Darkness(60)

“You haven’t been up inside here before?” He was looking at her. She could feel rather than see his gaze on her.

“No.”

“All right.” Twisting the cap off a bottle of water, he handed it to her and stood up. Just because he’d assumed she wanted water didn’t mean he could read her mind, she told herself. It simply meant that he could add two and two, as in, long walk coupled with arduous climb equals thirst. “I’m going to go check it out.”

“I’ll be right here.”

He was holding a flashlight, she saw when he switched it on. Only the smallest sliver of light escaped, and she realized that he was taking care to mask it with his fingers, not that, given the weather, there was any real chance that so insignificant a light could be seen beyond the cave. The gun was in his other hand. Seeing it, she shivered.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

Gina didn’t reply. Instead she took careful sips of her water and watched the receding narrow stripe of light as he headed down what seemed to be a long passage before hanging a left and disappearing from view. As she sat there listening to the wind and snow and puffins, she suddenly regretted not going with him. Alone in the dark, it was much harder to keep the ghosts at bay.

She thought of sunny California, her cheerful, comfortable condo, her mother, who lived with her second husband just a few miles from her. Her calm, sensible, unadventurous mother had been her father’s second wife (he’d been on his fourth at the time of his death) and, while Gina had had an older half sister from her father’s first marriage—Becca, another natural-born adventurer who’d died in the plane crash—Gina was her mother’s only child. She knew that if she didn’t make it back, her mother would grieve forever.

The thought of her mother grieving made her chest tighten.

Just don’t think.

Keeping her mind blank was a useful way to avoid being overwhelmed with emotion, she had learned.

An image of Arvid in his Day-Glo coat floating facedown in the river slid past her defenses.

Her stomach twisted. Had she left him behind to die?

Save yourself.

Her father’s last words to her echoed through her head.

Once more, that’s exactly what she had done: saved herself.

Gina’s throat closed up. She scrunched her eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

Hot tears slid down her cheeks.

Stop it, she ordered herself fiercely.

When the tears kept coming, she pushed her hood back and unzipped her coat and dried her cheeks on the edge of her thermal shirt. She took off her gloves and poured some of the water from the bottle into her cupped hand and splashed her face with it. Several times. It was cold, bracingly so.

That seemed to do the trick. The tears stopped. She dried her face on her shirt again, sniffed mightily, and dug in her pocket for her ChapStick, which she applied to her lips. It tasted of cherry, which was nice. Next she pulled her comb out and started methodically working the tangles out of her hair.

Concentrate on mundane tasks: another lesson learned in how to carry on after a tragedy.

She saw the stripe of light that was Cal coming back and pocketed her comb.

“This is a hell of a cave,” he said when he reached her. The stripe of light hit her face, causing her to flinch. The light lingered, and she got the impression that he was staring hard at her.

She threw up a hand in protest.

“Would you turn that off?” Her voice was sharp.

He did. It was suddenly so dark that she could barely see him. He made a movement that she thought was him pocketing the gun. Easing down to sit beside her, he said, “You crying?”

Oh, God, she couldn’t believe that he’d noticed what must be the telltale signs.

“No.” Her voice was sharper than before.

“Thank God. Crying women scare the hell out of me.”

That made her smile. A little. Reluctantly. “In that case, maybe I am.”

She could feel him looking at her. Taking another drink of water, she concentrated on the wall opposite them instead of looking back. The wall she absolutely couldn’t see because it was too dark.

He took the bottle from her, drank. He’d taken off his gloves, she saw. The better to handle a weapon? She didn’t want to think about it.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

“Pretty upsetting, seeing your friend killed like that. Several of your friends.”

“Who are you, Dr. Phil?”

“If you need me to be.”

She shot him a look. Not that he saw it, she thought, or that she saw him as anything other than a solid patch of darkness looming beside her. He was being nice, and right now nice was something she couldn’t take. Especially from him. He’d come out of the same mold as the bad guys chasing them, she was pretty sure. The only difference was that right now he happened to be on her side.

She said, “I don’t need you to be anything. Except quiet.”

He didn’t reply, just meditatively sipped her water. Gina’s eyes narrowed as it occurred to her that he was waiting. For her to break down and pour her heart out to him. Which wasn’t going to happen.

“That’s annoying,” she said.

“What’s annoying?”

“You. Sitting there like that.”