Red Zone (Red Zone 1)

“Of course.” She gathered the blankets as he dragged the mattress over to the area under the window, beside the sink. Taking a blanket, he tied one corner to a bar on the window farthest away from the sink. He then secured the opposite corner to the sink. He stood the mattress on its side and wedged it against the sink so that it stood out at an angle from the wall. He then draped the remainder of the blanket over the edge of the mattress and stepped back to consider his work.

With the mattress making a wall and the blanket forming a lopsided roof, they had a space where they could sit out of sight of the cameras. More importantly, he had a section of window that was hidden by the blanket—a secure escape route for his rattler. Taking the last two blankets and the pillow, he made a pallet on the floor inside the little hut.

“Come on.” He held out a hand. “We can have some privacy in here.”

Her fingers were small and fragile in his. “Kane will probably knock it down.”

Since there was no lock or handle on the door that could be jammed to stop someone coming in, and nothing in the room to use as a barricade, there wasn’t much he could do to stop Kane. But at least their privacy would give them the time needed to set the diamondback free.

“We’ll worry about that later.” He helped her into the shelter.

Once he’d settled her on the pillow, with her back to the wall, he pulled down the rest of the blanket. Now they were completely hidden from the cameras.

“They can’t see us right now, but they can still record sound. Don’t say anything important.”

She nodded. Without hesitating, he sat back on his heels, widened his arms, and called to his rattler. He felt that familiar pulling sensation inside his body before there was a burst of pain and the snake emerged.

Get going, he ordered.

Although the damn reptile knew the situation was urgent, he still took time to rub up against Friday before he headed up to the window. They watched it disappear, a silent and deadly phantom, completely hidden by his makeshift tent.

Friday reached out and lifted his hand, examining his torn and bruised knuckles. “We need to see to these. At the very least, we should wash the scrapes.”

He studied his beaten hands. “They don’t hurt.”

She gave him a cute little frown. “I’ll dampen a tissue and wipe them for you.”

“No, I’ll wash them.” He didn’t want her moving around, not when she looked this close to exhaustion.

He crawled out of their tent and washed his hands in icy water, drying them off on his jeans. Her eyes were closed when he crawled back into the tent. He sat beside her and pulled her to him, wrapping his arm tight around her. When her cheek rested over his heart, he swore he heard it miss a beat. This was where she belonged. In his arms.

“Tell me about your life, from before, when you were a child.” Her tone was sweet, soft, intimate.

He rested his head back against the cool wall with the warmth of Friday’s soft curves pressing against his side. He could feel her heartbeat against his thumb as he caressed her neck. It was strong. Vital. Alive. He couldn’t think about the time when that would change.

He cleared his throat and gave her what she wanted. The only thing he was able to give her. He gave himself. “I grew up in a house on the bayou. There was a big old gator that slept in a hole at the bottom of our yard, by the water. Mon Père wanted to shoot the thing, but Maman told him the gator had as much right to be there as we did…”

As he whispered, she relaxed into him. He told her all about his younger sister, who tormented him night and day, but needed a keeper, seeing as she had the worst taste in boyfriends. Not that she ever got far enough with any of them to get hurt. Striker chased them away long before it could happen. He told her about his Maman’s famous cakes and how she had a special one for every occasion. It had been his job to deliver them—a spice cake for good news, an angel cake for births, a strawberry torte for weddings, a fruitcake for funerals.

He told her about apple pie Sundays during the season, after he and his sister had collected the fruit from the neighbors’ trees. And how, when they were feeling particularly wicked, they would throw the bad apples at that old gator, stirring him up enough to make him mad. Those were the days his Père would take a switch to his behind for being dumb. Then he’d feel bad about it and take him fishing out in his boat, with his Maman shaking her head because her husband was soft.

He didn’t know how long he talked, remembering a life long gone, but he stopped when he heard Friday’s breathing deepen and knew she was asleep. He ran a hand over her hair. The golden silk comforted him, as did the beat of her heart against his chest.

“You can’t die on me, mon amour,” he whispered. Four days he’d known her, but it felt like she’d been wrapped around his heart for an eternity. There was no way to imagine the rest of his life without her. It just wasn’t possible. She was everything he didn’t know he’d been looking for. Her insatiable curiosity and her astounding bravery. Her kindness in giving everything she had to the people whose house they’d broken into. Her self-sacrifice when she’d thrown herself into the mist to save him. Her unexpected reactions and big brain that derailed everything else.

He chuckled at the memory of her wanting to turn his cock chocolate flavored, and his arms tightened around her. The world would lose something wonderful if it lost Friday Jones. He would lose something wonderful. Something he knew he would never be able to replace.

Still holding her tight, he twisted his wrist to look at his watch. Six and a half hours. In desperation, he reached out to his snake.

You have to do something. We need to get out of here. If nothing else, he could at least give her daylight and sunshine. He clenched his jaw tight enough to ache. Hurry. For Friday.

And then he rocked his woman as she slept.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The western diamondback felt cold as it moved stealthily through the corridors of the building. He was used to being warm. His other half provided that for him—a nice consistent temperature where the rattler could doze all he liked.

The diamondback wasn’t sure how he’d come to be part of the man. He remembered a time when he was separate. But he had to admit, he liked this new existence better. He knew things now that he’d never known before. And he had someone to talk to. He’d never felt alone, not before his human half came along, but it was better being part of a pair. And now they had Friday. They were a family. He’d known she was the right person for them as soon as she appeared. Mate