Night Resurrected (34 page)

Strangers wouldn’t matter to them.

But she had some time to think. And

maybe Vaughn would have a solution.

No one knew she was here, in his

private suite—and Remy wished she

weren’t. She should be down on the

ground, in the remains of the party,

helping to clean up. Helping . . .

whoever needed help. Whoever might be

buried in the rubble.

Her throat closed up. She wasn’t

going to think about Wyatt.

Instead, she made herself focus on

inane things, like her surroundings. Not

only was the mayor’s suite much larger

than the room she was staying in, but it

had a small kitchen area, a living room,

two bathrooms and a bedroom, plus the

office. Spacious. Clean and bright. High

off the ground. Very unlike any living

area she’d known.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the

mirror as she stalked past it. Good grief.

What a mess! Dirty face, soot-streaked

and exhausted. Eyes bloodshot and

puffy. Hair falling in a terrible tangled

mass. Her white dress was more gray

and brown than white and sported a

bloodstain on one side, not to mention

dirt along the hem, thanks to Ian.

She couldn’t hold back the twitch of

a humorless smile. He was probably

still nursing the clout she’d given him on

the head with an empty beer bottle.

Served him right for trying to manhandle

her off somewhere . . . wherever.

Even now she wasn’t certain whether

it had been good fortune that she’d

encountered Vaughn shortly after, still in

the midst of the chaos. But he seemed to

have been looking for her, and he

seemed to know what to do right away.

“Hide yourself,” he muttered, pulling her

away from the craziness. “Keep safe

until we figure out what to do.”

Remy looked at herself again. A

shower wouldn’t be a bad idea. She had

nothing better to do, and who knew how

long it would be before Vaughn

returned?

But time was ticking . . .

It was beneath the rhythmic pounding

of the water that she let herself go. The

warm cascade—nearly as hot as Flo’s—

was like a catalyst for the release of her

emotions. She let the tears come, her

sobs deep and harsh. Confusion. Stress.

Fear. Loneliness.

Grief.

Wyatt
.

How could she feel such a sense of

loss for a man she hardly knew? That

she wasn’t even sure she liked? The

image of the roof caving in over him

replayed in her mind over and over . . .

and there was no happy ending.

No one could survive that. She knew

it.

What she didn’t know was why it

affected her so deeply.

Maybe it was because he was the

only one who knew about the crystal,

who understood what she’d been

through. She’d lost the only person she

could talk to.

Or because of the stoic, matter-of-

fact way he’d said,
That’s what I do. I

risk my ass. For people.
And the way

he’d always just seemed to turn up when

she needed something, whether she

wanted him to or not.

And now the world was less such a

man. An arrogant, angry man with a good

heart. A man battling himself and

everyone around him. Her eyes stung.

The memory of him sitting in the

semi-truck trailer, staring down at the

children’s books . . . the empty, dark pits

of his eyes, filled with hell and grief.

Are you at peace now, Wyatt? Are you

with them?

The tears came with a ferocity she

hadn’t expected.

Remy didn’t know how long she was

in the shower, sobbing, soaking, trying to

numb herself from the horror of her

reality: that the Strangers had found her,

that she was a hostage for an entire city,

that the one man she trusted and cared

about was dead . . . but it wasn’t until

someone knocked on the bathroom door

that

she

became

aware

of

her

surroundings once more.

“Yes?” she called, grabbing a towel

and turning off the water, which had

gone cool. Her fingers were so wrinkled

she wondered if they’d ever smooth out

again.

“Remy, are you all right?” It was

Vaughn. He didn’t open the door; he

didn’t even try—and he could have, for

she’d not thought to lock it. He just

called through the barrier.

“I’m fine. Be out in a minute.” She

rushed. Maybe he had some news. Or a

solution.

Maybe she shouldn’t rush, because

the news might not be what she wanted

to hear.

He had large, soft, fluffy towels. A

little threadbare in places—they must be

old—but still, more luxurious than she’d

ever experienced. She wrapped one

around her hair and used the other to dry

herself, considered wearing it out into

the living room. There was no way she

was going to put that filthy dress and

those underthings back on. They lay in a

pile on the floor just outside the

bathroom door. The crystal was still

attached to its silver chain, hidden by the

folds of cloth. As soon as Vaughn left

again, she would retrieve the gem.

When she saw the large robe hanging

on the back of the door, she got herself

into that and padded out of the bathroom,

hair still dripping.

“I thought you might want some clean

clothes,” Vaughn said as she appeared.

His rugged face appeared drawn and

exhausted and his eyes were sober and

worried. Dirt and soot streaked his face,

and she saw that his clothing was hardly

in any better condition than hers had

been. He gestured to a pile on the table.

“Thanks,” she said. Numbly, she

walked over and picked them up,

wadding the bulk of soft yellow cotton in

her hands. “What’s going on down

there?” she asked, wanting to know and

yet not wanting to know.

“Mostly cleanup.” He avoided her

eyes, turning to the small counter in the

kitchen. She heard the soft clink of glass

on glass, then the sound of liquid

splashing. “Everyone is talking about

Remington Truth.”

Her throat tightened. “Vaughn, I’m

not going to stay here and let the

Strangers come back and—”

He turned, holding a short glass of

amber liquid. His expression was cool

and determined. “We’ll figure it out.

You can’t leave here. Not yet. If anyone

finds out you’re here—that you’re

Remington Truth . . .” He shook his head

firmly. “Remy, I don’t know what the

sentiment is. They don’t even know who

—or what—Remington Truth is. People

are still shocked and frightened over

what happened last night. They’d never

seen a helicopter before, and this threat

from the Strangers . . . well, it has

everyone in an uproar. They’ve never

been so overt before. I have to let

everyone calm down first, clean up, take

care of any injured or casualties, and

then we’ll figure it out.”

Casualties
. She pushed the ugly

thought away. “What about Dantès?” she

asked. “Is he all right? Can he come up

here with me?”

Vaughn shook his head. “It’s not a

good idea. He might bark or something.

No one can know you’re here. He’s fine,

by the way. He’s with Rod Macedon’s

boy for now.”

She opened her mouth to argue when

someone knocked on the door. Remy

looked at Vaughn, who rose. “Yes?” he

called.

“Vaughn, are you in there? It’s

Marley.”

Remy might have found the mayor’s

reaction amusing if the circumstances

were different. He went rigid, then his

eyes shot from her to the door to the bed

and back again. Guilt and chagrin were

written all over him and she could

almost hear his mental curse.

“I’ll just go in here,” she said, giving

him an easy out as she ducked into the

back bedroom. But even though she was

out of sight, Remy left the door cracked

so she could hear.

Vaughn let Marley in. “What are you

doing here?” he asked. Remy shook her

head. He didn’t sound very welcoming,

which was precisely the opposite of

what she’d seen in his eyes. Men. She

shook her head.

“I just came to see . . . to see if you

were all right.” Marley’s voice was

softer, but it carried back to the

bedroom.

“There’s a lot going on,” Vaughn

said. His tones were cool. “I have a lot

to deal with, Marley. Everyone’s very

upset. The clock is ticking. So what do

you want?”

“You left pretty quickly after they

uncovered Wyatt.”

The stab of pain was so sharp, Remy

had to hold back a gasp. She closed her

eyes, leaning against the wall as tears

gathered again.
No. Not now. Think

about it later.

It took a moment for her to collect

herself, and by then Marley had moved

farther into the suite. Now Remy could

see her through the crack of the door.

This was the first good look she’d

had of the woman. Even disheveled from

working all night, Marley exuded an air

of elegance. She was, as Flo might have

said, “put together.” Very beautiful, with

shiny dark hair streaked attractively with

blond, falling in perfect waves around

her face and shoulders. Long red

fingernails, except for the first one on

her left hand.

As Marley turned, Remy saw

something that made her turn cold. A

faint bluish glow coming from beneath

her clothing . . . just below the

c o l l a r b o ne .
Exactly

where

the

Strangers wore their crystals.
As she

watched, the glow seemed to grow

brighter, shining through the clinging

dark blue blouse.

She couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Marley was a Stranger? What did this

mean? Vaughn must know she was one.

Oh God . . .
was he going to turn her

over to Marley? Or had Marley

somehow come here, looking for her?

Did she know?

We will send our conduits.

Her heart pounded and her palms

went damp. She looked around for

something to use as a weapon as she

strained to hear their conversation,

which remained stilted and short.

“. . . have a lot of decisions to make,”

Vaughn was saying. He sounded almost

pompous. “But the most important one is

taking care of the people of Envy. My

people. You of anyone should know

that.” Then something changed, and he

moved suddenly, blocking Remy’s view.

“What is it?” His voice was urgent.

“Marley?”

She couldn’t hear anymore. There

was a flurry of movement and Marley

made a noise that sounded like pain or

surprise. She couldn’t see anything but

Vaughn’s solid figure, but she heard

something that sounded like “crystal.”

Her breath caught and ice shot into

her

belly.
Oh no.
The crystal—
her

crystal—was still on the floor, caught up

in the pile of clothing she’d left right

outside the bathroom door. Was it

recognizing Marley? Was that why the

blue crystal embedded in her body had

started to glow brighter? Would the

other woman see the orange glow from

beneath the clothing? Would she know it

was there?

Did she dare go out to try and

retrieve it—

“Who’s back there?” Marley’s voice

rang out sharply. Remy froze as

Marley’s face appeared from behind

Vaughn. She was looking toward the

bedroom.

Remy automatically ducked away

from the opening. The last thing she

needed was for a Stranger to see her.

“You don’t want to go back there,”

Vaughn said. He moved to block her,

cutting off Remy’s view again.

“Oh. I see.” Marley’s voice was like