Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) (26 page)

Anything is possible.

Survival Skill #24

Never engage or participate in any online discussions that make you uncomfortable

or are otherwise negative in nature
.

I
pick up the note Birdee left on the counter when I was on the phone earlier.

Be back soon. Taking Sally Burrows dinner. Left some for you. We’ll talk when I get back
. I look inside the fridge and grab the plate of barbeque chicken salad and bread and sit down at the table to eat. My head is racing as I replay the events of the day. So much has happened in so little time. It’s amazing how things can be totally different at night from how they were just that very morning.

I swallow hard to force the bread down my throat. Poor Seth. I throw the sandwich down on the paper plate and push it away. It doesn’t seem fair to eat after the person who saved my life is dead. It seems disrespectful in some way.

I can’t help but wonder what Seth and Porter were arguing about, and what was in the needle I found. Was it all related or just some sick coincidence? I’m relieved Katie and Agent Sweeney are investigating it more. Maybe they can get something out of Porter that will tell us what happened. Part of me doesn’t want it to be Porter, but the other part doesn’t want it to be Al either. If Al is involved, the wolf deaths and Seth all tie back to me. And for once, I don’t want to be involved anymore.

Not knowing what happened is probably the worst part. The wondering. The waiting. After a while, it starts to get to you. I need something to get my mind off this thing until I hear from Katie. Then I remember something.

In the aftermath of Seth’s death, I completely forgot about seeing the wolves. I push back my chair and send it tumbling to the linoleum. I jog into the living room and pull out my notes from the observation. I reread them and smile. Maybe Seth’s death can actually help do something good.

I jump on the computer and log in to the database we’ve been using to enter anything about the red wolf project. Not that there’s been much. As I’m waiting, a few spam windows pop up. Annoyed, I close them out and read some articles about the project.

I sit back and sigh, still staring at the article on the screen about the four wolves we found dead in different locations. The picture shows a large dead wolf lying in the snow as if he was just asleep.

Who would do this? And why would anyone kill these gorgeous creatures? It doesn’t make sense. I use Google to do a few random searches about the fur trade and wolf pelts being sold. Mostly the fur trade involves timber wolves, not red wolves. I stumble on a Breaking News article in
The Charlotte Observer
.

Two decades after a grand experiment began to restore the nearly extinct red wolves to their North Carolina homeland, the wolves are dying again.

In the 2010 release, six wolves were shot despite the federal law protecting them, reducing the pack number from 20 to 14. The shootings underscore the depth of age-old animosity toward wolves. While conservationists celebrate their return, hunters and landowners often see wolves as mountain vermin.

Now with another effort led by the state and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, more deaths are putting the wolves in danger. This time, the cause appears to be natural. But one thing is clear, the red wolf is no longer safe in the North Carolina wild and should be kept at the reserve to keep numbers from declining any further.

eBuild is scheduled to appeal their work permits in light of the project cancellation
.

These animals can’t get a break, I think. If eBuild has their way, they’ll be breaking ground within a week. I shake my head and log in to the database and enter the information from my wolf sighting today. Just as I’m finishing, a message pops up on my screen.

I see you
…

I quickly type back jerk, and as I’m about to shut down, a single word appears in very large font:

…
Grace

I think of Al and grab my phone. I see Wyn has called, and I quickly call him back. I spy out the windowpane on the front door and spot a dark shadow slinking up the driveway along the tree line.

I snatch my coat and backpack off the hat rack. Slowly, I back down the hallway. Maybe Katie is right. This is all happening because Al is crazy and obsessed with getting me back.

Why am I sitting around waiting for him to get me?

I quietly slip out the back door. As soon as I spot someone hiding along side the house, I race toward the woods. Behind me, the footsteps get faster and louder. A branch slaps me in the face and causes me to trip over a log or root. I jump back up just as someone grabs hold of my ankle.

In that split second, my brain tries to register who it could be. Only one name comes to mind.

Al.

I try to scream, but the cold air constricts my lungs. As I’m being dragged backward, I grasp at anything –roots, branches, bushes – to keep from being pulled away from the safety of the forest.

For a few seconds, I flail around, expending all my energy. Then I stop and quickly rein in my wild emotions. Being held stomach-down on the ground is the worst possible fighting position, especially for a girl. I have to get control of the situation.

I quickly flip over onto my back and flail my legs, hoping to kick the crap out of the person’s kneecap or get a direct shot to the groin. My attacker pounces on top of me, knocking out my breath. A hand covers my mouth, blocking air from entering or escaping.

I fight back, but my body is still weak from the long hike, not to mention still recovering from hypothermia. I’m not nearly as strong as I need to be. A fake-out is my only hope. I close my eyes and go completely limp, releasing any tension in my body.

Someone shakes me and calls out my name. At first I think I’m hearing things. Dreaming. Maybe another nightmare. I slowly open my eyes and gasp. A hand slaps over my mouth before I can scream, and a smile crosses the familiar face.

A lovely accent cradles the words I’ve longed to hear, “Hello, Blossom.”

* * *

Mo keeps his hand on my mouth. “Look, I know this is… strange, but you can’t scream.”

My eyes bulge, and I nod slowly.

His accent seems thicker than I remember. “Someone is watching you. If you scream, we’ll have a whole other set of issues.”

Tears spring into my eyes. Is this for real? Maybe I fell and hit my head. Maybe I’m asleep and don’t know it. I look up into Mo’s big brown MoonPie eyes. Maybe I am getting a second chance.

I nod and he slides his hand off my mouth slowly. As soon as I’m free, I scoot away until my back is against a tree. The wet snow seeps through my pants, but I don’t dare move. I’m afraid the beautiful picture in front of me will disappear. Again.

My mouth is dry as I try to speak. “Is this a joke?”

Mo smiles that ever so wonderful smile, the one I’ve been praying to see again. The one that eases any fear I feel. The one I’ve dreamt about for the last three months. “If it is, that bloke’s got a sick sense of humor.”

Hearing his voice and seeing his smile stuns me. So many feelings pass through me in that moment — anger, fear, love, gratitude. I reach out and lightly touch his face. My fingers barely trail across his cheek as if he might suddenly dissolve into thin air without a trace. He clutches my hand hard and kisses it.

“Grace, I’ve missed you so much.”

I don’t have a verbal response yet. I have no clue what to say to someone who comes back from the dead.
You look great
?
Welcome back
? I pause for a second before jumping into his arms. I don’t even try to hold back as I cry into his shoulder, sobbing quietly so no one hears me. All the pain from the last few days comes surging out. It’s the first time I don’t feel like I’ve lost everything. All his familiar features, smells, and my old feelings are back. Like they ever really left.

He hugs me tightly and whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

I just nod into his coat and sniff a few times, praying I don’t snot on his outerwear. Not a nice welcome basket. I still don’t say a word — even though I will demand answers and apologies for days to come — all I know in this moment is Mo is still alive, and I am no longer alone.

Deep down, I already know the answers to most of my questions anyway. In my gut, I know Mo’s been working for Agent Sweeney. Sweeney himself is not a great liar. But after months of his denying it, I started to believe him. And I know there must be a dang good reason why Mo’s been hiding out, pretending to be dead, these last few months.

These long months without him.

I sob into his jacket and try to muffle the sound so no one hears. I try to get a grip, but all the emotions I’ve bottled up — the ones I’ve tried to forget, the ones that have torn at my heart, the guilt I’ve been feeling — they all come out. I can’t stop them.

Mo just holds me and whispers. “Shh, Blossom. I’m here now. It’s okay.”

I pull away and stare into his eyes. He wipes the tears off my face with his thumbs.

I poke him. “Are you for real?” I start to laugh as happiness consumes me. “Seriously?”

“Afraid so.” He winces. “You’re going to hit me, aren’t you?”

I shake my head. “There will be time for that later.”

His eyes glance down at my lips. “Good. Then maybe this will keep you quiet.”

He cups my face and gives me a small peck on the cheek. His lips graze my jawbone until they find mine. I grab the back of his head and smash our mouths together. I pull him down into the snow and kiss him like I’ve dreamed of kissing him for the last few months.

He pairs his lips with mine and hangs there awhile. We share the same breath, and he slowly slides his tongue into my mouth. I welcome him, and soon we’re both breathing heavily. My whole body is doing somersaults inside as the feeling I’d almost forgotten returns.

His kiss is the only warmth my body knows as my back presses into the wet snow. And I know in that moment, Mo is thinking of nothing else. I can feel it. His entire soul seems to be concentrated solely on our lips touching. It’s unlike anything we’ve ever shared before.

The guy I love is back. He’s not dead. And he still loves me.

A sound pulls us out of our kiss.

He places his hands over my mouth and keeps his body over mine, protecting me. He glances through the trees and points at my house. A man dressed all in dark colors is heading up the porch stairs.

“What do we do?” I whisper. “What if Birdee comes back?”

Mo helps me to my feet. “Go. I’ll distract him.”

Survival Skill #25

Watch out for flashbacks, hallucinations, and paranoia. They are all symptoms of survivor’s guilt and can be damaging
.

I
grab his wrist hard. “You are out of your bloody mind. I am not leaving your side ever again.”

He smiles. “Right. That’s fair. Stay here for a second.” I tighten my grip. He reassures me with those eyes of his. “I’ll be right back. You can watch.”

He sneaks off and sweeps around the side of the house. The man jiggles the doorknob and peers in the kitchen window. I pray Birdee doesn’t come home soon. If anything happens to her – especially because of me – I’ll never be able to get over it. That I’m sure of.

Mo must throw something, because just as the guy is about to push on the door, a clanking sound comes from the front drive. The man pulls out his gun and heads the opposite way to the front of the house.

Mo slides back through the woods and holds out his hand. “Coming?”

“Where?”

“Let’s just get to the car. I need to call someone.”

Instead of arguing, I concentrate on the warmth of Mo’s hand and follow him obediently through the woods. If I don’t let go, it means he can’t disappear.

Every now and then, I look back to see if the man is following us. “Who is that man?”