Night Resurrected Page 30

  David ordered a drink, too, and Wyatt took a sip of his own, contemplating the fact that his eight-year-old son was sitting next to him in an old man’s body, having a whiskey. Beyond surreal.

  “You haven’t asked much about Cat’s mother,” David said when the bartender moved away.

  Wyatt’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “We’ve been a little distracted. I figured there’d be time enough later to get the details of your life for the past fifty years.” A ripple of grief had him tightening his fingers around the glass.

  “Cat’s mother, Grace, was actually my second wife,” David continued with hardly a pause. “I was married to Marie, the love of my life, for three years before she died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wyatt said. “Really sorry.”

  “Yeah. Well, we don’t have very many fancy treatments for cancer in this world—unlike Dr. House. So,” David said, continuing once again in a no-nonsense way, “I have a little empathy for the fact that you lost us all—your wife and children. Obviously what I went through was nothing compared to your hell—”

  “What are you talking about? You lived through hell. You were a boy, a young boy . . . and you lost everything. Not just your world, but—” Wyatt’s throat closed up and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Christ. He was going to lose it right here in the goddamn bar.

  David put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “You’re right. It was hell. It was so far beyond hell, you can’t imagine. But here I am today. Relatively healthy for an old guy, not bad looking and with most of my hair—thanks to the great genes of my father. Hardly ever have the nightmares anymore—it’s been a good three years since the last one. Still have a good portion of my faculties still in place, with two amazing daughters plus a darling granddaughter . . . and I found my father again. After fifty years. And he’s such a stud my daughter can’t hardly keep her eyes off him when he’s not wearing a shirt. Jeez . . . could you invent a more awkward situation?”

  In spite of his misery, Wyatt couldn’t hold back a laugh. But the flash of absurd humor was short-lived and he glanced over at David. “It’s a miracle we found each other. The greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

  His son swirled his whiskey and lifted it to drink. “I thought I’d never be happy again after I lost Marie. I felt like every time I allowed myself to smile or laugh, I was out of line. It was my duty to mourn her and miss her and keep myself for her. Forever. You know?”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. He knew where David was going with this. “Our situations are worlds different.”

  “How is that? Because you have guilt to add into the mix? Is that what makes you special, what makes you able to be more of an asshole and for longer than I was? You feel guilty for going on a vacation, so you can never be happy again? You can never allow yourself to live because of something that happened fifty years ago that you—nor anyone else—could never have foreseen or prevented?”

  “What’s your point?” he growled. “That I should be happy? That I should smile and forget what happened? I can’t. The earth was destroyed. All of civilization—fucking gone. My family was murdered. You were left—”

  “My point,” David said, craning around in front of him so he could catch Wyatt’s stubborn gaze, “is that Mom’s been gone for fifty years. There’s not a damn thing your guilt and grief and dickishness is going to do to bring her back or to change what happened. I’m not suggesting that you shouldn’t feel any grief or sadness. Of course you should—in your mind, it’s been only a year. But don’t hold back on my account, Wyatt. Don’t put it on me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. The minute you remembered Cat and I existed, back when you found Remy, you shut it all down. Cut it off.” He settled back in his chair and took a big gulp of whiskey. “Whatever’s going on with you and Remy is your business—but what it’s not is a betrayal of Mom or her memory. That was a lesson I had to learn myself, after Marie died . . . when I met Grace, only a year later.” He tilted his head. “Hm. You and I have a lot more in common than I realized, including superior taste in women.”

  Wyatt finished his whiskey, swishing the last bit around in his mouth before swallowing. The heat from the liquor had abated, his fury had leveled off. He remembered the pure white light of pleasure, the intense body and mind release he’d had with Remy last night. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before . . . as if something had been dragged out from the darkest depths of his soul and then brought into white light. Cathartic.

  “Oh, thank God, there you are!” The next thing he knew, Cat was there, pulling his arm to drag him off the bar stool. “You’ve got to come quick. Down to the computer lab—”

  “Knock it off, Cat,” Wyatt said, tempering his irritation because she was his granddaughter. But still. “I know what you’re doing. You can tell Remy she doesn’t need to distract me—”

  “It’s the lab, it’s on fire, I swear to you,” she said, pulling harder. “It’s not like that. Dad, tell him!”

  “I think we better go,” David said, his attention going from Cat to Wyatt. His face was sober, even concerned.

  “The lab?” Wyatt said, still reluctant, even though a little prickle of worry niggled at him. “Dantès?”

  “He’s out, but it’s burning . . . it’s weird. Come on.”

  By now Wyatt’s hesitation had evaporated. He followed Cat at a full run, aware that David was behind him, keeping up as well as he could. The secret elevator doors were open when they got there, guarded by Dantès, who whined and looked concerned when he saw Wyatt.

  He bounded down the spiral stairs, sniffing but unable to scent smoke, and faltered, wondering if this was, indeed, another trick. But no, once he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw something glowing in the room beyond the main computer room. Orange and flickering.

  Still no smoke . . . which was odd. An uncomfortable prickling rushing over him, Wyatt bolted into the room. He was met by a wave of heat, blasting into him like a wall.

  The place was melting. The metal table, the file cabinet . . . all had softened, the cabinet folded into little more than a silver puddle. The walls were dripping with moisture, shuddering from the temperature. He saw the orange crystal, blazing and shimmering with what could only be profound heat, sitting on the melted file cabinet next to the Jarrid stone.

  His mind racing even as he rushed into the room, Wyatt wondered how the two stones had come to be next to each other . . . and then he remembered. He’d been so infuriated, he’d shoved the Mother crystal into the file cabinet without wrapping it in asbestos . . . and apparently into the wrong drawer. The one that contained the Jarrid stone.

  He drew in burning air, felt it scorch through his lungs and seep into his skin, eyes, nostrils . . . just as it had during the fire. But there was no smoke, nothing to clog his lungs and vision, and he was moving. Miraculously, he was able to make his limbs work, and he stood over the two stones. They weren’t fused together but were next to each other, and he could see the energy radiating between them.

  Aware that no one was there, that no one could have followed him this far, Wyatt reached for the orange crystal. He saw his hand move through the undulating waves of heat, shimmering blue and orange and yellow, and when he touched the stone, he felt it sear into his flesh.

  But he picked it up, enclosing it in his fist . . . and the room cooled.

  Instantly.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Chapter 24

  Remy swallowed hard. Her insides churned and sloshed and she could hardly draw a breath. The heat of the day was at its height, for it was just past noon—ten hours before the deadline.

  She wanted to get it over with.

  She wanted to know Envy was going to be safe.

  She wanted to be gone before she had to see Wyatt again.

  Ian glanced down at her as they walked out of the gates of Envy. His eyes appeared strained, and not simply because of the sun blazing down on them. Sh
e knew that for all his harsh comments and selfishness, he was concerned for her too. And, knowing Ian, concerned for himself as well.

  The semicircle of five Humvees were in plain sight, less than a half mile from the city. Guards stood in front of them with rifles, halfway between the gate and their vehicles. Close enough that Remy could see their faces.

  She hoped to hell they wouldn’t shoot until they found out who she was.

  Ian must have had the same thought, for he raised his hand in greeting and called out the name of one of the bounty hunters who stood there. Although his wave was acknowledged, the firearms remained upright and at the ready.

  Apparently his peers didn’t trust Ian any more than she did, when it came down to it.

  She walked across the thick green grass and felt the walls of Envy rise behind her. She was not going to think about what she was doing. What she was leaving behind.

  It would do no good and it would only serve to weaken her resolve. Just one step after the other. Step. Step. Step.

  She had to blink hard to hold back tears. A picklike sensation scraped her insides hollow as she forced her limbs into motion. She should be thinking about what to say and how to conduct herself with the Strangers, but instead she was thinking of everything behind her. Her new friends. Her beloved dog. The man she loved.

  Leaving Wyatt to be with his family, to settle the battle within himself, was the hardest part . . . and yet, in some ways, it was the easiest. Life with him would never be easy. He was too prickly, too autocratic, too caught up in shoulds rather than coulds.

  But what a man he was.

  She lifted her chin as she and Ian approached the guards. He greeted two of them by name, and the rest edged closer. One of them looked familiar to Remy from her bounty hunting days with Ian.

  “Tell Hegelson I’m here,” her companion said.

  “Hegelson? What the hell would he be doing here?” said a tall man with a shaved head. He sneered.

  Apparently, Ian knew better. “He’s here. Tell him Ian Marck has what he wants.”

  “I remember you,” said one of the men. He looked at Remy with disinterest then turned his attention back to Ian. “Hegelson doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s got other things on his mind. Until ten o’clock tonight, that is.” His grin was unpleasant.

  Another of the guards jostled against the man who’d recognized her. “That’s the bitch Seattle had,” he muttered, scratching his bald head. “Remember her? I don’t think Hegelson’ll want to tap that.”

  Ian tensed next to her, reaching for something, but Remy kept her eyes coolly on the bald man. “Oh he’ll want to see me,” she said. “I’m Remington Truth.”

  All the heads swiveled toward her, and Remy knew she’d crossed the point of no return. She might as well play it all the way. “Get Hegelson out here or he’ll never get the Mother crystal.”

  Ian glanced down at her. She didn’t bother to give him an apologetic look; she’d seen no need to give him a play by play of her intentions.

  The men scrambled into action then, with several rushing off toward an old house—presumably to carry the message.

  When the one who’d sneered at Ian aimed his rifle at them, Remy said, “Put it down. Did you not notice I came here of my own volition? If you hurt me or Ian, you’ll never get the crystal.”

  “Oh, I have my ways of getting information I need . . . whether it’s offered freely or not so freely.” The sneering man’s eyes were narrow and predatory.

  “That might be the case, but Hegelson won’t appreciate it if either of us are in no condition to give the information. Trust me. He’s been looking for this for fifty years. You don’t want to chance fucking it up.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but a commotion behind him drew his attention. The group of guards parted to reveal a man whom Remy instantly realized was Liam Hegelson.

  “Remington Truth,” he said as he stepped forward. “And Ian Marck. How fascinating.”

  “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but, well, it’s not,” Remy told him. She was damned proud of her strong, steady voice. “I have no respect for a man who would hold an entire city hostage in order to get what he wants.”

  Hegelson’s blue eyes gleamed. “A man does what a man must do to gain his freedom.”

  “As does a woman.” Remy scraped her attention over him, mustering up every bit of disdain she could. She even curled her lip—a move she’d learned from Wyatt. “Which is why I’ve brought you this.”

  As she reached into the pocket of her pretty blue sundress, Ian turned to her, shock and dismay on his face. “No, Remy,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Don’t—”

  A rifle suddenly at his throat choked him off, and she looked at Sneering Man, who seemed altogether too trigger happy. “You’re overreacting,” she told him. “And you’re being rude.” She looked at Hegelson. “Tell them to back off. All of them. Or this discussion is over.”

  Hegelson shrugged. “If the discussion ends, the deadline is reinstated. Ten p.m. and Envy is toast.”

  Remy kept her smile cool. “Do you really think I came out here willingly without some contingency plan? I haven’t evaded you and your goons for twenty years by being a fool. Now tell your minions to back off or I walk away.”

  She could feel Ian’s confusion and tension next to her, but didn’t spare him a glance. He’d played his games. She could play hers.

  Hegelson eyed her hand, which was still thrust in her pocket, then gestured for the guards to step back. “Disarm,” he said.

  Remy waited until the guards were a good distance away before removing her hand from her pocket. Her fingers were closed, and Hegelson’s eyes went directly to her fist. She could feel hunger and greed vibrating from him, and it confused her.

  Did he not realize the Mother crystal was deadly?

  She held out her hand and opened it.

  “What the hell is that?” Hegelson’s face turned furious. “What is this?”

  “This is the dead crystal from your bounty hunter Lacey,” she said. She glanced down at the eerie object in her hand. It looked like a large gray sun fashioned from granite. The center was a stone, the stone that had protruded from Lacey’s skin. But radiating from the stone were a multitude of tiny arms or rays that had grown like roots or veins through Lacey’s body. When the crystal was alive, it brought life and immortality to the wearer.

  But now . . . it was dead.

  And Hegelson clearly recognized it.

  “Consider this me doing you a favor,” Remy said. “Lacey came in close proximity to the Mother crystal and this is what happened to her. She died within minutes. Marley Huvane—yes, she’s been here in Envy all this time—did the same. If I give you the Mother crystal, Liam, you won’t have it in your possession for more than ten minutes and you’ll be dead.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” Hegelson choked. “You’re even more foolish than I thought. I—”

  “We’ve already established how foolish I’m not,” Remy said. “I came out here in good faith to negotiate with you, and by doing so, Liam . . . I’ve saved your life. Now—”

  A loud noise behind her drew his attention, and Ian’s too. Remy looked over her shoulder and her insides dropped.

  Striding toward them with smooth, purposeful steps was Wyatt. He was accompanied by Simon, Elliott, Quent, and Fence, two of them flanking him on either side.

  For a moment Remy was struck by the sight of them. They looked like a group of superheroes or a team of warriors: the cluster of five men, powerful, filled with purpose and beautiful in their strength.

  As they approached, she tried to catch Wyatt’s eye, but he was looking at Ian, and then Hegelson.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded the latter, gesturing for his guards.

  “I’ve come to give you what you want,” Wyatt said, holding out a clenched fist. “The Mother crystal—”

  “No!” Remy cried, shoving at his arm. “What the hel
l are you doing?” She spun on him. Why was he ruining everything?

  “The Mother crystal.” Hegelson fairly licked his chops . . . but then with a glance at Remy, he seemed to recall her warning and stepped back several yards. “You, Morris—you get it from him.”

  “No, Wyatt,” Remy said again, trying to shove him out of the way. “I have this under control,” she hissed between clenched teeth, glaring up at him as she tried not to cry. He was so solid, and warm, and familiar, and she was furious with him . . . and yet . . . he was here. “You’re ruining everything!”

  He looked down at her for the first time. His cold eyes softened. “Trust me,” he said.

  She drew in her breath to argue, but something in his expression . . . something new . . . stopped her. The clutch in her gut eased. And she stepped away. “Fine,” she said, loud enough for the others to hear. “Give him what he wants.”

  “Morris!” Hegelson ordered. “Take the stone into custody.” He edged back even more, the damn coward.

  “Here it is,” Wyatt said, and to Remy’s surprise and shock, he flung the stone from his clenched fist.

  As it arched through the air in a glittering orange blaze, Ian and Hegelson both gave involuntary cries and started toward it. At the same time, Wyatt grabbed Remy by the front of her dress and yanked her toward him.

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” he said, his eyes dark and filled with an expression that made her insides flutter. “Stay with me, Remy.” The next thing she knew, he was kissing the living hell out of her . . . and despite everything going on around them, she had her arms around his neck and was kissing him back. Someone—it had to be Fence—gave a gleeful whistle, and she heard the low rumble of his chuckle.

  But then she remembered where they were and the situation they were in, and she struggled out of Wyatt’s arms. “What the hell—”

  She stopped talking when she saw what everyone around them was looking at.

  Not more than a hundred yards away there was a column of . . . something. Something shimmering, like heat waves in the sun. Morris lay on the ground nearby, struggling to pull himself to his feet. Ian stood halfway between them and the shimmering column, and it wasn’t until he shifted to the side that Remy saw the orange glow on the ground.