Aftershocks (12 page)

It wasn’t working. No matter what anti-Zoe things Grant tried to think of, she filled his senses and his brain.

When she’d said it had been a mistake to come, he wanted to agree with her. He had enough adventure in his paying job. A job that didn’t dredge up the worst of his past.

But he couldn’t hurt her like that, which proved he was too far gone. This wasn’t just about nostalgia and scent memories. At some point since she arrived—hell, maybe the minute he’d seen her on that bike, coming down the road—he’d known he’d lied to his mother. The reason he’d never had a long-term relationship was because none of the women was Zoe.

He handed her a dripping glass and watched her dry it. She did it the same way she’d done when they were kids, washing dishes at the yacht club every night. She dried the bottom, then the sides, turning the glass around and around until she could see no external moisture. Then she tucked the towel down deep into the glass and spun it until it was dry. Then she placed it in the open cupboard over the sink.

She was lost in thought, or pretending to be, no longer putting any expectations on him, neither for retrieving the totems or over their shared history.

Over. It really wasn’t. Didn’t matter that she wanted to go back to her life. Nothing was over between them. What was more, he knew it was mutual. She’d thought because her back was to him, he couldn’t see her movements. But the angle of the sun on the glass door had cast her reflection, and he’d seen what was in her hand.

His sand dollar.

The realization had wrenched something inside him, twisting him back to the day she’d refused him. She didn’t know she’d turned his life to shrapnel that day. In some ways, for the good. She’d made him evaluate his intentions and whether his willingness to settle for a certain kind of life was a disservice.

He and Jordie hadn’t been close, being years apart and very different. Jordie always seemed to make the wrong decisions, getting himself into trouble no matter what he did. Grant had been a good student with decent friends and disgust for thoughtless, destructive behavior. Jordie’s death had added a dark weight to his family’s lives, but in some ways, nothing changed. In others, they even got better.

Still, Grant had been prepared to lead a solid, blue-collar life the way his parents had until Zoe challenged him. When he strove for more, he’d wound up fighting against the consequences of the types of choices Jordie had made, as well as the kind of people—like Pat and Freddie—who pushed others in the wrong direction. That was how he’d wound up here, with the skill set and connections Zoe needed. Full circle, indeed.

The sun was setting by the time they finished the dishes and went out on the deck with a couple of bottles of beer. Grant let Zoe have the sling chair, and he dragged one of the kitchen chairs outside. They watched the seagulls wheel and dive, looking for scraps the beachgoers had left behind, and waited for the dim glow of the sun to fade. It was intimate, and Grant was content to let it be.

But it didn’t last.

“I want to ask what’s next,” she said, “but I’m afraid I already know.”

“Research.”

“Yep, that’s what made me afraid.”

He held back a sigh. Fine. They could focus on business. “There’s an Internet café at the other end of the island. Same street as the hotel, which doesn’t offer access.” He paused, but she didn’t say anything, which meant she expected to stay there. “You find out whatever you can on the history of the totems, what the story is. We know they wanted you for a ritual. What’s the goal?”

Zoe cringed, and he almost reached out a comforting hand. But that wasn’t what she wanted from him.

“You don’t have Internet here?” She frowned skeptically.

“I have a wired connection. One jack, no WiFi.” He hid his grin at her sigh behind his beer. When she didn’t say anything else, he went on, “Legends like that tend to splinter the more they’re told. So digging down to the base story can help us know what we’re facing.”

She tipped up her beer, swallowing audibly. “They could be a guide to treasure,” she said. “Because of the key.”

The key. He hadn’t known anything about a key. He forced himself to remember his last moments with his brother. The endless, over-in-a-second trip back to their house. Jordie had told him a story about magical totems that gave great power, including the power to heal. Grant had been too terrified and in too much pain to focus on the meaning, even as the words burned into his brain.

But Jordie hadn’t mentioned a key. That had only been part of the record because of Zoe’s testimony. “You have no idea what the key is?”

“No.”

“See if you can find mention of that, too.”

“There’s a problem,” she said. Grant waited. “I’m on a cash basis from here on.”

“You need money?” he asked automatically, then felt foolish. Of course she didn’t need money.

“No, I have enough cash to cover at least a couple of weeks. But Internet cafés usually want a credit card to charge for your time on the computer.”

And there it was. The first disconnect between the kinds of lives they lived.

“Probably in the chi-chi cafés in Boston and Europe and wherever else you might have used them, they do. But in places like here, they don’t cater to the rich or comfortable. Their customers are like me. They take cash.”

Zoe didn’t take the bait. “Okay. You’re right, I didn’t realize that would be the case. So it will be fine.” She stood and set her half-empty bottle on the rail. “I’d better head down there. It’s getting dark.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Of course not. I rode down here, I can ride back.” She stepped down to the sand, and Grant followed her to the bike she’d propped against the wall of the shack.

“Did you check it over when you rented it?” He squinted at the tires and gauged the straightness of the handlebars. “Chain okay? Enough air in the tires?”

“I checked it over fine.” She pulled it out of his way. “It’s fine. With no cars allowed at this end of the island, a business like that would keep its rentals in good shape. Accidents due to lack of maintenance aren’t good marketing.”

Grant shook his head. “We’re not a tourist destination, Zo. You’re thinking too much like a consumer.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue.

“Call me when you get down there, all right?” He caught her hand and scrawled his number on her palm with the pen he’d tucked behind his ear, somehow managing not to react when a connection zinged between them, warmth seeping from the point of contact, the same sense of rightness he felt when he returned home from a mission.

He released her hand slowly, careful not to scratch the soft skin with his battered ones. “Be careful.”

Zoe’s eyes glittered in the twilight, and a few seconds passed before she said, “I will,” and rode off.

Grant knew she’d felt the same thing he had. She’d deny it, or dismiss it, but he knew what it was.

And he started to question how noble he was going to be able to be.

* * *

Zoe pedaled steadily until the first curve in the road took her behind a stand of mangroves. The back tire skidded a little when she braked on the shoulder, and she hopped to keep her balance. Her breathing echoed in the still air, as if she’d pedaled up a hill instead of across completely flat land.

This wasn’t going to work.

“Kellen,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to pull up his image. It didn’t want to come. She couldn’t get the stupid smell of dead fish out of her nostrils, and she could feel Grant all around her. Her hands tightened on the handlebars until they ached, but she couldn’t change it.

“Shit.”

She pushed off, hard, and pedaled as fast as she could to the other, more populated end of the island. She had to dodge kids and couples coming off the beach and out of the restaurants as they geared up for the nightly parties. Grant had said this wasn’t a tourist island, but the people here followed the same patterns as one. Soon there would be music pounding out of the open-air bars and people dancing on the sand. Tonight, it was too similar to the way Pat’s gang had acted so many nights, and her skin tried to crawl away with her inside it.

She turned in the bike and retrieved her tote from the locker she’d stowed it in, then headed straight for the two-story hotel that dominated the end of the beach. She hoped they had a room. She hadn’t wanted to check in before seeing Grant in case he was out on a job or refused to talk to her. If that had been the case, she wouldn’t have stayed. She didn’t know what she’d have done.

The lobby of the hotel was bright and airy, decorated with palms and ferns that hid the places where the paint chipped off the stucco. A bucket near one wall caught a drip of water every few seconds. Zoe paused, disconcerted. The lobby was on the first floor, presumably under guest rooms. One of which was apparently leaking.

There were no other hotels on the island, so she approached the smiling man at the counter.

“I’d like a room for tonight, please.”

“Certainly, ma’am. Just one night?”

“No. Indefinite.”

His smile faded a little and he squinted at the screen. “I can give you four nights. After that we are full for three.”

“It’s fine.” Zoe would deal with that later. She couldn’t really plan more than a day ahead at this point, anyway. She paid for all four nights in cash, since she didn’t want to give a credit card and risk her location being traced. The clerk assured her she could get a refund if she checked out early.

The room he assigned her was on the beach side of the building, but she didn’t bother to check the view. Dropping her tote onto the desk chair, she fell onto the surprisingly plush bed and buried her face in her arms. Then she let go.

The memory leading the swarm was the worst one. The source of the phantom dead fish odor that kept plaguing her.

It was the end of their final summer at the lake. Grant had just turned nineteen, a birthday she faced two months later, and he’d told her a few days before that he was about to make all their dreams come true. She hadn’t really thought about what that meant. Her dreams were already coming true. She was leaving for Amherst College in Massachusetts in two days and had scored enough scholarships, grants, and financial aid to get her through two years there. More, if she didn’t eat a lot and got a second job in addition to the on-campus work program. She was in love with a great guy, her best friend, and while they were parting for a while, she knew that wouldn’t hurt their relationship. They’d shared too much.

Their last night at the lake, Grant had picked her up at the girls’ bunkhouse and they’d gone down to the deserted dock, where they ate the picnic dinner he’d scored from the yacht club kitchen. Someone had left a bait bucket and remnants nearby, but the odor hadn’t bothered her. Not at first.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” Grant had said.

“Not me.” Zoe grimaced and ate a carrot stick from the vegetable plate. “Being ordered around by rich guys who have no idea how to take care of the boats they had their assistants buy for them? Treated like trash when those ‘assistants’ don’t need me for something? I’m glad to say goodbye to it.”

“Yeah, me, too, but the rest of it. The water, the sailing. You.” He threaded his hand through hers and she smiled.

“We don’t need the lake. We just need each other.”

Grant nodded, but she watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and sat up. “Um. Did you…find out about your roommate yet?”

Zoe didn’t think that was what he’d been about to say, but she answered, describing the letter she’d received the day before, forwarded with a last care package from her mother.

“Did you save me some of those cookies?”

“Of course.” She rummaged in her patchwork shoulder bag and pulled out the plastic-wrapped pile. “The other girls saw the package, so I had to share, but Mom always has a batch wrapped up separately for you.”

Grant grinned and snatched one of the cookies. “Your mom is so cool.”

“Yeah.” Mention of her mom, as always, dredged up feelings of failure and regret. “She comes through.” With cookies, anyway. Zoe bit into one, letting the vanilla and chocolate ease away the sourness.

“You going home first, before you go to Amherst?”

She sighed. “I guess. I don’t want to, but there’s stuff there I need, and it will break their hearts if I don’t.”

Grant nodded and swallowed his third cookie. Zoe watched him feel his pocket, and her stomach went cold. Her breath caught, and she wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety or anticipation.

“Zoe,” Grant began, and now she found it hard to swallow.

“Yeah?”

“I, um, have something for you.”

Her breath waited in her lungs. He didn’t move for several seconds, then suddenly shoved his hand into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out something small, something she couldn’t see. She touched the small gold sand dollar at her throat. He’d given her the necklace last year, with money he’d saved all summer, something to remind her of him during the long, cold midwest winter when they would be lucky to see each other once or twice. This separation would be longer and more difficult, since he’d be doing ROTC at Wright State in Dayton, Ohio, hundreds of miles away from her. So maybe he had—