Page 50 of Long Past Deadly

He dried off, and in deference to Alanna, found a gray pair of pajama bottoms. He was tired, but not enough to go to sleep yet. He glanced over the two books laying there, decided neither suited, then switched the lighting in his room to one bedside brass lamp. He opened the sliding door, stepped onto the small balcony, and blew out the bottled stress sitting in his chest. He slipped into the weathered teak chair and relaxed into the night silence and the ocean’s soft shush. A second chair sat on the other side empty, always empty. He sat for a long time. Random music lyrics teased his memory with a blood of the damned, redemption, and homecoming theme, stirring memories of lost friends.

Groaning, Quaid rose. He was in bad shape mentally, matching Alanna. The comfort of his king-size bed with its white linens and gray blankets beckoned. With the television silenced, he pulled his own weapon from the drawer and put it within reach, then he propped open his door and Alanna’s. No sense not being attuned to threats.

With the ease of the last few years of practice, he fell into sleep, one ear open to trouble.

Hours later, Quaid heard the indrawn, panicked hiss of breath and sat upright in his bed, listening again. But she didn’t cry out, didn’t make another sound. Dream?

But with awareness of her distress, he came fully awaked.

“Quaid?”

She stood in the doorway, her hand on the frame. Her lavender nightshirt shaped the sweet curves of her body and reflected the dim moonlight.

He cleared his throat, shutting down a visceral male reaction. “Come here. Dream?”

She walked slowly to him, as if unsure she was awake. “Strange place. Where are we?”

“My house.” He patted the bed, then grabbed a light gray blanket from the foot and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She was fragile, but not like glass. More like an IED waiting to explode.

“Thank you.”

He kept his arm around her, coaxing her to lean against him. “I’m right here.”

“Not sleeping?”

“Lightly, but aware of every noise.”

“Me, too.”

At a crossroads. That’s where he was. He could either be a partner or he could be the man who took care of her, supported her, trusted her. Time to choose.

He shoved the covers away, fluffed the pillows, and smoothed out the middle. “Move over, Lani. Lay down.”

She gazed at him a minute, then did as he ordered. Surprise.

“I didn’t mean to steal your bed.”

“You didn’t.” He climbed in next to her, ignored her sharp gasp, and rearranged the covers.

“Quaid?”

He pulled her to him, situating her head on his shoulder. “Sleep, Lani. We aren’t going to beat him tired.”

No answer. He didn’t attempt words. Action was better.

She stayed tense for a while, but didn’t shift away. When she finally sagged, sleep drawing her in again, Quaid exhaled and relaxed.

He didn’t move. He didn’t let her roll away, not that she tried. In fact, he pulled her closer, her warm breath on his neck, breast pressing to his side, and her lax body easing next to his. He allowed himself one silent groan.

He finally closed his eyes, too, drawn by her warmth and the promise of sleep. A quote popped into his head. “Let her sleep, for when she wakes, she will shake the world.”

How that turned out would be anyone’s guess.

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QM International Situation Brief: 08:15:30 PST 12/18 – San Diego HQ. Threat remains active. Suspect location unknown. Security Level 3 remains in effect. Report all suspicious activity to HQ. Ϙ