Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,109
in the foliage.
Wara tensed and huddled into the comforting familiarity of the guitar, totally aware that her reaction to the sound was overkill. This was a ranch, after all. Squirrels and birds did live in the trees that surrounded her, and yellowed leaves were constantly crunching their way to the ground now that fall was in full swing. But after the bus accident in Bolivia she had been kidnapped and nearly killed by the Muslim group who had bombed her bus. So unexpected sounds made her a little nervous. That was ok, wasn’t it?
“Holy cow!”
She shrieked without meaning to, nearly dropping the guitar on her toes. Because all of a sudden, defying her expectations that the little noise would end up being a stray squirrel scuttling around in the trees, a solid male figure emerged from the shadows. She fizzled with adrenaline, vision full of a broad-shouldered man, skin the color of a mocha latte, wearing a black shirt and brown corduroys.
“Holy cow!” she gasped again, less fear and more irritation lacing her voice now. The intruder was now out of the shadows, holding up two tan hands in a gesture meant to calm her down. The dark curls that had hung around his collar were gone, but those clear hazel eyes were unmistakable. All the seven Martir children had them.
“Wara. It’s me,” he said, only adding more fuel to the storm of adrenaline and annoyance lashing her insides.
Alejo Martir. Was here. At her house in Montana.
The ex-leader of the Prism, the group that tried to kill her. He had been behind the bomb that killed Noah on the bus. And then he had left everything to behind to save Wara.
“You…you scared the beejeebers out of me!” she managed, feeling herself scowl. She had never imagined she would see him here. Sure, in Bolivia they had both been recruited by a man named Rupert to work with an organization called CI. Wara had known she would see Alejo again, next week when they set off on an exploratory trip to make their final decision about working with CI in the future. But for goodness sake, she was supposed to have the weekend still to deal with this before seeing Alejo again!
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. Yes, this was the friendly Midwest, but Wara recognized not the tiniest hint of welcome in her voice. Now, she was just plain irate.
And scared.
Some of the spark in Alejo’s hazel eyes faded. “Last week we said we’d meet up on the trip, since we’re both headed the same way. And in Bolivia I said I’d find you. And here you are. In Montana.”
Well. Because Alejo had asked her to forgive him, they’d talked on the phone for a few minutes every couple weeks since Bolivia. It gave Wara the opportunity to say something decent to the brother of her best friend Nazaret, instead of simmering with anger and resentment towards him for what he had done.
“See you soon, then,” Alejo had said over her cell a week ago.
“I—I’m sorry,” Wara exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. They opened to Alejo crossing the space between them tentatively, then offering a hand in greeting. They cheek-smooched mechanically, Bolivian-style, and Alejo cautiously took a seat on the other extreme of the bench. He looked younger with his hair shaved, face smoothed of many of the tortured lines that had marked it three months earlier. The light in his eye flickered, begging Wara to let it come back to life as she had promised him through forgiveness after what he’d done.
She could let the light live, or blow it back out.
Her heart hurt as she crossed her arms over her gray Henley top and tried the hint of a smile. “I’m…really sorry. I just really wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know,” Alejo’s lips twisted into a smile. “I just thought I’d drop by so we could take the trip to Morocco together. I could carry your stuff. And I, uh, thought I could see where you live, maybe meet your parents.”
Wara fought for polite words, all the while nearly swallowing her tongue. “Meet my parents?” She blinked hard against the memory of Alejo’s first connecting with her face, the sudden gravity as she spun into the dirt and collapsed. Alejo pressing the hunting knife to her throat and dragging her into the forest.
This guy was a killer.
And her best friend Nazaret’s brother.
And, insanely, her possible future co-worker.
A little panicked, her gaze flitted around her little sanctuary of trees,