Page 40 of Property of Quake

He grins. “Do you ever get tired of that?”

“What?”

“Worrying about everything?”

I bend to pick up the pillow and chuck it at his head which only causes him to laugh as he walks out of the room.

“Thank you!” I shout after him.

Of course, I don’t get a response. While he’s gone, I go in search of more blankets, finding 2 in the closet. I also grab one of the extra pillows from the bed. As I’m adding these to the makeshift bed he made on the floor, he returns.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he sets mine and Melissa’s bags at the foot of the bed.

“What?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your ‘thank you’ so… you’re welcome.” He glances at the floor where he intends to sleep. “What’d you do?”

“If you insist on sleeping down there, I’m at least going to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be.”

His expression shifts, softens. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Five minutes later, I crawl into bed. An hour after that, I’m still wide awake and staring at the ceiling. I have too many questions, too many unknowns, not the least of which is what happened to Melissa.

From his pallet on the floor, Quake snores, and I find the sound oddly reassuring. I roll over, curling my arm under my head, and eventually drift off to sleep.

I wake to voices I don’t recognize, and an impressive, slightly concerning, amount of cursing fills the room. I bolt upright and glance at Melissa, who’s still asleep. Then I crane my neck to see that Quake is not. The bed on the floor is empty.

Stretching my arms above my head, I listen for noises, and a moment later, Quake walks into my line of sight with coffee.

“Morning,” he says, handing me a cup.

I take a tentative sip of the brew, careful not to burn myself. When I lower it, the voices grow louder.

“Why are they yelling?” I ask, not even knowing who I’m referring to.

“They’re not.”

“They definitely are.”

“Nope.” He takes a sip from his mug. “They’re conversing.”

“Motherfucker! I’m gonna sic the lions on you if you do that again!”

I arch a brow at the crystal clear shout. “Conversing, huh?”

“Yep, listen.”

We both grow silent, but the yelling continues. Mixed in with the profanity and threats is the soft laughter of a woman.

“Who’s laughing at that?” I ask incredulously.

“That would be Lucy,” Quake says. “She’s married to Zombie, our VP. Pilot is the other guy you hear. If I’m understanding correctly, Pilot walked into Zombie and Lucy’s suite uninvited and found them in a… compromising position.”

“A comp…” His meaning registers. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”