“All I can smell right now is you,” I murmured.
“Thanks? I think? No, seriously.” He nudged me, and we both sat up.
The air was still, quiet. A normal morning quiet in the woods. I breathed slowly, and a prickling tingled on the back of my neck. Something was definitely out there. But I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t smell it.
“I spent all night feeling like something was watching us,” I whispered.
He said, “I don’t remember that much. I just remember … I couldn’t decide if we were running something down, or running away from it.”
“Yeah, that’s about right.” I climbed to my feet, reached my hand to help him up. “You know, if our ride isn’t here, it’s going to be a long walk back.” We were naked. We had no clothes, no phones. No change for a pay phone, assuming we could find a pay phone. I still had dried leaves and dirt in my hair. I ran my fingers through it, trying to straighten it out. As if that would make it all okay.
“He’ll be here.”
Sure enough, Cormac and the Jeep were at the gravel turnout at the end of the service road. We came into view, and Cormac immediately ducked his gaze and studied the mechanism on the crossbow he was holding.
“Always prepared, I see,” I said.
“Always,” Cormac said.
A couple of plain wool blankets sat on the hood of the Jeep; Ben picked them up, brought them over to me, and made a show of shaking one loose and draping it over my shoulders. He looked both tired and amused, and I gave in to an urge to brush my fingers through his hair. He had scruffy, brushable hair.
With both of us wrapped in blankets, Cormac could look up again. Toughest guy I knew was also the shyest, it turned out.
Cormac pursed his lips. “You guys accomplish anything?”
Ben and I exchanged a glance, neither of us wanting to answer. Ben finally said, “We made it very clear to whoever’s watching that we’re not running away.”
“And you’re sure someone’s watching?”
“Yes,” I said. Not a bit of hesitation, which depressed me.
“Well. All right then.” Cormac wore a sly grin. Like poking the hornet’s nest was exactly what we’d wanted to accomplish.
“I need a shower,” I muttered, and stalked on to the Jeep and my clothes.
Cormac also brought my phone, which was stuck in my jeans pocket. It beeped a message as soon as we hit the freeway heading back to Denver. I was hoping to see Shaun on the caller ID. But no, it was Ozzie. The station manager at KNOB and my immediate boss. The guy who ran herd on me and made sure that I made sure there was a show every week. I supposed I could just ignore him. But I didn’t, because I’d have to talk to him eventually. Either that, or just disappear.
“Hi,” I said. I managed to sound even more tired than I felt.
“You coming in to work at all this week? Or should I plan on playing folk music during your show Friday?”
Oh yeah. Work. The show. I really ought to think about that. What day of the week was it, anyway? “That depends, are we talking like Bob Dylan pop-rock folk, or British retro-folk like Fairport Convention? Or are you just going to straight-up play Kingston Trio concert bootlegs?”
That at least made him pause for a second. “There are Kingston Trio concert bootlegs? Seriously?”
“Should I be worried that you actually sound interested?”
“Kitty, cut it out. I need you at work, or I need some notice that you’re not coming in so we can plan around you.”
I glanced at Ben. He was whispering, “Take vacation time.”
“Um, Ozzie? What day is it right now?” I had completely lost track.
“It’s Thursday, Kitty,” he said in a long-suffering tone of voice.
“So when am I going to be powerful enough and untouchable enough that I get to boss you around?”
“I remember when you were a snot-nosed intern who didn’t know that the Go-Go’s started out as a punk band. So, never.”