East of Redemption (Love on the Edge #2) Page 4

  The woman was ripping me apart without touching me, and we still had several hours left on the damned flight. The second-place jab wasn’t intentional, I could tell by the tone in which she’d said it, but it stung either way. Harrison had often made her stay behind and had taken me on expeditions instead. Not for thinking Rain couldn’t handle it, but wanting her to not miss any school or have her grades drop. Since I’d been a rejected foster child earning my education on the streets when he’d found me, I was the easier candidate to take. Plus, I genuinely loved archeology, and Harrison was better than any professor I could’ve ever paid for.

  His face—serene and settled even in the knowledge of his impending death—flashed behind my eyes and I flinched. Damn. It never got easier, and being around Rain only made the wound seem more fresh.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Tired. We should try to sleep.” I shifted in my seat, leaning my head back and cutting my eyes to her. “On our appropriate sides of the line, of course.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t changed much. Cocky as ever.”

  “Oh, I’m worse now.”

  She propped her head on the far side of the chair, her forehead nearly touching the window. “This will be the longest two weeks of my life.”

  “Maybe the best.” I shut my eyes before I could see her reaction. One more lie, but it was easier to dream than dwell on the truth.

  Rain

  I DROPPED MY bags two feet inside the hotel room in Tel Aviv, the weight of them hitting the carpet with an audible thud. My eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with steel wool, and I was desperate for my toothbrush. Nine-hour flights weren’t new to me, but the emotional exhaustion from maintaining a sense of rationality around Easton had worn me out. I hadn’t even been able to sleep on the plane, despite trying for hours. I’d just sat there with my eyes closed, listening to Easton’s breathing and wondering if his eyes were on me. Memories from the first time he kissed me had played on repeat behind my lids.

  He hadn’t hesitated for a second when we were sixteen. He’d taken me to a secluded stream he’d found hidden in the forest where our cabin—home base in the States—had resided. My family always traveled around the world. It was a way of life with my father being the archeologist he was, and he never wanted to leave me or my mother behind. And when Easton came along . . . well, it was almost an instant adoption, though not legally. Whenever we did sit still, we did so in the hundred or so acres of land my grandfather had left my father in Oregon—the place still acted as home base for me today.

  The stream had practically sparkled with the way the sun hit it through the trees that huddled around the water like they were preserving it. The smell . . . it was so much like Easton himself—fresh, crisp, earthy. We’d been mid-debate on how long it’d been since anyone had discovered the free-flowing stream, and he’d simply kissed me. But it wasn’t simple. It was incredible, consuming, and hot as hell. And it had only gotten better from that day on.

  Until he left without a word. Or an explanation.

  I glanced at the bed topped with a thick down comforter and gorgeous royal-blue throw pillows resting in the middle of the plush hotel room. I contemplated arguing his arrogance to think I’d sleep with him in the same bed, but then I remembered how utterly exhausted I was, and suddenly didn’t care where or who I slept with, as long as it was within the next ten minutes.

  Easton came in behind me, carrying a sack full of water bottles, and unloaded them on the desk across from the bed. He twisted one open and downed half of it, his eyes cutting from me to the desk, to his bags, and back. He hadn’t said much since we’d landed and seemed determined to avoid me. I wondered why he didn’t secure two rooms, but I suppose he wasn’t as made of money as I’d assumed. Plus, this hotel was five-star all the way, the view of the city filling our floor-to-ceiling windows was breathtaking. I wouldn’t want him wasting money on separate rooms, especially when this had to cost him a pretty penny on short notice.

  I gave him a half smile, snatched the bag I knew had my toiletries in it, and booked to the oversize bathroom. A huge, sunk-in tub took up most of the space, the sheer size of it calling my name. I cranked the water to hot and brushed my teeth while it filled, the sensation of having a clean mouth bordering on divine. Sinking into the hot water topped that.

  After a good forty-five-minute soak—where I tried desperately to ignore how my body pulsed with a craving for its old flame—I slipped into some fresh sweats and a T-shirt. I expected to find Easton snoring in the bed, but he wasn’t in sight when I came out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair. I took a few steps toward the bed and froze.

  The ends of a sheet and thin blanket stuck out on the other side of the bed, where Easton lay on the floor, stomach down and head turned to the side. The sheet barely covered him, and I couldn’t blame it—there was a damn lot of man there to cover. His bare, tanned back was rigid even as he lay still, his muscles carved and toned, every piece of his body sculpted. A bulging bicep cushioned his head, and he breathed in deep with his eyes closed.

  I swallowed hard, noting he’d drawn the curtains to keep the daylight out so we could catch some sleep. He’d left on the lamp perched on the nightstand above him, the soft glow allowing me to find my way to the bed—if I could ever take my eyes off him.

  His smooth skin tempted me, making my body ache in ways I hadn’t remembered possible in years. I knew exactly how good it felt against mine, how delicious he felt over me, in me.

  I clenched my eyes shut and forced the thoughts away, reminding myself of the weeks I’d spent crying over him. I’d grieved for my father, but Easton had wrecked me. I tossed my damp towel on the desk, took a drink out of one of the water bottles, and finally found the courage to move to the bed.

  I climbed over the foot of the bed, then immediately slid to the side closest to him, and snuck one more peek over the edge. He wasn’t asleep. He was entirely too still, like he held his body locked in place for fear if he moved it’d trigger an earthquake. I knew all too well how he could make my body shake, and part of me ached for it. I contemplated rolling over, turning my back on him like he had all those years ago, but the need in my chest burned to the point of pain.

  “Easton,” I whispered.

  His eyes opened instantly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”

  “While I appreciate the chivalry, that looks terribly uncomfortable.” I eyed the hard floor beneath him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself. If you figure out that you’re an adult and want to sleep up here, this a huge king-size bed, and I promise to keep my hands to myself.” I flipped over and scooted to the farthest side, throwing the comforter over me and closing my heavy lids, mentally counting to ten.

  At eight the comforter shifted and the mattress bowed underneath Easton’s weight. My heart raced, and I smiled. Still predictable, my Easton.

  Not yours.

  I turned to face him after he’d flicked off the light. The contours of his face and his gorgeous eyes were still visible, and I tucked my hands under the left side of my face.

  “This feels like the summer we went to Rome for the first time.” My voice was breathless, though I’d only tried to whisper.

  “You made us stop at each gelato place we passed.”

  “And you wouldn’t shut up about the Colosseum.”

  “It happens to be one of the coolest relics in history.”

  I shrugged. “Not as cool as the Parthenon.”

  “Age hasn’t made you wiser, has it?”

  Without thinking, I smacked him lightly on his bare arm. The touch sent shockwaves through my core, and memories flooded my mind.

  Stolen kisses during our trips, tucked away in back alleys, deep forests, or snowbanks—anywhere we could elude my parents’ eyes. Though, as it turned out, they never didn’t know we were an item. They gave us our space to fall in love, because that’s the type of parents they were, an
d Dad loved Easton. He was the son-in-law he would’ve wanted.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and drew my hand back.

  He sighed and turned over, staring at the ceiling. “That was the first trip your folks gave us our own room.”

  And the first night I’d given myself to him completely. We’d spent the day exploring Rome, absorbing the culture, the rich history, and the local flavors, including several glasses of wine my dad had insisted we try. I’d been seventeen, and it was one of my favorite trips—both because it’d been such a wonderful time spending it with my family, my father—and because Easton and I had taken our passions to the next level. He’d loved me. I’d never doubted that. Not when I gave myself to him that night in our hotel room, slightly buzzed off the wine and the sheer power of the city, and not when he’d left for the last expedition my father ever took. I just didn’t have a clue when he’d stopped.

  “Funny, looking back now. I thought we were so grown up. We were just kids,” I said, and a piece of me wished we were young again, wished we could have another shot. It’d been so easy with him. The trust between us had developed from years of friendship before we’d realized we were in love. And when we came together . . . it was electric. Every single relationship I’d had since—serious or brief—hadn’t compared. Couldn’t. Not when Easton had known me better than anyone else in the world, known my dreams, what made me cringe and what made my eyes roll back in my head.

  “I still feel like that kid, sometimes.” Easton’s voice soothed me even after all these years. I was certain that if he’d pick up a book and read to me like he used to, it would feel so familiar, like no time had passed at all.

  But it had. And we were different people now. Or, at least I was. I didn’t have a clue who Easton had turned into, and I kind of hated how much I looked forward to finding out, even if it was only for this brief two-week job. I had no delusions we’d make working together, or even checking in sporadically, a regular thing. If reconnecting had been in the cards, it would have happened already.

  “You don’t look like the boy I knew.”

  “I filled out a bit.”

  “I liked your body then.”

  “And you don’t now?” He turned his head to look at me, and a blush swept across my skin. Thank God the lights were off.

  “Eh.” I laughed, and he joined in.

  In my exhaustion, flooded with too many memories and the scent of Easton, I nearly reached over and pulled him to me. The last sane piece of my brain refused to allow the motion, and I closed my heavy eyes.

  Too familiar. Too easy to slip. I had to focus. Remember how he left me and my mom to bury an empty casket alone. Remember the years I’d been absolutely fine without him. I continued to repeat these things to myself as sleep laid over me like a heavy blanket.

  I heard Easton whisper, “Night, Raindrop,” before I fell asleep completely.

  After a breakfast—which was technically dinnertime—Easton caught us a cab and had it take us to a dive bar in the heart of the city.

  “What reason could we possibly have for coming here?” I asked as he held the establishment’s door open for me. The place was small, packed with people, and held the scent of strong, sour liquor.

  “We need a car, and there’s a guy here who owes me a favor.” Easton weaved his way through patrons, holding on to my hand the entire way. I let him, more because I didn’t want to lose him among the noisy bar-goers than of need for his protection. I’d been to far seedier places than this during my own travels in search of the best food, or the best connections to the areas in which I sought out the animals I photographed. Some of the species were endangered, others hunted ruthlessly by poachers, or both, and more often than not my journeys took me to the location’s underbelly.

  Not every woman wore a veil here, especially tourists, but I still let my long, blond hair frame my face and tried not to look anyone in the eye. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to my outsider status if I could help it.

  “Calev, how the hell are you?” Easton asked as we squeezed our way to the bar.

  An almond-skinned man with a bushy, black beard grinned a wide, toothy smile. “Wells! You son of a bitch! Finally here to collect, I gather?” His English was surprisingly well-defined, his accent only hitting the ends of the letters.

  “You knew I’d be back.”

  Calev poured a dark liquid into two shot glasses, sliding one to Easton and raising the other. They clinked their glasses before throwing back the shot. “I wondered how long it would take you. It’s been nearly four years, yes?”

  “Five.”

  Calev glanced over to me, practically hugging Easton’s shoulder from lack of space. “Who is your friend?”

  “This is Rain. Harrison Walker’s daughter.”

  A few of the locals drinking at the bar grew silent at Easton’s mention of my dad’s name, and I tried my best not to give them a what’s your problem look. Most of them quickly turned back to their shots, but some shamelessly stared at Easton and me like they wanted to set us on fire. A handful of men shifted in their seats, their shoulders tensing as they glanced between Easton and Calev. I squeezed Easton’s hand hard enough to let him know we were not wanted here.

  He ignored me.

  Calev leaned over the bar, bringing his head close to Easton’s. “You looking for trouble, my old friend?”

  Easton shook his head. “Nope. Just a four by four.”

  Calev cut his eyes to the bearded men who hadn’t stopped giving us murderous stares and nodded. “Quickly. I’ll bring it around front, yes?”

  “Whatever works for you, friend.” Easton pushed back from the bar and led me outside.

  We stopped just shy of the street, dodging the city’s night crowd who trekked up and down the sidewalk.

  “What the hell, Easton?” I jerked my hand from him.

  “What?”

  “We couldn’t have just rented a car like normal people? You had to go to a place filled with locals who despise my father?” Though it’d been ten years, Dad’s name—and anyone tied to it—evoked a bitter rage in certain locals. Dad had spent decades of his life unearthing artifacts in Israel, and while some loved him for his discoveries, there were those who wanted him banished from ever returning for it.

  Easton pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have use for a small, poorly maintained vehicle. I need something that can withstand the terrain we’re about to travel, plus be reliable. Where we’re going, it’d be a big fucking problem if it broke down. And they don’t all despise your father. Calev loved him.”

  “He may have, but there are more than a handful of locals who were happy when Dad died.” I sucked in a sharp breath. The sting never went away. I swallowed hard, composing myself. “As an outsider who unearthed as much history as he did here? I get it, but that doesn’t mean I want to flaunt it.”

  He took a step closer. “The Rain I knew never let fear control her movements.”

  I gripped the straps of my favorite pack. “I’m not scared. I’m smart. And stirring up trouble with the locals is definitely not smart.”

  “We’re fine. Trust me.”

  My eyes zeroed in on the crew exiting the bar behind him, and I arched my head to the sky. “We’ll see about that.” I used to love the confidence that came naturally to Easton, hell it still drew me to him even now, but I’d hoped the years had helped him find a balance as to when and where to use it.

  “Easton Wells.” The tone from the man who headed up the group of six was sharp and clipped. “Thought we told you to never return here.”

  “You don’t have any authority over me, or the country for that matter.” Easton unsuccessfully tried to shield me from the men.

  “Truth. I had hoped you wouldn’t wish to disturb the peace we’ve held here for quite some time now.”

  It was then that it clicked. Who they were. I didn’t know the proper Hebrew word for the group’s name, but to treasure hunters like my father, like East
on, they were known as the Safeguards.

  I’d been educated on the underground group since my father started telling me stories about King Solomon’s treasure—the treasure of his dreams. Members did everything they could, inside and outside the law, to keep foreigners from excavating their country and laying claim to anything they found. To the group, all artifacts belonged to Israel, or God. Not to treasure hunters seeking fame and fortune. Safegaurds were supported by local authorities, and the absolute last people we wanted to piss off.

  Dad had a bad run-in with them once when he’d donated an ancient set of tools and clay pots to a museum in the States as opposed to keeping the fruits of the find in Israel. They’d never stopped trying to trip up his efforts when he traveled back here, even after Dad had agreed to never taking artifacts out of the country again. I remembered thinking it would be so much easier—and quite possibly have a higher find rate on dig sites—if they all worked together toward the end goal. Maybe I could convince them of that here.

  “I don’t disturb—”

  “Your little discovery as a kid caused an increase in treasure-hunter traffic!” The man cut Easton off, putting mere inches of space between them. “So many came and tore into our caves, mountains, whatever they could drive a pickaxe into. All you do is destroy. Or claim what isn’t yours. You have no business bringing your cameras here and ruining the land in search of something that never belonged to your people!”

  “My people? Like it belonged to yours? Give me a break! Thousands of years have passed between then and now. Odds are my bloodline is as close to the people of that time as yours is.”

  “How dare you question my blood, you vile, disrespectful—”

  I pushed past Easton and placed myself between the two fuming men, my hands raised with what I prayed was an apologetic look on my face.

  “Please. We aren’t here for trouble.” My Hebrew was a little rusty, but the words came clear enough from my tongue. “We’re here to discover, document, and preserve only. The respect of your land, and the artifacts within it, are of great importance to us.”