Page 64 of Night in a Waste Land

“Frankie,” Gallo said. “Or Gallo.”

“And only Francis to your lover,” Beck said. “Understandable.”

Tris took a breath.

Lance said, “It won’t be safe to stay here overnight. The helo that dropped us took off, but I can call another. Or armored transports.”

Beck waved dismissively. “We’ll be perfectly safe here. Don’t worry.”

“You saw the city,” Lance pressed. “It’s a fucking disaster.”

“Yes. And you want me to fix that, don’t you?” A hint of steel in his voice, now, a threat in the hard curve of his lips. “That’s why you went along with Rose’s plan. You don’t care aboutme. Only what I can offer you.” At this his wings spread, deep black, blotting out the stained-glass mural behind him, overlaying St. Michael’s wings with his own.

Lance fought the urge to grind his teeth. “This city is the most infected in the country. If we hope to turn the tide of war, we can’t save the worst sore spots for last.”

“I agree,” Beck said, easily. “It’s better to lance the ugliest wounds first.”

“Then, if you’re going to help us–”

“This is shaping up to be a threat, Sergeant.”

“Guys.” Rose slid off his lap and to her feet, her expression hardening – all save her eyes, and those Lance had never seen so full of conflict, as she glanced between them, a silent plea. “Let’s not do this. Beck, you agreed to help – that means helping under our conditions.” When she turned to regard her former – probably current, again, given the state of Beck’s shirt buttons – lover, Lance couldn’t see her face any longer, but he could see Beck’s. He looked nearly amused, eyes glittering like backlit gems.

“Alright,” he said, softly, after a moment, and reached to press her hands – quick but gentle, intimate – between both of his. He stood with the grace and poise of a king. “You’re right, sweetheart.”

Then he looked to Lance, and a challenge shone clear in his expression, one Lance felt was mocking.Baiting. “Lead on, then, Sergeant du Lac. I put myself in your capable hands.”

TEN

Before

Lance stared up at the ceiling and fought to catch his breath. Rose lowered herself to the mattress beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, and even though he was overheated and tingling all over, he lifted his arm so she could settle more closely, and so he could hold her, his hand tucked into the tight, inward flare of her waist. She liked to cuddle, afterward, he’d learned; one of those small, endearing, wholly unexpected details he’d come to know in the last few months.

Just like he now knew the particular way she sighed when she’d pushed herself too hard, and exhaustion was dragging at her – and the way she sighed when he touched her just right. Knew when she shivered from cold, from fear, from pleasure. He knew the way she murmured in her sleep, the way nightmares pressed a groove between her brows. He knew the scrape of her nails, and the press of her heel, and the clench of her body around him, when he was buried deep.

He knew her now.

But there were so many moments when he was struck with the cold assuredness that he didn’t know her at all.

Now felt like a knowing time, though.

“So,” he huffed. “Like I was saying.”

She chuckled. “If you can remember, then I didn’t do my job right.”

“Oh, no. I can’t remember shit. Just stalling.”

She breathed warm and amused across his chest, raising goosebumps there.

He reallyhadmeant to keep things professional this evening. He had a stack of reports, and he’d picked up two cups of gross, instant coffee, and he’d invited her in thinking about the tasks that lay ahead, rather than otherdistractions.

But she’d sat down on the end of his bed, crossed her legs, leaned back on her hands, and sent him thislook. He was only human, after all.

“The…” He lifted his hand only long enough to flap it toward his tiny, wall-mounted desk. “The thing. You know.”

“Uh-huh. Insightful.”

“Shut up,” he said, without heat, smiling to himself. “I think my brain came out through my dick.”

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