The memory of him sitting in the
semi-truck trailer, staring down at the
children’s books . . . the empty, dark pits
of his eyes, filled with hell and grief.
Are you at peace now, Wyatt? Are you
with them?
The tears came with a ferocity she
hadn’t expected.
Remy didn’t know how long she was
in the shower, sobbing, soaking, trying to
numb herself from the horror of her
reality: that the Strangers had found her,
that she was a hostage for an entire city,
that the one man she trusted and cared
about was dead . . . but it wasn’t until
someone knocked on the bathroom door
that
she
became
aware
of
her
surroundings once more.
“Yes?” she called, grabbing a towel
and turning off the water, which had
gone cool. Her fingers were so wrinkled
she wondered if they’d ever smooth out
again.
“Remy, are you all right?” It was
Vaughn. He didn’t open the door; he
didn’t even try—and he could have, for
she’d not thought to lock it. He just
called through the barrier.
“I’m fine. Be out in a minute.” She
rushed. Maybe he had some news. Or a
solution.
Maybe she shouldn’t rush, because
the news might not be what she wanted
to hear.
He had large, soft, fluffy towels. A
little threadbare in places—they must be
old—but still, more luxurious than she’d
ever experienced. She wrapped one
around her hair and used the other to dry
herself, considered wearing it out into
the living room. There was no way she
was going to put that filthy dress and
those underthings back on. They lay in a
pile on the floor just outside the
bathroom door. The crystal was still
attached to its silver chain, hidden by the
folds of cloth. As soon as Vaughn left
again, she would retrieve the gem.
When she saw the large robe hanging
on the back of the door, she got herself
into that and padded out of the bathroom,
hair still dripping.
“I thought you might want some clean
clothes,” Vaughn said as she appeared.
His rugged face appeared drawn and
exhausted and his eyes were sober and
worried. Dirt and soot streaked his face,
and she saw that his clothing was hardly
in any better condition than hers had
been. He gestured to a pile on the table.
“Thanks,” she said. Numbly, she
walked over and picked them up,
wadding the bulk of soft yellow cotton in
her hands. “What’s going on down
there?” she asked, wanting to know and
yet not wanting to know.
“Mostly cleanup.” He avoided her
eyes, turning to the small counter in the
kitchen. She heard the soft clink of glass
on glass, then the sound of liquid
splashing. “Everyone is talking about
Remington Truth.”
Her throat tightened. “Vaughn, I’m
not going to stay here and let the
Strangers come back and—”
He turned, holding a short glass of
amber liquid. His expression was cool
and determined. “We’ll figure it out.
You can’t leave here. Not yet. If anyone
finds out you’re here—that you’re
Remington Truth . . .” He shook his head
firmly. “Remy, I don’t know what the
sentiment is. They don’t even know who
—or what—Remington Truth is. People
are still shocked and frightened over
what happened last night. They’d never
seen a helicopter before, and this threat
from the Strangers . . . well, it has
everyone in an uproar. They’ve never
been so overt before. I have to let
everyone calm down first, clean up, take
care of any injured or casualties, and
then we’ll figure it out.”
Casualties
. She pushed the ugly
thought away. “What about Dantès?” she
asked. “Is he all right? Can he come up
here with me?”
Vaughn shook his head. “It’s not a
good idea. He might bark or something.
No one can know you’re here. He’s fine,
by the way. He’s with Rod Macedon’s
boy for now.”
She opened her mouth to argue when
someone knocked on the door. Remy
looked at Vaughn, who rose. “Yes?” he
called.
“Vaughn, are you in there? It’s
Marley.”
Remy might have found the mayor’s
reaction amusing if the circumstances
were different. He went rigid, then his
eyes shot from her to the door to the bed
and back again. Guilt and chagrin were
written all over him and she could
almost hear his mental curse.
“I’ll just go in here,” she said, giving
him an easy out as she ducked into the
back bedroom. But even though she was
out of sight, Remy left the door cracked
so she could hear.
Vaughn let Marley in. “What are you
doing here?” he asked. Remy shook her
head. He didn’t sound very welcoming,
which was precisely the opposite of
what she’d seen in his eyes. Men. She
shook her head.
“I just came to see . . . to see if you
were all right.” Marley’s voice was
softer, but it carried back to the
bedroom.
“There’s a lot going on,” Vaughn
said. His tones were cool. “I have a lot
to deal with, Marley. Everyone’s very
upset. The clock is ticking. So what do
you want?”
“You left pretty quickly after they
uncovered Wyatt.”
The stab of pain was so sharp, Remy
had to hold back a gasp. She closed her
eyes, leaning against the wall as tears
gathered again.
No. Not now. Think
about it later.
It took a moment for her to collect
herself, and by then Marley had moved
farther into the suite. Now Remy could
see her through the crack of the door.
This was the first good look she’d
had of the woman. Even disheveled from
working all night, Marley exuded an air
of elegance. She was, as Flo might have
said, “put together.” Very beautiful, with
shiny dark hair streaked attractively with
blond, falling in perfect waves around
her face and shoulders. Long red
fingernails, except for the first one on
her left hand.
As Marley turned, Remy saw
something that made her turn cold. A
faint bluish glow coming from beneath
her clothing . . . just below the
c o l l a r b o ne .
Exactly
where
the
Strangers wore their crystals.
As she
watched, the glow seemed to grow
brighter, shining through the clinging
dark blue blouse.
She couldn’t breathe for a moment.
Marley was a Stranger? What did this
mean? Vaughn must know she was one.
Oh God . . .
was he going to turn her
over to Marley? Or had Marley
somehow come here, looking for her?
Did she know?
We will send our conduits.
Her heart pounded and her palms
went damp. She looked around for
something to use as a weapon as she
strained to hear their conversation,
which remained stilted and short.
“. . . have a lot of decisions to make,”
Vaughn was saying. He sounded almost
pompous. “But the most important one is
taking care of the people of Envy. My
people. You of anyone should know
that.” Then something changed, and he
moved suddenly, blocking Remy’s view.
“What is it?” His voice was urgent.
“Marley?”
She couldn’t hear anymore. There
was a flurry of movement and Marley
made a noise that sounded like pain or
surprise. She couldn’t see anything but
Vaughn’s solid figure, but she heard
something that sounded like “crystal.”
Her breath caught and ice shot into
her
belly.
Oh no.
The crystal—
her
crystal—was still on the floor, caught up
in the pile of clothing she’d left right
outside the bathroom door. Was it
recognizing Marley? Was that why the
blue crystal embedded in her body had
started to glow brighter? Would the
other woman see the orange glow from
beneath the clothing? Would she know it
was there?
Did she dare go out to try and
retrieve it—
“Who’s back there?” Marley’s voice
rang out sharply. Remy froze as
Marley’s face appeared from behind
Vaughn. She was looking toward the
bedroom.
Remy automatically ducked away
from the opening. The last thing she
needed was for a Stranger to see her.
“You don’t want to go back there,”
Vaughn said. He moved to block her,
cutting off Remy’s view again.
“Oh. I see.” Marley’s voice was like