Page 10 of These Summer Storms

“Let’s lose them, then.”

“Yessir.” The car peeled out of the drive, barely missing the man who leaped out of its path, the engine straining to live up to the full requirements of a getaway car. “Then to the motel?”

“We’ll drop her first.”

It was a prompt, which she’d answer, eventually. Just as soon as she looked away from his hand, balled into a fist, attached to that forearm that boasted the compass, wet with rain and, in the flash of the streetlights beyond, red-knuckled.

Like he’d hit something.

Later, she would chalk it up to a wild combination of grief and loneliness that she liked those knuckles, scraped and raw. But in the moment? When he turned his fist over and opened his hand with a ragged, “Here,” she liked it for other reasons.

Especially when she recognized the small rectangles on his palm. A pair of external SD cards.

Her eyes flew to his, and he said, “From the cameras.” That was it. Nothing more, no pressing her for information he was, frankly, owed, considering he’d committed some light assault for her.

There was something powerfully appealing about a man who still didn’t seem to care who she was, or why she’d brought chaos into his life.

“Are you okay?” he asked, the second time since they’d left the train.

No.But this helps.

“Where to, sweethaht?” The driver, this time.

Wherewasshe going? She’d been so sure of her path—so certain she’d been on the right one. And now…nothing made sense. Nothing but this moment. She’d been in danger, and now she wasn’t. And tomorrow, everything would return, but tonight, this made sense.

He made sense.

She reached out—not for the SD cards. Instead, she put her hand in his, capturing the rectangles between their palms, reveling in the heat of his touch, rough and firm. Steady. Like the train.

Unlike everything else.

“The Quahog Quay.”

Chapter

3

It was not awalk of shame.

Yes, Alice had slipped from beneath the heavy arm hooked over her hip and remained perfectly still, clinging to the edge of the too-small bed in Quahog Quay Room 3, staring at the door through which they’d crashed a handful of hours earlier in a breathless tangle of rain-soaked bodies and baggage (literal and metaphorical).

Yes, once she’d been certain he wasn’t going to wake up, she’d collected her discarded clothes like they were unexploded munitions and crept to the bathroom, closing the door like she was cracking a safe.

And yes, when she’d exited the bathroom after washing her face and combing the salt and sea through her hair, she’d studiously ignored him, handsome and half-naked and asleep as she snuck out into the six o’clock sun peeking over the Bay, golden and gorgeous, promising to burn away the remnants of the night before.

She walked the quarter mile from the clapboard motel to the docks, eager to get there before the harbormaster or anyone else in that small town full of big mouths would see her—but not because she was ashamed.

At least, not because she was ashamed of her one-night stand, which, while deeply out of character for Alice, had proven really pretty great—in more ways than the obvious.

Growing up Alice Storm, she’d learned to be suspicious of people who appeared from nowhere. The threats were myriad, from the obvious (photos and gossip about spoiled rich girls were the hottest of modern commodities, the messier the better) to the insidious—charming, clever parasites who would do anything, say anything, for proximity to wealth and power.

Franklin had trained all his children to be wary of any kindness that appeared freely given, resulting in something of a skills gap when it came to interpersonal relationships. The first blush of attraction that made fast friends and breathless romance for the rest of the world was not to be trusted for Storm children, and Alice had built her shields early—especially when it came to sex.

Over the years, she’d selected partners like other people selected cars, with careful consideration: miles per gallon (a career outside of tech), safety ratings (interest in Alice, but not Storm), resale value (willingness for a long-term commitment).

Sure, she’d made some mistakes (one colossal one), but the truth was, one-night stands were not well rated byCar and Driver.

But Alice hadn’t been herself the night before, and her world wouldn’t be itself again for a while, and she’dlikedthat big, steady man with his strong hands and sure touch and his willingness to step into the fray to keep her out of it.