It was part of her job in this new world. She was kind of in charge of the kids. “Okay.” Was he going to pretend-kiss her? Could she handle it if he did? She hadn’t kissed anybody but Don for decades. A kiss would be too much, right? They didn’t want to look too obvious.
“Stop frowning,” he said, running his thumb up and across her cheekbone. “You have the smoothest skin.”
Ha. Not nearly as smooth as it had been in her twenties. Even so, the touch was unnerving in a way that made her want to both lean into it and run the heck away. “I’m not frowning.” She relaxed her brow.
His nod of approval came fast. “Good girl. As I was saying, you have several smiles. The sweet one I just got, the one when you’re ticked and don’t want to say so, the one when you’re being polite, and the one that shows you’re genuinely in love with those kids.” He finally released her. “I’m looking forward to learning more of them.”
Okay. He was flirting with her because of the op. This would get confusing if she didn’t keep her mind on that one very salient fact. “You don’t need to study me for this job.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “If you think I’m studying you because of the job, you’re getting me wrong.”
Her mouth dropped open, and then she pressed her lips together, counting to five. “Do not flirt with me. Not really. I mean, not in a real way instead of the going-undercover way. Okay?”
“What’s the difference?” he asked, his gaze way too shrewd.
“You know the difference,” she retorted, her temper drumming up energy. Was he trying to keep her off balance because of the mission? That would make sense. If he were really pursuing her, then she’d be thrown off balance, so maybe this was the right way to do it? “Listen. I’m not interested in romance in real life. Just undercover. This is merely a mission.” Her first, actually.
“I see.” An indefinable light glinted in his eyes.
Her body stilled with an alertness that gave her mind pause. “What does that mean?”
“Apparently, I have more than one mission.”
Damon kept his voice low, and his body relaxed, communicating to the people watching that he had no clue they were in the crumbling, three-story apartment building to the south. The structure was supposed to be empty for safety reasons, but someone was definitely on the top floor—and had binoculars.
He’d seen the sun glint off the lenses. Hopefully, it was binoculars and not the scope of a gun.
April stared him down, her spectacular blue eyes broadcasting so many different emotions it was hard to focus on just one. “Are we still being watched?” Apparently, she’d decided to ignore his warning about missions. Interesting.
“Yes.” He flattened his hand on the wooden table, not surprised by the heat that filled his palms. Concrete and old buildings filled the seven blocks of inner-city Los Angeles that made up Vanguard territory. The temperature would get worse before it got better, and they were going to run out of water at some point. “My guess is that somebody will approach you first. They’ll feel you out about me.”
She shook her head, and her thick mass of hair caught the sun, shining with a multitude of lovely highlights—red and gold. “This is the first time anybody has seen us together. They won’t approach yet.”
“Time matters,” he returned, scouting the area around them with his peripheral vision. Vanguard soldiers were stationed at various points throughout the territory, but right now, the center was empty except for them. It was too hot to be outside if a person didn’t have to be. “The Pure pastor knows that Jax is getting impatient to speak to the members and make sure they’re okay. He’s going to storm the gate soon.”
April glanced over her shoulder to make sure the kids were okay. Then she turned back to him. “All right. What’s next? I mean, what do we do?”
“Our jobs,” he said simply, studying her. Anytime she was near, he couldn’t help but try and figure her out. She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, set in a fine-boned and rather delicate face. In her early thirties, her skin was smooth enough that she could pass for early twenties. She had strength, or she wouldn’t have survived the pandemic and so much loss. But it was the sadness in her that called to him. How screwed up was that? No way could he fix her. Yet he wanted to try. “Are you okay with me kissing you?” he asked.
Her breath visibly caught. “Is that necessary?”
Humor attacked him, and he burst out laughing. A million years ago, he’d had no problem getting a date. In his early twenties, he’d juggled women like a pro until he figured out that he didn’t need to be such an asshole. Then he’d dated a lot, but the right woman hadn’t come along. Not really. “You know, I’m pretty good at it,” he murmured, enjoying the flush that filled her face, turning it a pretty pink.
Her chin lifted. “I’ve found that when men have to tell you they’re good at something, they’re actually insecure about whatever it is. Maybe you can’t kiss.”
Challenge accepted.
He let his gaze drop to her mouth again. Pretty, pink lips, the bottom one surprisingly full. Those lips had fascinated him from the first second they met. She probably tasted like cotton candy—the good kind with real sugar. “When the Pure members approach you, use what you’re feeling about me. It’s genuine.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. She could be as defensive as she wanted but acting obtuse would get one of them shot in the head. “You’re attracted to me, you don’t want to be, and I confuse the hell out of you. Yet something in you would love to jump into the fire…just for a short time.”
One of her fine eyebrows arched, making her look like a pissed-off teacher. The sexy kind all the guys had crushes on. “Attracted to you? Seriously?”
Well, yeah. He could read people. “I’m attracted to you, too.”
Now her brows drew together in an adorable frown. “Why?”
The innocent brilliance in her question slayed him. How could it not? “You’re sexy, smart, and definitely sweet. Plus, brave.”
She sighed. “Boy, do you have me wrong.”
Hmmm. This was going to be even more interesting than he thought. He smiled then, letting his gaze roam over her face.
Her chin lowered this time, firming with obvious stubbornness.
His body heated and flared wide-awake for the first time in way too long. Yeah. Challenge definitely accepted.
4
The only real hope I see for this world is in the children. That has to mean something, right?
—April Snyder, Journal
April stood in the common area on the first floor of an old apartment building, across from the makeshift playground. Dorms for kids spread out in three directions. The orphans who’d survived the Scorpius pandemic ranged from three years old to seventeen. Around twenty children played board games around her at different tables or on the floor. The days of video games were gone.
Anybody under five years old had been pseudo-adopted by adults, and the teenagers largely took care of themselves, helping out around the territory and learning to scout for necessities. And fight. Everyone learned how to fight.
At some point, it’d be nice to adopt the other kids into new families—if they wanted. If not, they could stay together.
There really wasn’t a manual for this kind of thing.
“How are we doing?” Atticus Werner limped in from one of the rooms for boys, wiping his hands on a towel. “Boys are pigs. You wouldn’t believe the grime I found under the bunks.”
She frowned. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Meh. I’ll rest when I’m dead.” The eighty-year-old soldier was a sweetheart and a truly phenomenal cook. An enemy had stabbed him just the week before, and a doctor had only taken out his stitches earlier that day. “What am I going to do? Just sit in bed and watch the sun heat the room?”
Fair enough. “All right. But you take it easy.” April tried to put command into her voice.
He mov
ed closer, his faded eyes twinkling. “How’s the undercover op coming?”
She breathed out. “Damon wants to kiss me.”
Atticus lifted his chin and then threw back his head, letting go of a mighty chuckle. “Oh, sweetheart. Of course, the cop wants to kiss you, and that ain’t got nothin’ to do with an op.” He shook his head and wiped his eyes. “Youth is so wasted on you people.”
Youth? Yeah, right. She was in her early thirties and felt about a million years old. “You are not helping.”
He shrugged. “Not trying to. If you can find some romance and excitement in this crappy world, why not do it?”
Because she was an ex-suburb softball mom, and Damon was a badass ex-cop with a hard edge he barely kept concealed. She’d never even been naked with any man but her husband. She had stretch marks for Pete’s sake. Damon had probably dated models. Or sexy actresses in LA. Or successful and confident lawyers with long legs and toned muscles.
Atticus’s bushy, gray eyebrows lifted. “You’re spending a lot of time thinking about that question.”
Heat slid into her face. She cleared her throat. “I haven’t wiped down the room yet today.” Scorpius lived on surfaces, and anybody not infected could still catch it. They weren’t sure, so she had to be vigilant.
“How many of the kids haven’t caught it?” Atticus asked.
She shook her head. “I think all of them have survived, but we don’t know for sure. The doctors are trying to find a way to test at the Bunker since they still have machines and electricity there. For now.” It’d be nice to know who needed extra protection.
Well over ninety percent of people who contracted Scorpius died. The bacteria localized in the brain and often stopped all function. Or it stripped empathy and created sociopaths.
“It’d be interesting to see if all the folks hiding in the Pure apartment building are actually uninfected,” Atticus mused. “Maybe Vanguard should’ve required mandatory testing before allowing people to settle inside the barbed wire.”
April rubbed a bruise on her arm from training the other day. “What test? We don’t have one that works in the field.”
“Should’ve come up with one. You know there’s probably a good test at the Bunker.” He stretched and then winced, placing a hand on his healing stomach wound.
Yeah, but what was done was done.
A little girl of about eight years old ran up, her long, blond hair swinging around her narrow shoulders. She wore a pink shirt with blue flowers dotted across it and faded jeans shorts that were a size or two too big.
April smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. How’s the game of Go Fish coming?” She ran a hand down Lena’s soft hair. “Is Rory still winning and trying not to?”
The girl’s dark eyes twinkled. She snorted, her nose pert and sprinkled with a couple of freckles. April had been working to get her to speak, just once, but so far, she hadn’t said a word in Vanguard territory. Nobody knew where she came from or how she’d survived before finding the compound. She reached into her pocket.
April tilted her head, waiting. The girl often gave presents to people, items she found around the territory. It was always interesting. Some folks read meaning into her gifts, but April thought they were working too hard to find a purpose in anything. Sometimes, life was just life, no matter how dismal it became. “What do you have?”
Lena slowly took out a silver cylinder of something and handed it over.
April took the warm gift and slowly twisted the end. “It’s lipstick.” A muted and very pretty pink. “For me?”
Lena solemnly nodded.
Atticus snorted.
April barely kept from elbowing him. “Well, thank you. I, ah, haven’t been looking for makeup.” Warmth infused her face. It wasn’t as if she were dating Damon for Pete’s sake.
Lena rolled her eyes and turned to bounce back to her friends and the cards on the floor. They sat on a newer rug the scouts had found the week before.
“Should’ve brought you a condom,” Atticus muttered.
April jerked, her eyes widening. “You so did not say that.”
Atticus was saved from answering by the sound of an explosion outside. The walls rattled, and an odd concussion stormed through the room.
April launched into motion a second before Atticus could, reaching the door to the basement. “Everyone downstairs,” she called out, her hands barely shaking this time.
The kids, some groaning, left their games in place and moved a little too slowly toward the door.
“Hurry up,” she urged, her heart rate picking up only a little. These moments were coming more and more often. Soon, the kids wouldn’t move without crowbars. “Let’s go.”
A crowd of them grumbled but headed down into the cement-block-fortified basement.
The front door opened, and Damon poked his head in, his gun already in his hand. Cut muscles showed beneath his black T-shirt and down his arms. “Got it?”
April nodded. “Heading down now.”
“Good. Stay there until I come back. I have three guys covering your building.” He shut the door with a sharp snap.
April made sure the key to the gun locker downstairs was in her pocket and then followed Atticus into the stairwell, turning to shut and lock the door behind her.
“This is happening too frequently,” Atticus grumbled.
True. And at some point, an attacker would make it through the Vanguard outside perimeter. Maybe this time. “Let’s go.” She turned and started jogging down the stairs, the smell of dust and mold assaulting her.
She had to keep the kids safe.
Reaching the area downstairs, she was both grateful and oddly disturbed to see the kids settling easily and grabbing other board games and cards from shelves to start playing new games. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, and the taller kids had already switched them on to illuminate the space.
Blue mats from an old gym covered the floor, and cement blocks lined each wall. Chairs and tables were scattered throughout the space, and two older sofas, both floral though different colors, were pushed against a far wall. It was much cooler down there, and April took a deep breath to center herself.
Frequent attacks shouldn’t be routine for the kids.
Atticus limped over to a sofa to sit and then motioned for her to follow. She took another look at the kids, ensuring that each of them was occupied, and then moved to sit next to him.
He sighed. “It’s much nicer in here. If it gets any hotter, we might just move the kids down here.”
Not a bad idea. Except there were no windows, and it was still a little dark. But heat stroke could become a real possibility.
“The two new kids are settling in all right,” Atticus said, nodding his head toward Tina and Rory. They were both around eight, and somehow they’d found each other in the aftermath of Scorpius, eventually getting saved by a couple of Vanguard soldiers. Tina was taller with thick, curly, black hair, dark skin, and the prettiest brown eyes imaginable, while Rory was her opposite with almost white-blond hair, light blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles. The two were inseparable, which was fine. And it looked as if they’d pulled the non-speaking Lena into their makeshift family.
April nodded. “I’ve been hoping they can draw Lena out so she’ll speak, but so far, they seem to be learning her way of sign language.” The doctors couldn’t find a physical reason for the girl’s non-communication, but who knew what she’d endured as the pandemic had swept the world.
“Speaking is overrated.” Atticus stretched out his jeans-clad legs, revealing one purple and one yellow sock above his shoes. The guy was seriously color-blind and couldn’t care less. “In fact, stop talking to Damon and have some fun. You know. The good kind.”
April cut him a look. “Right. We have nothing in common.”
“Nothing in common?” Atticus snorted. “You both survived the apocalypse. That’s all anybody needs these days. Geez.”
She was not making girl-talk with Atticus for Pete’s
sake.
The faint sound of gunfire punctuated the stillness of the quiet basement.
Not one of the kids even looked up from their game.
“Survival is just temporary,” April murmured quietly. Sad but true.
5
I’m better in motion and not standing still. It’s a fact, and that will not change. Regardless of the job at hand or the pretty eyes of April Snyder. Though if anybody could make me stop and enjoy the moment, it’d be her.
—Damon Winter, Journal
Damon moved swiftly past the next block of crumbling apartments toward the warehouses at the rear of Vanguard territory, just as Greyson barreled in from the north.
“Visual yet?” Grey snapped into a short-range radio.
“Negative,” Jax Mercury said over the comm. “Almost to the basketball court.”
“We’re right behind you,” Grey said as soldiers poured in from every direction. “Is the front entrance covered?”
Damon leaped over a dried-out pothole, his senses narrowing and focusing. Smoke was billowing up from outside the fence. “I put three men on the kids’ dorms.”
“All points are covered,” Jax yelled from in front of them, not bothering with the radio.
The basketball court was located in an empty, concrete lot at the far southeast corner of Vanguard that also held the only other gate—besides the main front entry—where trucks could pass. It was a weak but necessary point for the territory.
Damon slowed next to Greyson and Jax, soldiers fanning out around them. On the other side of the chain-link fence, a semi-trailer truck on its side burned hot and bright, black smoke billowing into the cloudless day. A bomb of some sort had blown out the front window and crumpled the driver’s side door, bending it nearly in two.
“See anybody?” Jax asked, ducking and moving for the fence.
Damon scanned the area, which was covered by downed trucks and old tires in front of a bunch of railroad tracks with rapidly rusting train cars set haphazardly along its length. “Negative.” The stench of burning rubber filled the hot day. Sweat ran down Damon’s chest, and he moved closer to the fence, trying to see beyond the fire and smoke.