Her “other person” was probably expecting her. He threw out additional enticement. “Some interesting things about the cave…if the kids haven’t vandalized them since I was here last.”
“Are vandals a problem?” Kyndal’s brows knitted.
“You decide for yourself.” He pulled a battery-operated lantern from his backpack.
“Whoa!” Kyndal leaned back, squinting against the light shining in her face. “You’re packing a big one!”
“Well, you ought to know.”
Kyndal snorted at his innuendo. Her eyes darted away before coming back to meet his. “I remember reading somewhere that alcohol shrinks the male genitals.” She let her eyes drift downward, stop to squint at his crotch, then brought them back up to lock with his. “Sooo, how much drinking did you do at Hah-vahd?”
The last word dripped with sarcasm, more biting than funny, and it wasn’t difficult to read the tension in her posture. The merest mention of their past and she’d gone from friendly to pissed in thirty seconds. He would heed the warning and watch what he said. No use getting her riled for the short time they were going to be together.
He turned the lantern so the beam illuminated the dark end of the entry room, bringing to life the neon paint graffiti from the past two months that marred the beauty of the past ten thousand years. Beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor.
Kyndal’s gasp spoke her horror at the sight.
“My feelings exactly.” His stomach turned at every name scrawled across the limestone. Levi. Mattie. Rachel. Brant. “‘Fools’ names like fools’ faces—’”
“‘Always seen in public places.’” Kyndal shook her head slowly. “This is awful. How can they do this? Why do they do this?” Anger and sadness flashed in her eyes, which deepened to emerald in the dim light.
“They’re just young.” He shrugged, not really having an answer. “They don’t realize how special it is.”
“We were young, too, but we knew exactly how special it was.” Her eyes widened. The words hadn’t meant to be spoken, but had somehow escaped. She bit her lip and turned away, moving closer toward the wall of names. “Will anything take it off?” She skimmed the wall with her fingertips, a mother soothing a wounded child.
“Time.”
“Time.” She heaved a sigh. “Heals all wounds.” She pulled her camera from the pack and made a few shots of the names.
Her back was toward him, and the light caught in her black hair, which hung loose and sleek. He itched to touch it, to run his hand down it and into it, to turn her around and look into those emerald eyes, to run his fingers from her temples to the tips of those strands of black silk.
He raised his arm, stretched his fingers hesitantly.
Don’t be stupid.
He dropped his hand back to his side and breathed. “C’mon.”
They stopped for a few minutes to survey the damage in the next room. No permanent damage, but clear indications of what the teens had been up to. A couple of air mattresses surrounded by handfuls of condom wrappers, empty liquor bottles, some roach clips and meth pipes. When Buck had used the term orgy, Chance thought he was exaggerating.
Kyndal cleared her throat self-consciously, but remained silent. Did the leftover sexual litter remind her of their time there, the way it did him? Talking about it felt too edgy, so he kept quiet, as well.
Leading the way through passages long familiar to him, he pulled her into the adjoining cavern and then deeper into another one.
“You know where you’re going?” Her voice held an edge of skepticism.
“Yep.” He turned the beam of light onto a slab of limestone that looked slightly out of place—as if it had fallen from the ceiling and had been propped against the wall. He let go of her hand and pushed the slab to one side revealing a narrow tunnel. “We have to crawl through, but it’s not very far.”
Kyndal bent down for a look. When she raised back up, her eyes were hooded with doubt.
“If you want your backpack, you’ll have to take it off and shift it through ahead of you. It might be easier to hang your camera around your neck, but push it around to your back.”
Her derisive sigh let him know he’d better not be wasting her precious time, but she shrugged out of her backpack. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Brennan.” She gave him a push. “You first.”
“I know what I’m doing,” he assured her. “I’m going to show you one reason I think Old Man Turner ran