Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,140
He says you two went to the fair last year with a couple of his college buddies. Damon threw up on the Tilt-a-Whirl and promised to do the housework for a month if you said you were the one who got sick.”
The ground tilted as if, for a moment, she was back on that ride. They’d never told anyone that story, which was the point of course, saving Damon from endless razzing by his friends, who’d been on the other side of the ride and missed seeing which one of them threw up. Robyn teased him about it mercilessly, trying to blackmail extra chores for months.
If she’d never told anyone, and she knew Damon would never have told anyone . . .
Her gaze lifted to the spot beside Detective Finn’s shoulder.
“Damon?” Again, that slow tilt of the world shifting, and it was like when she was eighteen, getting her wisdom teeth out, the anesthetic taking hold, a languorous wave of delicious warmth washing over her, her whole body relaxing and surrendering to it. She felt that again, swaying, muscles letting go as if she’d been holding them tight for six months and all she could do was stare at that spot, that empty spot, and say again, “Damon.”
She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, praying that when she opened them, she’d see him, see some part of him, if only a shimmer of light, something she could reach for.
She opened her eyes to dark forest. “What’s he saying? Can he hear me?”
“He can, and he’s saying that while he’d love to chat, you’ve got a psycho SWAT team on your tail, and you need to move your, uh, rear.”
She hiccuped a laugh, hands flying up to stifle it. “Damon.”
“You’re going to talk to him, Robyn. I promise.” Finn stepped toward her, taking her by the elbows. “When this is over, I’ll tell you everything he wants you to hear. But right now . . .”
“I need to move my ass.”
He smiled, a genuine smile, the first she’d seen from him, his eyes crinkling. “Exactly. Now, if we go this way—”
He wheeled, head jerking up as if hearing something. Then he spun back, big hand slamming her between the shoulder blades, and hissing,“Down!” She hit the ground, her sore shoulder knocking against a tree trunk. She swallowed a gasp of pain as he dropped beside her.
“Isn’t this where they’re supposed to be?” a voice asked.
Another answered, more distant, muffled. Robyn tried to listen, but all she could think about was Damon, here, right here with her, watching her, and everything she wanted to say, and how much she’d give to hear his voice, just hear him. She squeezed her eyes shut. How greedy was that? Only hours ago she’d have given anything for this much—the chance to know he was truly and beyond doubt someplace, that he was okay, that they would get the chance they’d been denied that night on the highway, those last moments to say everything that hadn’t been said, that it always seemed there’d be time—days, months, years—to say.
“Shit! It’s Solheim. He’s been knocked out.”
That snapped Robyn back to the present. She tried to creep forward for a better look, but Finn laid his arm over her back, holding her down.
“Solheim, come on, wake up.”
A groggy “Wha—?”
“Goddamn it, you were supposed to take care of them. You fucked up, didn’t you? They saw you pull your sidearm.”
“Wha—? No, I never— It’s right here. I—I was looking through the binoculars, then . . .”
Robyn didn’t catch the rest, her mind looping back to the first bit. Take care of them? Pull his sidearm? She remembered trudging through the forest, Finn glancing back at Solheim, her thinking he looked like a prisoner being led to a firing squad.
Because he was.
No, that was crazy. Why would—?
Why not? Finn was right. These men weren’t police officers.
Running footsteps crashed through the forest. “Solheim, Barrett, Mac! Alvarez needs you up front. Something’s going down.” The footfalls stopped. “You took care of them, right?”
“They got away. We were just—”
“Shit! No. We need all hands up front. Their car is disabled, right? You managed that, I hope.”
A chilly, “Yes, sir.”
“Then, Solheim, scout the perimeter. Don’t let them escape. Barrett, Mac, follow me.”
When they were gone, Finn helped Robyn to her feet.
“We need to warn Hope and Karl,” she said.
“I know. You still have the gun?”
She reached into her jacket. It slid out easily now. All in the angle, she supposed.