Tower in the Woods Page 2

  But with the discovery of a vaccine for the Undead Reanimation Virus twenty years ago, what was left of the American civilian and military leadership opened up Washington, D.C. to refugees in lieu of keeping the mostly unscathed capital city under a virtual lockdown. The city was now quickly rebuilding itself with a population of over fifty thousand people and growing agricultural and manufacturing sectors. The Federal Military Agency was set up to serve the dual roles of defending the city against the horde of zombies that surrounded its borders as well as policing the city’s population against crime. Dane’s father had been part of the FMA since its inception, and Dane had proudly followed in the general’s footsteps.

  Unfortunately, that particular career choice had landed Dane smack-dab in the middle of zombie-infested woodlands several hours outside the capital, during what was gearing up to be the biggest snowstorm of the century. He had made the fatal mistake of driving his Jeep over land mines strategically placed at the junction of Interstate 495 and Richmond Highway. His shoulder scratched by shrapnel from the explosion, Dane had been forced to pick his way along George Washington Memorial Parkway, a road that had long since been reclaimed by trees, weeds, and zombies.

  Although Washington, D.C. was now the strongest and most prosperous human stronghold in the world, the fledgling government was very reluctant to incite direct conflict with any human enclave outside its borders, kidnapping or no kidnapping. The city had survived through absolute isolationism, literally cutting off the rest of humanity and using all of its resources to preserve only what was within its domain. Because of that cutthroat decision fifty years ago, Washington, D.C. had survived and prospered. Considering the conservatism of the military and civilian cadre that now administered the city, it was a miracle public sentiment had forced the FMA to accept refugees at all.

  The intelligence regarding the existence and location of the WITCH was tenuous at best, and Dane understood the federal government’s bureaucracy well enough to know no action was going to be taken without visual confirmation of the WITCH’s stronghold along with detailed schematics of the headquarters. Even then the FMA was likely to drag its feet for as long as humanly possible before attempting a rescue operation.

  Through sheer random luck, Dane had made it all the way to Mount Vernon without getting torn apart by brain-eaters, and now he was one slippery hand away from falling off a five-story tower. All that stood between him and certain death was a woman who was, by her own admission, a member of the very cult he had been sent to investigate—a nameless, faceless individual who couldn’t have sounded more reluctant to help him. All he knew about his savior was that she had the sweetest voice he had ever heard, one that reminded him of honey and spring flowers, and that she was one hell of a sharpshooter. Dane was an expert at all firearms, but he doubted he could outdo what the girl had just accomplished in the past twenty minutes.

  Dane could only hope as he reached out his hand to grab onto the window’s ledge that the woman wouldn’t decide to lodge a bullet straight between his eyes. After all, if she wanted to kill him, she had been given plenty of better opportunities.

  Chapter 2

  Taking in deep, steadying breaths after she finished untying the rope from her waist, Nel aimed her pistol directly at the middle of the man’s forehead. Now that the large body had pulled itself through her small window, she was hyperaware of the very real danger in which she had placed herself. This human, this man, was indeed more than capable of overwhelming her resistance. Now that he stood in her small room it was apparent he was more than six inches taller than her, and his broad shoulders were easily twice the breadth of hers. Even those bloodied hands were large and burly, the opposite of her small, slender ones in every way. His black leather boots appeared huge against the narrow wooden floorboards, and the dark, thick denim above them stretched over what were clearly strong, muscular legs. He wore a thick brown leather jacket so Nel couldn’t know for sure what his torso looked like, but from the way his chest filled out the oversize clothing, she suspected he was very muscular.

  He held his hands up in the air, his bloodied palms facing her, as his brown-eyed gaze calmly met hers. His skin was weathered and darkly tanned, especially compared to her now pasty-white coloring, and his face appeared very different from what she was used to seeing. His jaw was sharp and angular, his cheekbones protruded to make his face look rectangular in shape, and there was a cleft above the blunt, stubborn chin. His nose stuck out from his face, hooking at a bony bridge before pointing downward, appearing almost crooked. His lips were thin and without color, and brown tendrils of hair stuck out from his knitted black cap in wisps that framed his face.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man told her as he took a step forward. “Not in the way you think, anyway.”

  “If you move I will shoot,” Nel warned, recalling Mother Gothel’s teaching that all men lied. The problem was, she too was lying. If she had it in her to shoot this man, she would have done so long before he reached the Tower.

  The man stopped immediately, his hands remaining in the air. “I’m not armed. Put the gun down before you accidentally shoot me.”

  Nel’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “I have never accidentally shot anyone,” she said, trying to compose her thoughts. For some reason this man’s very presence unsettled her, making her feel odd sensations in her stomach and causing her heart rate to increase despite the freezing wind.

  She wouldn’t describe the man’s face as attractive, but for some reason she couldn’t take her gaze off it. There was something about him, a sense of strength and the promise of protection that made her feel oddly safe, even though the truth was clearly the opposite. She had no reason to trust this person, no reason not to believe he had every intention of hurting her. Even then, knowing too well what might happen, Nel couldn’t bring herself to execute him.

  The man’s lips curved into a crooked grin, and Nel felt as if her heart skipped a beat. “You know what? I actually believe you. You’re probably the best sniper I have ever met.”

  Praise was something Nel wasn’t accustomed to. Doing the best she could was a matter of duty, something that was expected rather than appreciated. “Why are you here?” she asked, feeling distinctly uneasy. The man’s gaze swept up and down her body, lingering at her breasts and hips before rising back to her face. There was a gleam in those brown eyes that made an instinct Nel did not understand flutter into awareness, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold running down her spine as she took another step back.

  “I got lost in the woods. This was the only shelter in the area,” the man answered, his voice rougher, tinged with an emotion Nel didn’t recognize. He took a step toward her. Followed by another.

  “I told you to stop,” she protested, suddenly very afraid.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” the man replied calmly. “You’ve never shot a human, have you, sweetheart?”

  “My name is Nel,” she corrected instinctively. She knew what sweetheart meant, but she didn’t understand why he called her that. It was a term of endearment and they barely knew each other.

  The man took another step toward her, and for the life of her Nel couldn’t figure out why she didn’t just pull the trigger. “I’m Dane. Dane Prince,” he offered, his voice low and soothing. “Nel, I want you to put down that gun.”

  “It’s not a gun, it’s a pistol,” she corrected again, moving reflexively backward and nearly tripping over a box of ammunition on the floor. There wasn’t much room to maneuver as the area was stocked full of food, supplies, and bullets. The entirety of her quarters took up less than five hundred square feet and most of it was covered in boxes and stacks of books.

  “You’re right. Guns are in ships and very big. Have you ever seen one?” the man asked as he continued to crowd into her space.

  Nel shook her head and her voice came out in an unfamiliar squeak. “I’ve seen pictures. Please, don’t come any farther. I don’t want to hurt you.” She r
ealized once she spoke her body trembled, something that rarely happened, not even when it got so cold her water supply froze.

  “You’re not going to hurt me. I know that now. You’re not a killer; you’re just a girl,” he argued even as he stopped in front of her so close the barrel of her pistol dug into his jacket.

  “I’m too old to be called a girl,” Nel corrected one last time. She found it difficult to breathe, air coming into her lungs in shallow gasps. She should have listened to Mother Gothel, should have realized this man’s very presence would mess with her mind. What was she going to do now that she had let this very dangerous entity into her home? He was right. She didn’t have it in her to pull the trigger.

  “Yeah. I noticed that,” the man remarked with a wicked grin.

  Less than a second later, he grabbed her weapon and easily twisted it out of her grasp. Before Nel had time to react, she found herself pinned by the man’s weight onto the floor, her small body completely imprisoned in a warm cage of hard muscle stronger than any steel.

  *

  Damn she was beautiful, Dane had thought the moment he pulled himself through the tiny window and looked up at the girl who had saved him. She looked incredibly young with short, haphazardly-cut pale blonde hair framing her oval face. She had a small round nose and pointed chin, and her cheeks were so full he barely noticed her high uptilting cheekbones. Dark winged eyebrows framed the bluest eyes Dane had ever seen, ones that appeared incredibly large on that small face because of the thick fringe of lashes surrounding them. She had small but very lush lips that tilted upward at the corners, making her look as if she was slightly smiling even when she was fearfully pointing a pistol at his head.

  It was difficult to determine her age since she had a surprisingly clear complexion. It was nearly impossible to find skin like that in anyone over twenty, what with the zombie apocalypse permanently shutting down the cosmetics industry. She was also incredibly pale, as if she hadn’t been under direct sunlight for years. A blue hooded fleece covered what was an unexpectedly small frame. She was slightly taller than the average woman but she had narrow shoulders and appeared slender all over. He saw a hint of breast under the fluffy cloth but the hoodie wasn’t exactly revealing. The camouflage pants covering her legs were pretty baggy, a standard military item that was probably once issued to recruits undergoing basic training. Because of its size, the waistline fell almost to her hips, which was how Dane could tell she didn’t exactly have a sticklike figure. If he had his way, he would find out exactly how curvy she was soon enough.

  The blonde pointed a Glock at him, the barrel aimed perfectly between his eyes, and despite the boner that was slowly but surely filling out his jeans, Dane’s survival instincts kicked in. Holding his bloodied palms up in the air in a universal gesture of surrender, he took a step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not in the way you think, anyway.”

  He saw hesitation flash through those bright blue eyes, a fluttering of lashes that reminded him that he dealt with a civilian. This was no trained killer, despite her ability to lodge a bullet through a target eight hundred yards away. This girl had been taught to kill brain-eaters, not other people. This realization gave Dane the confidence to engage with her.

  “If you move I will shoot,” the blonde warned in a quavering voice.

  It was clear she didn’t trust him. Hell, she had good reason not to. Dane was here to gather intelligence on the cult she was part of, and he had every intention of using this delectable sniper to attain that goal. In fact, a plan was already forming in his mind, one that made his erection strain even harder against his zipper. He was going to seduce this woman, no doubt about it. After a few nights of hot and heavy sex she was going to tell him everything he needed to know about the WITCH and whether or not her cult was involved in the kidnappings.

  “I’m not armed. Please put the gun down before you accidentally shoot me,” Dane said as he gauged his opponent. She stood with her legs slightly apart and her knees bent. Her slim arms were extended in front of her, her shoulders tensed and her elbows locked into position. She held the pistol correctly, both palms cupping the grip firmly but gently, her right index finger well under the slide and resting alongside the trigger. Her left eye was shut. Her sights aligned using her dominant one. All evidence pointed toward the blonde being extremely well-trained and capable of handling the weapon.

  But the confusion and hesitation he saw in her gaze made Dane breathe easily. He knew she wasn’t going to shoot. He could see it clear as day as she primly corrected him.

  “I have never accidentally shot anyone.”

  Grinning, Dane almost chuckled as he replied. “You know what? I actually believe you. You’re probably the best sniper I have ever met.”

  She very obviously didn’t expect his response, or his praise, for her face reflected that she had no idea what to do with him. There was no hint of pride in her eyes when she heard his words, as if she thought her almost supernatural shooting ability to be nothing special. Those blue eyes appeared vulnerable to Dane’s experienced gaze, and he realized in that moment that this woman was as attracted to him as he was to her. There was a slight blush on her cheeks, a hint of awareness as her body naturally responded to his. He didn’t know if she even recognized what was happening to her, but he had every intention of taking advantage of it.

  “Why are you here?” she questioned, her voice startlingly earnest. She really had no idea who he was and what he was doing so far into the zombie-infested wastelands.

  “I got lost in the woods. This was the only shelter in the area.” He lied and not particularly well. Dane realized he didn’t need to be a very good liar, for the face he scrutinized appeared far too innocent. The sniper clearly had very little experience with other people, and she had no idea how to interrogate him. Twisting her around his little finger was going to be a piece of cake. He moved closer, and when she didn’t make any adjustment to her position in response he did it again.

  “I told you to stop.” There was fear in that voice; he recognized it distinctly. She knew he had the upper hand, and she had no idea what to do in this situation. If she didn’t shoot him soon she was going to lose any ability to do so.

  “You’re not going to shoot me. You’ve never shot a human, have you, sweetheart?” Dane responded calmly, the flicker of panic in those eyes confirming his suspicion. The jig was up. The sniper just hadn’t accepted it yet. Adrenaline coursed through him, readying his body for a fight. This mission was going to be a great deal of fun.

  “My name is Nel,” she finally said, clearly objecting to being called a sweetheart.

  Dane wondered why. Little Nel looked so sweet he wanted to eat her up, and he couldn’t possibly be the first person in her life to have vocalized that. She had one of those faces that made her look younger than she was, so he had initially pegged her to be twenty at most. Now that he had carefully looked at her for a good long while, he wasn’t quite as certain about his initial assessment. It may just be wishful thinking, for he would rather Nel be much closer to his own age than not. It would make him feel less like a bastard for what he was about to do to her.

  Pitching his voice lower in order to appear less threatening, he replied, “I’m Dane. Dane Prince. Nel, I want you to put down that gun.”

  Again, Nel looked utterly confused by his words. “It’s not a gun, it’s a pistol,” she corrected as she took a step back, almost tripping over a wooden crate on the floor.

  Dane took a moment to look around, realizing immediately that the room was extremely cramped. It was also abundantly clear Nel was some sort of hoarder. There were enough supplies in this small space to last a year, a few more if she was careful about the rationing. Oddly enough, there were also quite a number of books scattered around. He hadn’t initially pegged little Nel as being the intellectual type. Too bad she hadn’t been born in the capitol. Squints like her were hard to come by, and they were almost all recruited into the FMA immediately after compl
eting the aptitude test.

  Once Dane’s mind processed the information his quick glance around the room gathered, however, realization began to dawn. Perhaps the girl was simply more precise with her language than most people he knew. It would make perfect sense if she had learned more of her vocabulary through reading rather than speaking. Being trained as a soldier Dane couldn’t help but acknowledge his language had been quite inaccurate. Moving another step forward, he replied, “You’re right, Nel. Guns are in ships and very big. Have you ever seen one?”

  Nel shook her pretty little head, clearly feeling trapped. Her voice came out more high-pitched than before, and Dane knew he had her just where he wanted her. She was shaking like a leaf, probably due to a combination of the cold and his presence, and it was apparent to both of them that as long as she didn’t use her weapon she was nowhere near being his physical match. “I’ve seen pictures. Please, don’t come any farther. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Dane almost laughed at her words as he purposefully pushed his chest into the barrel of the sidearm, perfectly positioning himself for the attack he had been planning since he crawled through the window. “You’re not going to hurt me. I know that now. You’re not a killer, you’re just a girl.”

  “I’m too old to be called a girl,” little Nel said as she struggled to breathe, her body responding to his proximity whether she knew it or not.

  She was right, Dane realized as he observed the maturity of that heart-stopping face. She was closer to her midtwenties, which still meant he was over a decade older than her, but it also meant she would be able to handle what was going to come. He might be extremely sexually attracted to her. In fact, he was becoming more and more aroused with every minute they continued to breathe the same air, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to treat her like an asset. He was going to pump her for information, nicely at first, and he sincerely hoped she would cooperate. If she didn’t, then he was still going to get the information he wanted out of that kissable mouth one way or another, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.