Page 258 of The Black Trilogy

“Do you stay here a lot?” he asked.

The room looked lived-in, not something reserved for guests. The furniture matched perfectly, artfully made in distressed wood that didn’t go with the rest of the house. Tubes of make-up littered the dressing table and clothes were folded over the back of a chair. Luke took a closer look at the pile of magazines on a low table by the window—Wired, Cosmopolitan, The Linux Journal, and something on arts and crafts.

“I spend most of my time in the States, but I come to Europe once a month or so. Emmy and Black always wanted us to feel at home here, so I decorated my room how I like it. My grandmother made the quilt.” She smiled as she looked down at it. “It reminds me of my real home.”

“Where’s that? And who’s Black?”

“I’m Texan, born and bred. Black was Emmy’s husband.”

Ah yes, the dead one. Another reminder of Emmy’s darker side.

“I heard a rumour that Emmy did him in.”

Mack rounded on Luke, hands on hips. “Even the idea of that’s ridiculous,” she snapped.

He held his hands up in a gesture of conciliation. “That’s just what someone said.”

“Who?”

“A mate in the police.”

“Well, it’s not true.” Fire flashed in her eyes.

Great. So far in his company, Mack had gone from crying to cross, and Luke wasn’t sure which one scared him most. Time to go to bed before he put his foot in it again.

“Where should I sleep?” he asked, taking a step backwards.

She simmered down a little. “The room to the right of this one’s empty. Use anything you want from the wardrobe or bathroom.”

Luke found enough energy to clean his teeth with a spare toothbrush from the drawer under the sink, then he stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed. It was a king size, and the expanse of cool sheets stretched out on either side of him. He had to admit, he missed spending the night with a woman. In all his time with Ash, she’d insisted on sleeping in the spare room.

As he drifted off, he couldn’t help thinking of a very different woman sleeping alone. He imagined her red hair spread over that pale blue pillow, those long limbs splayed on the sheets. Cain, don’t think about Mack that way.

He’d never dated a redhead before, and with Ash in the picture, he didn’t dare consider it.

CHAPTER 39

I STUMBLED OVER a rocky outcrop, losing my footing as part of the surface gave way beneath me. A bolt of pain shot through my ankle as I reached out, barely hanging onto a jagged ledge as I stopped myself from falling. Six days in the desert had slowed my reactions.

The agony in my ankle faded as a new throb started up in my hand. I looked down in fascination as blood oozed from my palm. On a normal day, it would have gushed, but dehydration left my blood thick and sticky. My heart struggled to push it around my veins, or at least that’s what it felt like. Every beat vibrated through me, reminding me I was still alive, but not for long.

The sun blinded me as I stepped around a boulder, burning into my retinas as I tried to blink. Even my eyes were dry. Up ahead, a cliff promised shade from the heat to come, and I forced myself to keep going. Just a few more yards, then I could rest. Or die.

I’d had the same thought yesterday, but my body hadn’t given up. Would today be my lucky day? I began to think that death was the better option. Anything would be better than…this.

I looked around at my prison—mile upon mile of emptiness. The only sign of human existence had been a discarded flip-flop a mile or two back. Why did someone leave a single shoe behind? A couple of times I thought I saw people on the horizon, but nature liked playing tricks. The first time a rock formation confused me, the second it was a dead tree. At least I wasn’t hallucinating completely. Right?

Black whispered in my ear, his breath making my skin tingle. “Don’t give up, Diamond.”

All very well for him to say. I spun around but he’d gone, floating away on the warm breeze that tormented me in my waking hours. It gave the illusion of coolness, but in reality, it robbed me of moisture and liquid was the only thing separating me from the Underworld.

I stared at the bottle containing the last of my urine. On day two, it had been pale yellow, the colour of a summer cornfield back home. Now it took on the hue of the setting sun, and it tasted disgusting. I allowed myself another sip, resisting the urge to spit it out, then fished the last glucose tablet out of my pocket. It’d take the foul taste away, but once I’d eaten it… Apart from a lizard I’d caught on day three, the packet of sweets was all I’d eaten since the crash. The waistband of my trousers gaped as it clung to my hipbones. At this rate, I’d be heading down the catwalk when I got back. No, not when. If. If I got back. Black always told me I’d find a way out of anything, but this problem left me stumped.

The cliff grew bigger until it filled my vision, and I looked for somewhere to hunker down for the day. Or maybe eternity, who knew? A soft patch of sand would be good, or a smooth rock. Anywhere out of the fast-rising sun.

What was that shadow? I stepped closer. A cave? I dropped to my knees and crawled inside, my eyes slow to adjust to the darkness as the hollow widened beyond the entrance. My hand hit something. What was it? I felt around the object, smooth, leathery, and covered in tattered cloth.

A body. A freaking body. Well, wasn’t that motivational? The poor guy had lain here for years judging by the state of him. What was his story? Intrepid backpacker? Elderly Bedouin? Or, like me, just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Whatever, I’d be sharing his resting place for the next twelve hours. Perhaps his tomb too.

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