Wild (12 page)

Chloe followed his lead. She didn’t want to mess with any criminals. This was no time to make a citizen’s arrest.

After traveling several more blocks, Chloe had to admit defeat. It was getting dark. Her leg ached and her flimsy shoes weren’t suited to the terrain. There was no way they could get through the entire district in one night. Mateo seemed to need a break just as much as Chloe did. He was sweating from exertion, breathing hard. His streamlined physique was built for speed, not for carrying heavy weight.

Although none of the gaslights were working, Chloe caught a glimpse of a promising shelter. It was a bar/restaurant that appeared to have been converted from a parking garage. The garage door was wide open, the brick walls were intact and the roof hadn’t collapsed.

“Let’s go in there,” she said.

He nodded, veering that direction. When they arrived, he set Emma down on the sidewalk in front of the open garage door. Motioning for Chloe to stay put, he crept inside. He used a lighter he’d pilfered from the liquor store to inspect the interior. For zombies, perhaps. Or gang members. It must have been free of threats, undead or otherwise, because he returned with a lit candle and a smile.

Chloe limped forward, holding Emma’s hand. The décor was basic. Industrial, even. Cement floors, brick walls and bare wooden tables. There was a social space on one side of the garage and a restaurant on the other. The aroma of spilled alcohol behind the bar was strong, but she didn’t see any broken glass. Just a few overturned chairs.

Mateo led them to a cozy nook in the middle of the garage. It was a VIP section, separated by velvet ropes. There were a few small tables, some leather ottomans and a large, cushioned bench. She knew where they were sleeping tonight.

But first things first. “Bathroom?”

He continued past the swanky lounge, into a dark hallway. There was a ladies’ room on the left side. After opening the door for her and Emma, he set the candle down on the sink. Then he gave them privacy.

Chloe took care of Emma and used the facilities quickly. There was no water, which was a shame, because they were both covered in soot. When she came out with the candle, he ushered them back to the VIP area. She sat down gladly. Emma started exploring the furniture, climbing over ottomans and square end tables. A small, new-age style fountain made of stone and copper stood in one corner.

Mateo had found a flashlight somewhere. He disappeared into the hall, returning with an armful of tablecloths and dish towels.

“Bless you,” Chloe said, dipping one of the towels in the fountain. She used it to clean Emma’s hands and face. Then she scrubbed her own skin. Mateo followed her lead and rinsed off his own grit.

“Quieres pizza?”
he asked.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t eaten enough earlier. “Pizza?”

“I want candy,” Emma said.

He laughed, clearly understanding these words. The candlelight flattered him, but so did his relaxed expression. His teeth were very white against his dark complexion. He had a wolfish smile. Fierce and gentle at the same time.

“No mas,”
he said to Emma, holding up his empty palms. Then he picked up the flashlight and wandered off again. What he came back with wasn’t quite pizza. It was flatbread, mozzarella, tomatoes and olives.

Deconstructed pizza.

They devoured it, every morsel. For dessert, he presented a plate of fresh pears and candied walnuts.

“This is the fanciest date I’ve ever been on,” she said honestly.

If he knew what that meant, he didn’t reveal it. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes gliding down to her injured leg. Then he rifled through his supplies and took out a Valentine’s Day teddy bear. It was a small toy, cheaply made. He must have picked it up at the liquor store. Emma accepted this gift with delight. She wrapped her bear in a tablecloth blanket and rocked it like a baby.

Mateo also had something for Chloe: a first-aid kit. She paled at the sight of the box, feeling queasy. Did he plan to stitch her up?

He walked over to the bar and retrieved an unbroken bottle of whiskey, along with a shot glass. Now she was really queasy.

“Quieres?”

“No.”

He frowned at her answer. She knew that treating her leg would hurt, but she couldn’t drink alcohol ever again. Not even a little bit. She’d fought hard to stay sober, and even harder to overcome her depression.

“I can’t,” she said, moistening her lips. It was embarrassing to be confronted this way. Even though she knew it required more strength to tackle her problems than ignore them, she felt weak and abnormal. Most girls her age took shots with glee. They weren’t single mothers. They didn’t haphazardly attempt suicide, either.

She was…a buzzkill.

He came forward with the bottle, ignoring her protests. When he sat down across from her and gestured to her thigh, she realized that he intended to pour whiskey on the wound, not down her throat. There were disinfectant wipes in the first-aid kit, but maybe a quick splash would be less painful.

“A ver?”

She removed the sock with trembling fingers, uncertain what he’d asked. The wide rip in her jeans revealed an ugly laceration.

He cleared his throat and said something about
pantalones.

Flushing, she stood and unfastened the top button of her jeans. She lowered the zipper, wiggling the denim down her hips, and sat quickly. Although the sweatshirt kept her panties covered, she felt naked.

He handed her a washcloth to put under her thigh. Then he uncapped the bottle and extended his arm, bathing her flesh with liquid fire.

Holy hell. It hurt so bad.

She bit back a cry and slammed a closed fist against her good leg. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Blinking them away, she glanced at Emma. Her daughter was pretending to breast-feed the teddy bear, oblivious.

Chloe unclenched her hand and took a deep breath. Ready.

Mateo didn’t drag it out. He applied some antibiotic ointment and a few butterfly bandages. Then he secured several squares of gauze over the area with tape. That was the most intimate part of the ordeal. He ran his fingertips along the tape, making sure it was stuck to her thigh, and her skin broke out in goose bumps.

When he was done, she felt better. The big, sturdy bandage was a definite improvement over a damp sock.

“Thank you,” she said, pleased with the results.

He smiled at her.
“Por nada, mamita.”

She stood to drag her jeans up her hips. Although he hadn’t seemed interested in her exposed areas before, he looked now. It was almost as if he’d forgotten her state of undress.

He jerked his gaze away, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

They were quiet for several moments. Emma scolded her teddy bear and sang it lullabies. Chloe’s heart swelled with emotion. Her love for Emma was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It had overwhelmed her and terrified her, intensifying her worries about unworthiness. But that love had also saved her from herself.

Mateo studied Emma, contemplative.
“Y el papá?”

Chloe understood this question. He was asking about Emma’s father. “He’s not…we’re not together.”

Instead of continuing the conversation, he put away the first-aid kit in silence. Maybe he couldn’t find the right words, or he was too polite to inquire further. But she sensed that he’d like to know more about her, and she felt the same way about him.

Emma crawled onto the bench beside Chloe, who was hugging her baby bear. Chloe covered her with the tablecloths Mateo had provided. The washcloth stacks made soft pillows. She stretched out next to Emma, leaving some room for Mateo.

He didn’t join them.

The lounge was about the size of a double bed, just large enough for three. It would be a tight squeeze, but he had nowhere else to sleep. She placed a washcloth stack and a tablecloth in the remaining space, scooting closer to Emma.

His brow furrowed at the sight of the pillow and blanket she’d set up for him.

Declining this unspoken invitation, he pushed an ottoman against the wall and sat down facing the open garage door. He’d tried to close it earlier, to no avail. Perhaps he planned to keep watch all night. Protect them from zombies.

Chloe closed her eyes and put her arm around Emma. She was too keyed up for a peaceful rest. When she finally drifted off, she dreamed of Josh.

CHAPTER TEN

H
ELENA’S BODY TINGLED
from the brief contact with Josh’s.

The way he’d stared at her mouth had given her hot flashes. She’d dribbled water down her chin, clumsy from thirst, and his eyes had darkened as if this was the sexiest move ever. She’d been convinced that he was going to kiss her.

And she’d have let him.

It wasn’t just the intensity of the moment; she liked him. She couldn’t deny it any longer. He was handsome and charismatic, even funny. After spending the past six months alone, she’d become more receptive to his charms.

She’d always been a physical person. Feelings weren’t her strong suit. She was better at showing than telling. Matters of the heart confused her, but she understood anatomy and science. She liked to touch and be touched. Josh was a fellow hedonist. It took one to know one.

But so what? She was a 32-year-old woman in a longstanding, long-distance relationship. This wasn’t the first time she’d looked at another man or felt a surge of lust. It didn’t mean anything. Attraction wasn’t action, and fantasy wasn’t cheating.

Josh was just a distraction, a symptom of her unhappiness with Mitch.

Their problems had started last year, before he left for Denver. She needed to sit down with him and have the discussion they’d both been avoiding. Until then, she was perfectly capable of controlling herself around Josh.

Sure, he had a great physique. His personality was appealing. He had good hands, and he probably knew his way around the female body. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, he had the equipment to satisfy on that front as well.

She flushed at the wayward thought, smothering a groan. When he glanced at her, she coughed into her fist, embarrassed. Life experience had taught her that size and looks had no connection to skill in the bedroom. The same was true in the animal kingdom. Sometimes the showiest males were the biggest disappointments.

Pushing the almost kiss from her mind, she squared her shoulders. They’d survived a major earthquake and spent a harrowing day together, but they were safe now. This wasn’t the end of the world. There was no reason to panic and let her hormones go wild. She wasn’t going to play Noah’s Ark with Josh Garrison.

He made a three-point turnaround and followed the other vehicle to the staff building. As soon as he parked, she hopped out and hurried inside, avoiding eye contact. There were a couple of flashlights on the break table. She picked one up and switched it on before walking down the hall to the women’s restroom. It was a mess, with broken mirrors and water all over the floor, but the toilets were intact.

After using the facilities, she paused to study her reflection in the shards above the sink. Her eyes glittered with cool determination. The familiar sight calmed her. She had dirt smudges on her face and neck. Although the water was turned off, the faucet offered a tiny handful. She used it to wash up. Better.

When she returned to the main staff area, her guard was firmly in place. Josh was sitting at the table with Trent and Louis. There were snacks scattered across the surface. A lantern-style flashlight sat in the middle of the table, along with a battery-operated radio.

The only station that came in was based in Tijuana. According to Mexican officials, the entire city of San Diego was under evacuation. Residents had been urged to head east on foot. All major roads and freeways were closed. Emergency services personnel were working on recovery efforts, but access to damaged areas was limited. The National Guard had been called in to assist.

When the broadcast was over, Trent turned down the volume on the radio. Helena cracked open a soda and tore into a bag of white cheddar popcorn. Although she would have preferred real food, she was too hungry to complain. Josh leaned back in his chair nonchalantly and crunched on pretzels. Trent and Louis seemed tense. Or maybe they were just uncomfortable. They were both wet and splattered in mud.

Trent Fisher was the second most popular male employee at the wildlife park. For a herpetologist, he was friendly and accessible. He had longish hair and a scruffy beard, and he wore a sweatband around his forehead. Even Helena, who had no interest in fashion, recognized his lack of style. But it didn’t matter to her, or any of the other women at the zoo, because Trent was hot. He resembled a Nordic Viking.

Louis Simms looked more like a stereotypical reptile enthusiast. He was pale and stout, with a soft chin and slender hands. He had a brilliant mind, if not a sparkling personality. Helena respected him as a colleague.

Louis and Trent were best friends who’d been working together for years. They were a bro-team, like Josh and his security partner, Cordell. Although she saw all four men on a regular basis, she hadn’t given much thought to their ongoing rivalry. She wondered if Josh’s ironic winter mustache had been a deliberate mockery of Trent.

Shrugging, she ate another handful of popcorn. The undercurrents between people were like the workings of a car engine. She didn’t want to lift the hood and study either.

“So what happened to you guys?” she asked.

It was a long story, as promised. After rounding up the majority of the loose snakes and loading them in crates, Trent and Louis caught a glimpse of Sunny, the yellow python, slithering into the nearby flamingo pond. Louis jumped in after his favorite cold-blooded baby and ruined his radio. Trent didn’t get his radio wet, but the batteries were dying and he didn’t notice it until late in the day.

“Did you hear me yelling?” Josh asked.

Trent nodded. “That’s why we decided to quit. We finally got Sunny under control and came to the office for another radio.”

“Are there still some code ones?”