Page 51 of Unnatural (Men and Monsters #2)

“Sam?” Autumn called, flinging the cottage door open and rushing inside.

“Sam?” The red truck wasn’t parked out front as she’d expected it to be, but maybe he’d parked it on the far side of the house that was obscured by trees.

She removed her jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch. Where are you?

It was freezing in the house, and she rubbed her hands together as she walked to the kitchen, expecting to see him through the window, sitting on the deck in his usual chair, having let the fire die down while he stared out at the lake, but he wasn’t there either.

Her stomach tightened, and the first buzz of panic skated along her spine.

She went to the bedroom, the panic notching higher when she saw that the bed was neatly made and his jacket and hat were gone.

In the bathroom, she found the razor and toothbrush he’d been using, but that didn’t give her much consolation.

Did you leave? Without saying goodbye? He had seemed tense and oddly quiet—even for Sam—when he dropped her off. She’d assumed he was just worried about her and not relishing their parting, but she hadn’t even considered that he’d been planning to leave while she was gone.

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it down. No, no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have left. But if he had , she didn’t have a clue where to begin looking for him.

She stood there in the cold, empty cottage where they’d spent so many wondrous moments, and a sob rose inside, a gasp of pure fear that he was lost to her when she’d only just found him.

When she’d just begun to love him.

So when she caught a glimpse of movement out the front window and tossed the curtain aside to see Sam walking toward the cottage, she let out a small cry as she flung the door open and rushed outside.

She ran the short distance and launched herself into his arms. He let out a sound that was half grunt, half oomph as he caught her, dropping the duffel bag that had been in his hand and wrapping her in his arms.

She sensed his distress by the way he held his body even before she’d gotten a good look at his expression, so she pulled back, her gaze moving over his face, taking in his forlorn eyes.

“Where did you go?” She noted his cleanly shaven face.

She couldn’t see even a wisp of hair beneath his ball cap.

She reached up and removed his cap, looking at his buzz cut, the same one he’d had when she’d first brought him to the cottage, the one easily hidden by a hat.

He had also had his sweatshirt hood pulled up over the hat when he’d walked toward her up the dirt road, likely to hide the scar on the side of his face so he could travel as incognito as possible out into the world.

“To return the truck to Adam. It wasn’t mine.”

Adam. The old man he’d worked for on the apple farm. She glanced behind him in the direction of the main road. “How did you get back?”

“I hitched a ride on the back of a flatbed. They dropped me off a few miles from here.”

His voice. It was lacking all emotion. “Did it not go well? What happened, Sam?”

“They killed Adam,” he said, voice so even it sent a shiver down her spine as much as the words he’d uttered.

“What?” She took a small step back. “Why? Who?”

“The program,” he said. “They tracked me somehow. Maybe using the truck or…public cameras. I…don’t know. Maybe they questioned Adam, and he didn’t cooperate in the way they wanted him to. Maybe…”

He stared off past her, his expression so bleak it broke her heart.

He hadn’t mentioned it to her, but the fact that he’d unintentionally stolen something from someone had been bothering him all this time.

But not just any someone… He cared about the old man.

She had heard it in his voice when he’d spoken of him and described the place where he’d worked.

He cared what he thought of him. Sam. Sweet Sam.

He’d taken a risk to do what was right and found that the man had been killed.

Oh God . And clearly, he blamed himself.

And it scared her too. If they had tracked him there…could they track him here too? Even if they hadn’t yet, could they eventually? “Let’s go inside,” she said, her eyes moving from tree to tree as though, even now, there were snipers positioned to take them both down.

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Sam said. “I want to check the property. Lock the door.”

“Do you think… they know where you are?”

“If they did, we’d know. But I still want to look around.”

Autumn swallowed, her fear growing now that she knew Sam was concerned about their safety here too. She gave a quick nod and then moved swiftly to the cottage and locked the door behind her.

Autumn sat on the couch as she waited for him.

She felt sad, like she’d come down off a mountain and needed time to adjust to the air pressure down below.

She mourned for the old man Sam had cared for and for Sam’s obvious grief and self-blame.

And she acknowledged that because of what they now knew—that Sam was being tracked—they wouldn’t be able to stay here for long, this beautiful refuge that they’d found.

She’d known that anyway, but she hadn’t expected their time here to be cut quite so short.

For the past month, she’d been focused on staying out of the public eye, keeping Sam hidden so he could heal.

But she’d known that at some point very soon, they would have to reenter society.

Autumn was expected back at work, and Sam…

well, Sam couldn’t stay locked away somewhere, whether that place be a remote cottage or her small, one-bedroom house.

But now, even that murky plan had been destroyed by Sam’s discovery. It was probably best that they leave in the morning. But to where?

What are we going to do?

A few minutes later, Sam called her name from the front porch, and she let him in. “Everything good?”

He gave a nod and then moved to the fireplace where he went about building a fire, and Autumn made a pot of coffee.

When she’d poured herself a cup, she returned to the living room.

Sam was sitting on the rug in front of the roaring fire, staring into the flames.

She set the steaming mug on the heavy trunk used as a coffee table and pulled a couple throw pillows from the couch, tossed them on the floor, and joined him.

Then she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Sam again and resting her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, absorbing his warmth.

“I’m sorry, Sam. So sorry. We’re going to have to talk about what’s next. ”

“Did you find him?” Sam asked. “The boy from the file?”

She pulled back and then propped a pillow against the trunk and rested her back on it.

She let her eyes move over Sam. He was obviously ignoring her comment, deeply troubled, overwhelmed, perhaps in a bit of shock, and maybe he needed the distraction of hearing what she’d found out.

“Yes.” She told him about Kaden and Ashtyn, about Kaden’s experience being taken off the medication.

“Just like you,” Sam said, turning his gaze back to the fire.

“Yes,” she murmured, recalling Ashtyn’s question, and Kaden’s answer at the end of their conversation. She picked up the mug and took a sip of the hot coffee, letting it warm her insides.

They needed a control group. Babies and kids they knew didn’t have the disease.

She told Sam about that too, which caused the worry lines between his brows to grow deeper.

“I don’t know what to do,” Autumn said. “I’m in possession of more information now, but it almost doesn’t matter.

Whichever route I go, they’re all going to say the same thing again.

Only now it won’t just be me. It will be Kaden too.

We experienced hallucinations. We had medication-induced fever dreams. We should enjoy our lives, blah, blah, blah.

And I mean, I do. I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that I— we —were also robbed of years and years when we would have been healthy, normal kids.

We were lied to, and I want to know why. ”

Autumn watched a small muscle in Sam’s jaw as it clenched and unclenched. She leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, and he turned his face to her.

“I know you helping us is a risk, Sam, now more than ever. I know you’re afraid the authorities will take you into custody to question you about the shooting.

But you can corroborate what I’ve reported about the woods.

And we can’t run forever. Those people killed someone you cared for.

If we report what we know…there must be someone who can help us, who will give us the protection of… whistleblowers or…something. Sam?”

He had turned his face back to the fire. “I’ve done illegal things, Autumn. Things that would not be overlooked by law enforcement,” he said stoically.

“I…well, I mean…I figured you were sent to do things that soldiers do, but you were part of a program. Sam…whatever you’ve done, you did because other people directed you.”

“I still did those things.”

Will you tell me about it, Sam? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back, fear swirling in her belly. Maybe now wasn’t the time. Perhaps they were already dealing with enough as it was.

Sam watched her, then looked away, lowering his shoulders as though trying to make himself smaller.

Autumn reached out her hand to him. She sensed she was letting him down in some very important way, and though she wanted to fix it, she was so incredibly torn.

I’m not loving him right. But I’m scared too. How do I do this?

The situation was so complicated, so uncharted, so terrifying, and Autumn was equal parts frustrated, afraid, and just downright sad. She was desperate to help him, to find justice for them and so many others, and to figure out a way to move forward and find safety.

Because she loved him. There must be a way to figure this out.

“I almost didn’t return today. I’m a safety risk to you, Autumn. But I couldn’t…” He let out a gust of breath.

“What?” She gripped his arm. “No. Sam, you have to promise me, no matter what, that you won’t leave without telling me. I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear wondering if you’re okay.”

“You can bear more than you think. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Sam, please—”

Before she could say another word, the sound of a vehicle met her ears, and they both turned toward the front door.

Autumn’s eyes flew to Sam’s, fear jolting her. “Whoever it is isn’t trying to sneak up on us. It’s probably Bill.” Bill had told her he was meeting with clients today. She’d planned to update him on her trip to Kaden’s tomorrow. But maybe his schedule had changed.

But Sam had gone to his duffel bag and pulled out a weapon. Autumn gasped at the sight of it as he took her arm and positioned himself in front of her next to the door. It happened in an instant, his movements those of someone trained to expect untold definitions of “trouble.”

The knock came then, and neither of them moved.

“Autumn Clancy?” came the voice of a man.

She met Sam’s eyes, and he brought a finger to his lips.

“My name is Agent Mark Gallagher. Sheriff Monroe sent me,” the man called, his voice muffled through the wooden wall.

Sheriff Monroe sent an agent here?

As if the agent outside had heard her internal question, he said, “The sheriff told me to use the password Boston cream doughnuts. He said that’s how you’d know I could be trusted.”

Autumn’s breath gusted from her mouth. “Let him in,” she told Sam.

Sam looked at her suspiciously, but she tipped her chin.

“The first day I came to live with Bill, he took me out to dinner in town and told me I should order whatever I wanted. I ordered Boston cream doughnuts. Only people who’ve known me since I was fourteen know that.

Plus,” she added, “if the guy on the other side of the door wanted to harm us, would he really be waiting for us to open this rickety door instead of merely kicking it in?” She’d whispered all that, and Sam squinted as he listened.

She implored him with her eyes. They’d just been wrestling with what came next, and now this man was here—this agent—sent by someone she trusted more than almost anyone in the world.

And he was offering them help through the door as if he’d shown up in answer to their call.

He glanced to the rickety door and then back to her, his shoulders lowering, apparently conceding at least that point.

“We need help, Sam. Maybe he can offer some.”

“And if he can’t?”

“He leaves, and then we do too.”

His eyes moved over her face, and something resolute came into his expression. She saw his muscles loosen, and then he stuffed his weapon in the back waistband of his jeans and walked to the door.

When he opened it, a good-looking older man stood on the other side, his mostly gray hair cut short, wearing jeans and a fleece-lined canvas jacket. His eyes went to Sam, his expression registering no surprise, as though he’d expected to see the very large, white-haired man standing next to Autumn.

“I’m only here to offer help. I’m not a threat, I promise. I know you both were at Deercroft that day, and I know you’re both innocent,” the agent said.

Next to her, Sam was very still. And she had no doubt that should it become necessary, he would use the weapon in his waistband or fight this man.

But though she had no idea who this agent was or how he’d found them, her gut told her he wasn’t a threat.

At least not physically. And at least not yet. She looked past him. He’d come alone.

“How…how did you find us?” Autumn asked.

“I located you after watching hours of street camera footage. I retraced your steps to your social worker. She was able to give me your name.”

Fear continued to creep through her system. Would this agent ask them to come with him? What was Sam going to do? He’d made it clear to her he would not be taken into custody. I’ve done illegal things.

“May I please come in?” the agent asked. “I’d like to explain more about who I am and the agency I work for. And I think we can all help each other quite a bit.”