Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,20
her belly. She’d been distracted – and after she’d just been thinking that she couldn’t allow that – and she hadn’t heard him drop back and fall into step beside her. Getting sloppy. She blamed it on fatigue.
“No,” she said, giving another tug on her jacket collar. “Not really.”
“Hungry?” he asked, undeterred.
Her stomach growled, and she hoped he hadn’t heard it. “I could eat.”
“Come on. There’s a place just up here that does kebabs.”
Hunger, like fatigue, had become one of those sensations that necessitated action, but which didn’t concern her imagination. When she got hungry, it was a bother; she ate some bland mess hall food to refuel, and kept going.
But when Lance led her to a stall with its steel panels propped open to let out lantern light, and deliciously fragrant steam, her stomach rumbled not just with hunger, but with want. It smelled heavenly, and she realized her mouth was watering already; that she was sniffing the air appreciatively and anticipating the spice and warmth and grease of the meal to come, just as she had in Beck’s kitchen.
They settled into the back of the line to wait behind other eager, jacketed patrons, and she realized they’d lost Gavin and Gallo somewhere along the way.
She craned her neck to look over the bobbing, hatted heads of the other shoppers. “He’s not going to get Frankie into some kind of trouble, is he?”
“Only the good kind,” Lance assured.
She sent him a look.
He smirked. “The fun kind.”
“Hookers,” she said, flatly. “’Cause that’s a good idea.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on. Guys – people – need to let off some steam. Especially with what we do for a living. It’s harmless.”
“Is that where you’re headed after this? To let off steam?”
His brows lifted, head tilting. Thoughtful. “And if I was?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Would that bother you?”
“No.” But she could hear the way her tone was too sharp; knew she didn’t have her expression under control. Took a breath, tried to school her features, and said, “That’s none of my business.”
“It’s not,” he said, not unkindly. “But you seem to care.”
She opened her mouth to respond – then saw the hint of a smile in his eyes, and pressed her own lips tightly together. Felt an embarrassed flush come up in her cheeks. He’d gotten her; she could grant him that. Not that she’d say it.
“Ha,” he said, letting the smile break through. “So you’re not made of stone.”
The line shuffled forward, and she stuck her hands in her pockets and faced ahead, face overly warm.
Lance shuffled beside her, keeping pace. “That wasn’t an insult, you know. It’s a good thing you’re not made of stone. You don’t have to be cold to be a good soldier.”
She darted him a questioning look, one she retracted when she saw the way he was looking at her: with a patience and gentleness she didn’t have the capacity to handle right now.
“We do some dark shit, don’t get me wrong,” he went on. “It’ll give you nightmares, no doubt. I figure you’re used to those.”
She found herself nodding.
“But we’re also a team. And the only way to be an effective part of a team is to give a damn about the guys – and girls – walking into the fire beside you. It hurts like hell if something happens.” His voice grew soft. “But you have to care. That’s the only thing that makes this job worth it.”
They moved up again, and when she glanced toward him, he was staring off across the chatting, milling crowd. “I thought you said you forgot the name of the last Knight you lost.”
A low blow. Vicious, really.
She didn’t use to be cruel, before Beck died.
“It was Craw- Cromwell.” She didn’t think he sounded sure about that. “And he was much less memorable than you.” The little smirk that followed confirmed what she’d been suspecting for weeks, now: that he liked her.
A misplaced sense of guilt, most likely. He felt responsible for her, because he’d been there the night she lost Beck. Because his boss – even if it had been an op rather than a true loyalty – was the reason she was here in the first place.
She didn’t want him to like her.
The couple in front of them moved off, food in-hand, and they were at the counter, then. Rose’s stomach gave another growl of interest as she caught sight of cooks turning kebabs on a flaming grill; the up-close scent of