Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(109)

“Do you want me to straighten your skirt for you, Kim?” he’d said finally. When he’d looked over, her eyes were closed now. She didn’t reply.

“Yes?” he’d asked.

Kim had murmured something.

“Okay.” Rohan leaned closer.

She’d been so floppy it had been impossible to keep her sitting upright, so he’d taken her by the shoulders and laid her on the ground.

“Relax.”

Her bare legs had been warm and smooth under his palms. He’d run his hands along them, and as he’d moved, he’d gazed down at her. Eyes shut, vomit in her hair. Her top had twisted up, exposing a broad slice of smooth skin. He’d moved his hands again, tracing patterns with his fingers across her body. One way, then back again and—Rohan had stopped.

Someone was coming.

He’d listened closely. Footsteps were tramping along the path, a flashlight beam flashing all over the place. He’d heard a girl clear her throat, and it had felt like a personal insult. Naomi. Of course it bloody was. Making sure her presence was acknowledged at every possible opportunity. Rohan had gotten to his feet as quietly as he could. He’d glanced down. Kim had looked terrible, lying there like that in her own vomit. If Naomi caught them, she’d get the wrong impression entirely. Rohan had hesitated, then hastily hauled Kim up into a seated position, propping her against the tree trunk. Her head lolled, and her face was slack.

Naomi was closer now, so he’d taken a few fast steps, ducking behind a large eucalyptus tree. Rohan had pressed his shoulder tight against the trunk before peering around.

Naomi had come into sight, marching along the path, and for a moment it had seemed like she would pass right by. Then the flashlight swinging from her hand had gone still. The beam had doubled back. In the harsh white cone of light, Kim was slumped against the tree like a deadweight.

For a second, nothing moved. Then the flashlight beam slid away from Kim, shaking as it reluctantly tracked across the expanse of dark bushland. Rohan had held his breath. The rush of blood in his ears mingled with the distant thumping undercurrent of music. But the accusing, reproachful shout he’d been waiting for hadn’t come.

When he’d worked up the nerve to peer out again, Naomi had still been frozen on the spot. The light from her flashlight had been almost bouncing in her unsteady hands. Okay. So she wasn’t about to point the beam his way, stride into the trees, and give him a piece of her mind, Rohan had realized. Not even close. He’d felt a bubble of amusement rise. Naomi was completely freaked out.

“Kim?” Naomi’s voice had been barely more than a whisper. No response. She had glanced one way, then the other, fast and furtive.

Jesus. Rohan had held in a lungful of air, anticipation rising. She’s going to leave her here. Righteous, bossy, judgmental Naomi wanted to run away.

“Kim?” The girl’s voice had been almost swallowed by the bushland. “Seriously. Can you get up?” Another fast glance down the path.

Do it, Naomi, Rohan had silently encouraged. Run home. Go on. No one will know.

The night air had seemed to quiver with indecision, then suddenly Naomi made a low noise in her throat. She’d stepped swiftly off the path and started trampling fast and noisily through the undergrowth toward Kim.

Rohan had watched, with equal parts surprise and irritation. He hadn’t thought Naomi had it in her. Neither had she, judging by the look on her face.

Naomi had been swearing, a rapid stream of whispered words as she’d grabbed Kim and pulled, her hands rough, using whatever leverage she could to drag her up.

“Move, Kim. Now. Or you’re on your own. I swear to God. I’m sorry, but I’m not staying out here. Move now.”

The urgency seemed to stir Kim, and she had struggled to her feet at last, allowing herself to be pulled toward the track.

Clear of the bushland and back on firmer ground, Naomi had put her arm around Kim, then paused mid-movement. Still breathing heavily, she’d run the flashlight over the other girl again, more slowly this time. Lingering on the vomit in Kim’s hair, her twisted top, her rucked-up skirt. Rohan had watched from behind the tree with an odd fascination as Naomi had for a moment become eerily calm. She had taken a breath, then reached out with gentle, careful hands and fixed Kim’s clothes.

“It’s okay,” she’d whispered. “I’ve got you now. I’ll take you home.”

Naomi’s face had been tight and pinched as she’d propped a shoulder under Kim’s arm and led her away. Kim had stumbled alongside, her limbs moving heavily. She was—the thought had popped into Rohan’s head as a detached observation—really very drunk.

He’d waited until he was sure they were gone, then had stepped out of the bushland, dusted off his jeans, and made his way back toward the sounds of the party. He was a little disappointed, he’d been willing to admit, but also oddly exhilarated. It had been interesting, being able to elicit those responses from the girls. Okay, things hadn’t panned out exactly as he’d hoped, but it’d been almost better to discover how little effort it had really taken to get Kim where he’d wanted for so long. And seeing Naomi spooked had been a definite unexpected bonus. Rohan had thoroughly enjoyed that.

Back at the clearing, the party had been kicking into high gear just as a dejected Charlie was realizing that Kim was no longer around. Rohan had helped himself to another beer and leaned against a tree, watching.