"I didn't send you anywhere."
"I looked for you," he said, revealing more than he meant to. "Time passes differently in the Underworld. Once I could leave, months had passed. I tried to find you. Everything was gone. Your clothes. Your toothbrush. There wasn't a thread or button or pin to show that you'd ever been there. I might have thought I'd imagined all those months—"
"I left nothing that could lead them to me."
"Why did you send me to Pfeiffer Beach?"
"I didn't"
"It was your lipstick on the mirror."
She shook her head, and then she whispered, "No wonder you believed it was me." She was silent for a long moment. "I believed you sent me to Coit Tower," she said softly, her tone faintly bitter.
"I didn't." He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth of his words.
"You sent me roses. And a note. 'Coit Tower at midnight.'"
"Roses." He stilled, feeling betrayed all over again. He tamped down that emotion, realizing it was ridiculous, but unable to completely ignore it. Had she not known him at all? Roses. "All these years, you thought I lured you to Coit Tower with fucking roses. What happened there?"
"You know what happened. They were waiting for me. I barely escaped."
"And you think I sent you there?"
"You think I sent you to Pfeiffer Beach?"
Check. Mate. She snared him in a world of pale brown and gold and all he saw were her eyes and years of hurt layered on hurt.
"No," he said in all honesty, forcing himself to step beyond habit, beyond the dark certainties and black anger that had haunted him for decades. "Not anymore."
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She only stared at him, her chest rising and falling too fast.
"I wouldn't have sent you roses," he said at last. "I'd have sent you daisies."
And from the expression on her face, he knew she believed him.
He reached for her, then froze and drew back as the air beside them shimmered and changed. Electricity danced across his skin, and he knew Amber felt it too because she jerked and rubbed her palms along her forearms. Dark, undulating smog appeared before them, pulling in on itself before bursting outward.
A man stepped through the black mist. His hair was dark, his eyes pale gray. He wore two hoops in each ear, a day's worth of stubble and a dangerous grin.
"Mal," Kai greeted him, and tossed him the keys to the Corvette. "I appreciate this."
Mal caught the keys and shot a curious look at Amber. But he didn't ask. "I'll call you next time I need cleanup," was all he said.
"Can you make the delivery for me, as well?" Kai jerked the darksoul forward.
"And count the kill as mine?"
"No. But I'll owe you a delivery, as well as a cleanup."
"Done," Mal said, flicking another glance in Amber's direction.
Kai met and held his gaze, offering no explanation. This wasn't Mal's business, and it wasn't his habit to chat up other soul reapers. He kept to himself, did his work, and did it well. He figured that was the best way to ensure his continued survival.
He handed off the darksoul and the heart, then turned to Amber and said, "Let's go."
"Go? The car isn't drivable."
He winced at the reminder. "It can be fixed. For now, the Hummer will get us where we need to go."
It wasn't until they were in the vehicle and pulling away that she asked, "And where is it that we need to go?"
He could see she wasn't pleased when he didn't offer an answer. Not that he was being evasive. He just didn't know how to tell her that all he'd needed to do was turn the puzzle pieces upside down and look at them a whole new way.
They fit perfectly now.
Only, he didn't think she was going to like the end product they formed.
*
"Where are we?" Amber stirred in the seat and pushed her hair back out of her face. They'd been driving for about twenty hours, alone in the Hummer, stopping only at gas stations.
They'd talked about a thousand things, none of them important.
Little things. The changes they'd seen in the world. New technologies and inventions. Places they'd been. She'd walked on the Great Wall of China. He'd been diving on the Great Barrier Reef.
He almost found himself promising to take her there.
But they didn't touch on anything personal. Anytime either of them even prodded at the edges of personal, they both went silent. And every time they went silent, Kai thought of the kiss.
"We're coming up on Cheyenne," he said, pulling into the lot of the Central Motel, which actually wasn't central at all. "Wait here. I'll get a room."
He waited a beat for her to tell him to get two rooms, or at least, two beds, but she said nothing, only cut him a quiet look from beneath her lashes.
Then she looked out the window and said, "It's raining."
It was. In buckets.
"It was raining the day we met."