Page 77 of Nightfire

He was as affected as she was, and it came on the heels of telling the story of his family’s slaughter and the terrible shame he’d carried around with him ever since.

He didn’t want to look at her. It was possible he couldn’t look at her.

That was fine. Chloe understood very well. His emotions were too much for him and she knew precisely how that felt. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, feeling the absolute strength of him, knowing that now he was as defenseless as a child.

She’d watch over him, protect his feelings. No one but her would ever know these vulnerabilities. She’d watch over them, too, guard them fiercely.

He’d protected her. By God, she would protect him.

Her hand ran through his hair, spiky with sweat and she cupped his head.

“Sleep my love,” she whispered. Mike’s breath left him in a whoosh that was taking some of his tension with it.

Chloe thought she would stand guard over him but her own exhaustion and stress caught up with her.

Inside of five minutes, she fell into a deep sleep with a ton of man on top of her.

SIXTEEN

Consuelo clutched the thumb drive in her damp hand and checked for the tenth time the address she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper and the address on the big brass plaque next to the ornate doorway of the elegant building in downtown San Diego.

She’d never ventured to this part of town. She had no reason to. It was mostly made up of office buildings. The people streaming in and out of the huge glass doors were as remote to her as Martians.

None of them, she was sure, sold their bodies for a living.

She lifted her head, suddenly very determined. That part of her life was over. The people in the office she’d called helped women disappear. They’d helped two women in the shelter disappear, that’s how she got the visiting card.

Consuelo would either be able to convince them to help a whore or she would disappear herself, though she had no tools for that. The only thing she had was the twenty thousand dollars she’d taken from her hiding hole and the thumb drive. She had no documents, none.

She was in the United States illegally, always had been. Even if she could get back across the border, which she couldn’t, she had no documentation in Mexico, either. And no place to go. She was allowed no documents, no passports, no driver’s license, no home to go back to, nothing.

They’d be crazy to help her. She was going to be more trouble than she was worth.

On the other hand, maybe what she held in her fist might be worth something to them. Something she could barter with for her life.

Sweat trickled down her back, as it often did when she was scared. When she was smilingly escorting a trick back to the room he’d paid for together with the rent of her body, and he looked like he might be violent. Might enjoy hurting. There always was one and the house rule was if no blood was spilled, no harm was done.

That client would simply be charged more the next time.

So Consuelo did now what she did whenever she was scared—pasted a smooth smile on her face and walked through the door, not knowing what was on the other side.

Mike had been a soldier for much of his adult life. Soldiers do not open their eyes slowly, confident that the world is a wonderful place. They snap awake, instantly alert, ready for action, knowing the world is full of murderous motherfuckers who can’t wait to smoke them.

Soldiering is a Darwinian occupation. Those who can’t shoot from deep sleep to alertness in a second are winnowed out pretty fast. Usually from the end of a barrel.

Old habits die hard, particularly when they are the kind to foster survival. He wasn’t a soldier any more, but Mike still woke up in a flash, usually trying to figure out how to get out of having to spend time with the woman he’d fucked the night before.

He usually woke up to a flat, exhausted, melancholy feeling, itchy to jump out of whatever bed he was in and get home. Where he’d feel flat, exhausted and melancholy.

Oh man. Not now. No, sirree. He felt great, though he definitely did not want to jump out of bed and get going. Nope. He had no strength in his muscles at all. Man, he didn’t want to go anywhere, not with Chloe’s sleek, soft little body half-on, half-off his.

Sometimes he had to remember who the babe in the bed was, but not now. Because it wasn’t a babe, it was Chloe.

It was a sunny day. He could tell because the inside of his lids were painted golden. And there was a warm breeze coming in off the ocean, fluttering the curtains.

He felt…clean. Purified. Purged of some ancient black bile that had been poisoning his system since forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…hopeful. The sex last night had almost burned him alive. It had reduced the old Mike to cinders and here was the new version, ready to face a new day with a cheerful smile.

Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought to face a new day with a cheerful smile. Maybe never.