Page 126 of Lone Star

“Promise,” she said.

Relief touched his face, obvious and endearing. His hand closed on the back of her neck, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

A soft, thorough kiss, and Axelle didn’t mind their morning breath, or the rasp of stubble – that second part she liked, even. Slipped her arms around his neck and swam through the last bit of sheets so they were pressed together, front-to-front. She was a little shocked, though, at the thrill that surged through her, when her breasts landed against his chest. That slight contact phenomenon, again.

His tongue stroked hers, and it was hard to think after that.

Someone knocked on the door.

Axelle pulled back with a soft “fuck,” smiling at the absurdity of it. “I knew that would happen.”

He groaned, but he was smiling, too.

“Good morning!” Darla trilled on the other side of the door. “Breakfast will be ready soon, and it’ll go faster with helpers!” Her heels clicked down the hall, and Axelle heard her repeat the exercise at the next door.

Axelle stared at Albie. She hadn’t anticipated being dragged out of bed tohelp in the kitchen. “Is she kidding?” she hissed. “I don’t cook.”

He looked far too amused. “You cooked for me.”

“I heated shit up ‘cause I was trying to get laid.”

“Hmm,” he said, doubtful. “You don’t strike me as a sex on the first date kind of girl.”

She smacked his shoulder, and it made a satisfying sound. “You don’t know.”

His smile widened, flashing teeth now. “Yeah, I do.”

“Ugh, you suck.” She sat up, and started to turn.

He caught her wrist.

When she turned back to him, all traces of humor had left his face. He was earnest, now, and that sent a whole other kind of shiver rippling down her back. “It’s going to be okay, you know. We’re going to catch them, and everything will be alright.”

Six months ago, she might have resented that kind of platitude; it would have felt like being lied to, patted on the head, told to let other people – men – worry about the hard stuff. But that wasn’t what he was doing, and in the moment, her pulse already starting to pick up for reasons far less pleasant than last night, she read the words as an offering. A hope for both of them.

She didn’t sayI know, because that would have been a lie. But she leaned down to kiss him one more time, to thank him for caring.

~*~

Michelle had been awake since Fox’s four-thirty a.m. phone call had set Candy’s phone to vibrating across the nightstand. She didn’t even mind that she was drinking decaf; adrenaline had kept her alert and bright-eyed better than coffee ever managed. She had the volume on the sanctuary TV set almost too low to hear, but when Jenny sat down next to her on the sofa, she bumped it up.

“…Officials still haven’t made a statement regarding this scene behind me at Dr. Gilliard’s home…” a field reporter was saying, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the house, which was ablaze with lights against the pearly dawn, all roped off and circled by unmarked cars and SUVs and lab vans. Behind him, someone in an FBI windbreaker was ducking under the tape, and walking toward the camera, furious, waving white-gloved hands. “Oh, hold on, we’re being asked to leave,” the reporter said, eyes widening, and the camera angle shook crazily before the feed cut back to the local news desk.

“How do they always know to show up with their cameras?” Jenny mused.

“Someone tips them off,” Michelle said. She turned to her sister-in-law, question poised on her tongue.

Jenny said, “Colin just told me. Jesus. Are they alright?”

“Everyone but Tenny, and he’s in the ICU. He’ll be alright, Eden said.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

Michelle shrugged and turned back to the TV. “He’s kind of a dick, and I’ve never even really met him.”

On screen, the feed cut back to the field reporter, blurry, unsteady footage taken from a distance of a forklift backing out of Gilliard’s garage, loaded with a pallet of crates. “Right there, Bobby, get that shot!” the reporter’s voice said from out of frame.

“Where are the girls, though?” Michelle asked, thinking aloud.

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