Ashfall (2 page)

She closed her journal and put her head down on the desk, her body and soul too weary to think anymore.

The ham radio next to the desk let out a squawk, and she nearly came out of her skin.

“CQ. CQ. This is Rescue248. Is anyone using this frequency?” a man asked.

The voice coming over the line was deep, with a rough voice as rich and sensual as velvet. It sent a sweet shiver all through her. Physically she hadn’t reacted to a male voice like that in a long time and the thrill it started deep in her stomach surprised her. She’d given up on men a long time ago after her last relationship.

She immediately answered. “Rescue248 this is RomWriter148.”

Static sprinkled over the line. More times than not a voice would drop in and drop out. She hadn’t spent any time on the ham in the last month, but this man’s voice drew her curiosity.

“RomWriter148, how are you doing?” the man asked.

He sounded young, but not too young. But if he looked anything like he sounded…wow.

“I’m solid, Rescue248. Where are you at?” she asked.

“Buckleport, Maine.”

A local.

“You’re not a native to Maine, are you?” She heard something in his voice, and it wasn’t the typical Maine accent.

“No. Louisiana.”

Ah, that explained the certain exotic sound. It was there lingering like smoke after a long extinguished fire. “Where in Louisiana?”

“New Orleans.”

“Oh. Did you make out all right during Katrina?”

“I wasn’t there when the hurricane happened. My grandparents were flooded out, but they evacuated in time so they were safe.”

“Good to hear. What brought you to Maine?”

“My paternal grandparents lived up here for a long time. I shipped them out to England after Long Valley went ape.”

For some weird reason she asked, “What’s in England?”

“Safety. Relatively speaking.”

“Of course.”

“They have friends that offered them a home.” Sadness vibrated in his voice.

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“My job is here.”

“What job is so important you wouldn’t take the chance to escape if you had the chance?”

Another pause, this one shorter than the last. “I work for a company called Sentry Security.”

She’d heard of Sentry Security long ago. They were a Maine-based private security company. The man could be, as they say, blowing smoke up her ass. Making himself sound important and macho. Yet nothing in his tone said arrogant. Only matter-of-fact. She’d run into plenty of other men in the security business because her father had hired bodyguards before and had insisted she have them, too. When she’d complained to her father that some of them liked to boss her around, he’d ignored her complaints.

She decided to play dumb and see what Rescue248 said.

“What does Sentry Security do?”

“Bodyguard duty and other types of security. Hostage rescue.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She tried to picture what this guy looked like. Her imagination ran to gorgeous and ripped, but what were the actual chances of that? And why did she actually care? It wasn’t as if she’d ever find out.

“So how does one get into bodyguard work?” she asked.

Rescue248 laughed softly—a sound that made a tingle roll through her, both delicious and somehow forbidden.
Wow. This guy should bottle and sell that voice.

“I got into it by sheer chance,” he said. “The man who founded the company was recruiting when I was looking for work.”

“Guess there won’t be much call for protecting celebrities in California for a while.” She tried to imagine him working for some rich woman as an overpriced pool boy. Okay, that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know jack about this guy. Which meant she shouldn’t give
him
too much information.

He cleared his throat. “We’ve never done that kind of security work. This company used to take contracts overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“Did you? I mean, work for them while they did contracts?”

“No.”

She must have paused too long, because he changed the subject. “Where are you at, RomWriter148?”

“Same town as you.” It slipped out before she could make up some bullshit.

“You shouldn’t tell guys that.”

She laughed, an explosion of indignant sound. “So why did you ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me.” Humor colored his voice. “Sorry. I’ve got safety on the brain. Can’t be too careful.”

“I agree. Long Valley gave us a whole new set of safety rules I suppose,” she said and went quiet.

“Hey, you there RomWriter148?” he asked softly.

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“What do you do?”

Good way to distract her, and she knew it.

She braced. Most macho men, in her experience, made fun of her occupation. “I’m a romance author.”

“Awesome. I’m very impressed.”

His voice sounded silky, and she couldn’t decide if he was intrigued with the romance part or impressed because she was any type of writer at all.

So she decided it was better to ask than wonder. “Impressed with the writing or with the romance?”

“Both. Anything published?”

“Yes. Ten books. I’ve been doing it quite a few years.”

“I’m even more impressed.”

“Well, thanks, but publishers aren’t much interested in manuscripts these days. Not even from people who escaped the initial disaster and have dramatic stories to tell.”

“Why not? People still want to read.”

“Not as many as you’d think. They’re just trying to survive.”

“Got that right.”

A voice intruded way in the background, another rough-and-ready deep masculine voice. “Hey man. My turn. Get the hell off the box.”

“Roger that,” Rescue248 said. “Gotta go RomWriter148.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

A hesitation made her wonder if he’d already signed off, but then he asked, “Hey RomWriter148, will you be available tomorrow?”

Immediately she craved more connection with that rumbling, unforgettable voice. “Definitely. Same time?”

“Yep. Two o’clock tomorrow then.”

“Roger out, RomWriter148.”

He’d signed off, and when she looked at the clock she wished it were two o’clock tomorrow afternoon and she was listening to the smooth, sexy voice of Rescue248.

Mally stopped typing and exited the word processing program on her laptop. She closed the computer and put it on the coffee table in front of her. She was sprawled on her couch topside, enjoying the sun streaming in the windows even though it was muted by the tinted windows and the ash fall that had entered the high atmosphere. She wondered if she could smell the ash if she went outside. She glanced at her wristwatch and jumped from the couch. Almost two o’clock. She ran downstairs, eagerness nipping at her heels. She realized at the bunker door that she was acting like an idiot. She’d been burned several times when she hadn’t realized men were interested in her money and not her. She kept hoping she could find a man who appreciated
her.
Regardless, she went into the bunker and crossed the living room and into the office and headed for the ham radio.

She waited patiently for Rescue248 to sign on. All day she’d worked on her manuscript, fortified by an energy she hadn’t felt in some time. During that time, she thought of her mysterious Rescue248. She’d inherited her father’s paranoia, and one half of her distrusted strangers with a passion. Oh yes, she’d seen enough even from her compound to know that many people had lost whatever ethics they had in the mad panic of apocalypse. Sure, there were some good people out there, but she hadn’t tried to find them. The risk factor was too extreme. On the other hand, Rescue248 had sounded…she didn’t know. Different. Trustworthy. Confident. His voice had engendered new enthusiasm and energy inside her. She didn’t understand it but decided to ignore her confusion and just write.

She waited by the radio, staring at it. Two came and went. At two ten a hollowness started inside her. She stood and started out of the room. The radio squawked, and she almost came out of her skin.

She put one hand to her chest. “Shit.”

“CQ. CQ. This is Rescue248. RomWriter148 are you there?” Rescue248’s deep voice broke the silence.

With a smile she strode back to the radio. “Rescue248, this is RomWriter148. Come back.”

“Hey, RomWriter148. Sorry I’m late. Work went to hell. I just got home.”

“Body guarding?”

“You could say that.”

Right.
“You work strange hours.”

“I do.”

“Look if you’re going to be mysterious we don’t need to do this. It isn’t like I’m dating you or something.” Mally regretted the flippant words the moment they escaped.

“Whoa. Hold on.” His voice stayed calm and conciliatory. “I’m very punctual normally. We had a client from a large corporation that needed an escort, and the guy was a douchebag. Dealing with him was a major problem. But he pays well, and my boss took the contract. I do my job.”

Regret filled her. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry. I…I’m a punctual person. Not that I’ve had to be anywhere on time for a long while.”

“It’s all right.”

“No it isn’t. I’m also not usually rude.”

“Give yourself a break. These are weird times. We all do things we wouldn’t have done…before Long Valley.”

He was dead right. She was even willing to ask questions and say things she wouldn’t have before. “Are you talking about yourself?”

“I’ve had a few challenges. It hasn’t been easy. But I won’t compromise my integrity. I won’t do anything illegal.”

All she had was his word. “That’s good.”

A pause hung there before he said, “Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice took her a bit by surprise. “I’m good. I’ve been writing like crazy. I’m happy for the inspiration.”

“What inspires you?”

“These days? I don’t know. I have no clue.”

“Come on, I don’t believe that. Before Long Valley…what made you want to write?”

“That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all afternoon.”

She settled deeper into the leather swivel chair. “I don’t know where to start.” She shrugged even though she realized he couldn’t see her. “It’s just something inside me that’s always there. I’m happiest when I’m writing. It’s a passion.”

“When did you start writing?”

“When I was fifteen. I’ve always loved to read, too.”

“So have I. I’ve never read a romance, though.” Amusement entered his voice. “But I don’t know any men who have.”

“Surprise, surprise.” She smiled, liking the direction toward humor. “Let me guess. You read sci-fi.”

“Good guess. I read some sci-fi, mystery. True crime and biographies.”

“Typical guy stuff.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. I like those genres, too. Imagine that. I’ve got something in common with a security dude.” Something made her ask, “What did you do before you worked for Sentry Security?”

“I was in the Air Force. A pararescueman.”

She’d heard of them. Who hadn’t? They were a special forces-type unit that went in and rescued military and civilians in war zones. They had elite combat and medical experience all wrapped up in one package.

“Impressive,” she said.

“Yeah, well…” He almost sounded embarrassed. “I loved doing it. It wasn’t work to me.”

“We’re two rare people, then.”

“How’s that?”

“Most people never work in a job they really love. Why aren’t you still in pararescue?”

“I was in Iraq on a mission. When we went in for an extraction we were ambushed. We got off the ground but I was hit by a bullet. Broke my right ankle. That was the end of my career. I got out on a medical.”

Her suspicious mind grabbed hold of that tidbit. “But you’re healthy enough to be a bodyguard?”

“The doctors didn’t think I could hack the physical demands of the military job. The security company didn’t believe that.”

“Did you believe it when you first got out of the military?”

“I tried to convince the air force they didn’t need to kick me out.” He sighed. “It was an honorable discharge. I had that.”

“You’d rather be rescuing people right now.”

“Yeah. But…I can still keep people safe. Or try to.”

Another pause came between them, and she almost panicked for a wild moment, thinking she’d lost him. “At least we’re heading into summer. We made it through the last two snowstorms. That’s a plus.”

“Washed the air clean.”

Mally’s curiosity made her ask, “Do you have any other family?”

“Maternal grandparents. My father died in the first Gulf War. He was Army infantry. My mother died a year after that.”

Deep sympathy tore at her. She understood the pain too well. Remembering her own mother at that moment tightened her guts into a knot. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He went silent for a bit. “My maternal grandparents are a piece of work, though. They’re in Kentucky.”

“I take it something isn’t right between you?”

“That sums it up.”

“What did they do?” She was being nosy as hell, but she didn’t care.

“They’re bigots. Certified cliché, back country, hillbilly bigots.”

“And?”

“My paternal grandmother is mixed race. African-American and white. My paternal grandfather is Cajun. When my mother married my dad her parents disowned her and have nothing to do with me. I’m an only child.” His voice had a hard edge to it, almost broken glass.

“Oh.” She drew the sound out a bit.

“This is where some women get turned off right away and dump me, so if you have any problems with—”

“What?” She was instantly indignant. “No. I’m not a bigot.” Static suddenly squealed over the line. Urgency compelled her to talk again. “Rescue248 are you there?”

“Yeah.” His voice had turned to granite, doubt still ridged along the syllable. “Sorry. I’ve just had that happen a couple of times.”

“Even if a woman knows you well before she finds out your genetic makeup?” She asked with sarcasm.

“Yep. I was dating this girl from Texas once. I was on my last tour in Iraq, and she was an air force nurse. We started to get serious and when I told her about my family…well, that was it.”