Bayclock reached down and grabbed the mayor by the arm, easing him back to his feet. “Thank you, Lanarelli. Return to your post.”
“Yes, sir.” The weapon disappeared as the sergeant stepped back in one fluid motion. Once more Bayclock and Reinski were left alone, surrounded by an unbroken ring of men. Reinski’s eyes were open wide, red and brimming with tears of shock and outrage.
Bayclock said gently, “The President instructed all military commanders to take whatever measures are necessary to enforce his order.” He paused. “I’m already responsible for the lives of thirty thousand people on Kirtland, Mr. Mayor. By Presidential directive, the city of Albuquerque als falls under my purview.
“You’re just not cut out for something this crucial. I am. It’s a responsibility that runs very deep, and I’m going to need the trust of your people to pull this off. If I have your support, it’s going to be a lot easier.”
Reinski nodded. He didn’t seem to have his voice back yet.
“My people are sworn to obey me,” Bayclock continued. “Don’t make me take the next step to demonstrate this to the people of Albuquerque.” He narrowed his eyes and watched Reinski closely.
Reinski finally spoke. His voice shook as he tried to keep his voice from cracking. “What—what are you asking me to do?”
Bayclock allowed himself to relax imperceptibly. “Publicly throw your support behind me when I announce martial law.”
“When will that be?”
“Immediately.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Bayclock shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
Chapter 48
The Visitor’s Center was closed, leaving only two abandoned cars in the parking lot. Heather tried to lead Connor to the spectacular overlook on the rim of the Grand Canyon, but he picked up a rust-colored rock and smashed a window of the deserted museum building. “We didn’t come all this way not to look at the exhibits,” he said.
No alarms rang, no park rangers came running. Heather didn’t think Connor had any real interest in the museum; he just seemed to enjoy breaking in. That was just like him. She shrugged and let him have his fun. What did it matter, anyway? Satisfied, Connor followed her to the overlook.
It had taken them a week on foot to reach the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. When Heather had come here before with her old boyfriend Derek, they drove up, stayed in one of the lodges, and paid little attention to the surrounding scenery. Hiking in with Connor, though, gave her a greater appreciation as anticipation built mile after mile. Now she had time to inspect outcroppings, time to absorb the vastness of the landscape.
The Grand Canyon looked so spectacular that she couldn’t comprehend the vastness. Her mind swelled with details—jagged mesas, bands of color ranging from ochre, tan, vermillion, and scarlet. Shadows carried orange tinges deep in the crevasses. The wind whipping up and over the rim enhanced the isolation.
Coming in, they had walked along the rim trail, stopping at every viewpoint, relaxing, taking their time. They had no agenda, no reservations, no jobs to get back to. Heather felt invigorated, a new person.
They heard no screaming children, no yelling parents, no arguing tourists, no sightseeing planes buzzing along the rim. The sky was as deep blue as a Christmas tree ornament. In front of her, the canyon dropped a mile like the gulf between the old ways and the new world that would eventually emerge in the aftermath of the petroplague. Heather Dixon was on the right side of that chasm.
After standing there for a moment, Connor grabbed her from behind, pulling her against him as he wrapped his arms around her waist. When he nuzzled his chin against her shoulder, Heather squirmed from his scratchy beard stubble, then giggled.
He fluttered his fingers against her pants pockets, then crept slowly down her hips and across her abdomen. A sudden, startling shiver traveled like a ricochet up her spine, and she wiggled her buttocks back against the hardness in his groin.
Connor rubbed his hand against her crotch, pushing his fingers against the denim. His touch sent a warm glow through her. He ran his fingernail in a quick tik-tik-tik up the length of her zipper, teasing her.
Heather squirmed away, blinking in the bright sun and looking at the guard rails in front of her. “If you get any hornier, we’ll fall off the edge.”
Connor shrugged, grinning at her with his disarming “good old boy” expression. “It’s a long fall. We’d still have time for a quickie before we hit bottom.”
“I’d rather find a place in the shade.”
“Good idea.”
The day Connor appeared on her doorstep, turmoil had seethed inside her. She knew what the stronger part of her wanted, but she was also afraid of being rejected, afraid of what might happen with this total stranger. Maybe that’s why she had banished him to the back yard.
He had his shirt off when she appeared at the door; water sprayed from the hose, soaking the ground. He held his shirt balled in one hand.
She motioned him in, trying to sound upset. “You’re wasting water. Turn that off and come inside.”
With the electricity out, Connor had no light in the bathroom. He left the door ajar as he shucked his pants. Heather went into the kitchen, but soon she found herself drawn back to the partially open bathroom door.
The gap looked wider, as if Connor had opened it a bit more. She could see only dim shapes, then a flash of bare skin as he slipped into the shower. He turned and seemed to look directly at her before ducking behind the cloth shower curtain.
Heather was sick and tired of being afraid. She had already begun working the buttons on her blouse. She undid her bra. She stepped out of her jeans, listening to him splashing water and gasping in the cold. She would never have done anything like this before—and that was exactly why she insisted on doing it now.
Heather stood naked in the doorway. She knew she had a good figure, and she probably looked best without any clothes on, since she had found no fashion that didn’t make her look cumbersome. Connor watched her through a gap in the shower curtain. He didn’t say anything.
Moving slowly, she left the door open behind her and walked to the shower, peeled the shower curtain back, and stared at him. She smiled. He looked lean and well-muscled—and erect.
She stepped into the tub. Goosebumps crawled over her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to block the cold water. Connor twisted the shower head to deflect the spray against the tiled wall, leaving only a misty splash in the air. “You’ll get used to it in a minute. If you stay in long enough, that is.” He was staring at her. “I think you will.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
Connor shrugged. He still hadn’t moved to touch her. “I thought you might do something like this. I could see it in your eyes.”
Heather looked up at him, trying not to shiver. “Is that why you asked for a shower?”
Connor shook his head. Water droplets fell from his shaggy blond hair. “No, but I can roll with the changes and think on my feet.”
The cornball line came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “But can you think in bed?” Heather tried to make her voice sultry, but the cold water dripping off the tip of her nose ruined the effect.
“I won’t be too concerned about thinking when I get you in bed.” Before she could say anything, Connor bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked hard. She gasped, partly in surprise and partly in pleasure, then moaned as he slid his fingers between her legs.