“Maybe,” she said.

“You’ve been crying?”

“No,” she snapped.

He blinked.

Her puffy face emerged further from the shadows, the evidence obvious. Bloody hell.

Maybe this wouldn’t work after all. The world was so messed up and he’d been so sure. Given a chance, she might see the benefits of the situation. But what if she never did?

Fuck that.

No. She would. He could be charming. Numerous exes had said so. Still, his throat constricted, fingers clenching and releasing at his sides. He’d spent months on his own, trying to get his shit together and figure out what came next. Because after a while, surviving day-to-day didn’t cut it. In fact it became f**king meaningless. Just going through the motions: breathing and eating and pissing and shitting for the sake of it. Living long past when he should have been dead with the rest of them.

He’d spied a few other groups of people during his months on his own. But only Roslyn had tempted him into giving people another go. To set his shithouse attitude aside and try being social.

Checking out the group at the school for safety’s sake, he’d seen her grinning at something some old guy said. Something inside him had woken up. For the first time, he’d actually felt lonely. But he’d felt something else, too. Hope.

Then he’d spied her a time or two through the school library windows and hope had turned to need. He had always had this librarian fetish—embarrassing but true. And he had one Miss O’Connell with her sensible shoes and tight sweaters to thank for that. It had been an epiphany to his preteen mind each and every time she went up on tippy toes to retrieve a book off the top shelf. Good God, the woman had been stacked. When Roslyn had done the same, reaching high with reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, he’d been converted to the cause instantly. The cause being to seduce her as soon as bloody possible … that, and keep her safe.

“There’s a fire?” she asked, eyeing up the pot-belly stove.

“Yeah.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Look, I know this is unusual. But I’m really not going to hurt you. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’m not. Despite the chain.” She shook her leg, jiggling the metal links. It sounded almost merry.

“You’re not?”

“No. I nearly brained you with a bottle of Pinot. If you were going to hurt me, you already would have.” She sniffed. “Which doesn’t mean that I trust you. Or that keeping me like a household pet is acceptable. You’re still very much on my shit list. Holding someone hostage doesn’t exactly endear you to them, Nick. You’re wrong to do this. And if you’re waiting for Stockholm syndrome to kick in, then you’re going to be waiting a hell of a long time.”

“Right.” He pinched his lips with his thumb and forefinger, thought it over. She was right, in a way. But admitting it wouldn’t get him anywhere. It would be best to sidetrack her for now. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

“It's not that,” she sighed, held out her hand. A busted pair of reading glasses lay in her palm, one lens cracked in the corner, the frame badly bent. “They were in my pocket during my great escape.”

“Let me see …”

Another shrug and a snuffle, but she let him take them. “You said something about food?”

“Just a sec.” One of the arms had broken off, but the bend in the central part of the frame could be dealt with easily enough. “Mind if I hold onto these?”

A third shrug as she wandered closer to the fire. He bet it had been bloody cold up in the old school.

He took a deep breath. “We need to come to some sort of agreement.”

“Regarding?”

Nick sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. How best to come at it? She was smart. She’d gotten the drop on him. But still. All of the screaming had been her reacting without a single thought. That sort of behavior could get her killed. “Think you could climb a tree if you had to?”

“What?” Roslyn squinted at him over her shoulder. She looked better. Her blue eyes were clearer and some color had returned to her cheeks. The pretty mouth, however, remained an unhappy bow.

“You don’t look like you’ve got a lot of upper body strength to me. If you had to climb a tree or a building to get yourself out of trouble, do you think you could?”

She held her hands out to the flames to warm them. “Oh, I see. We’re back to talking me out of my ability to survive on my own.”

He didn’t bother to answer.

“You’re army, aren’t you?” Her voice was thick with distaste.

“Yeah, I was. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“So was my father.” She gave him a contemplative nod. “I’d manage alright, Nick. Trust me.”

“Would you? How fast do you think you could move if you had to? How far could you run before you had to stop?”

“Infected aren’t exactly swift.”

“True. But if there’s enough of them it doesn’t matter.” Nick set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “So, running and climbing are limited. You know how to hot-wire a car?”

“Must have missed that day of school,” she mumbled. “I’d find one with the keys still in it. There’re enough sitting around abandoned.”

“And they’ve been sitting there for six months now,” he said. “Not good for an engine to be idle so long. What are you going to do if it doesn’t start? Do you know how to do anything past checking for oil and water?”