IN ROOM 33

by EC Sheedy

  "Enough about me." He looked up at her, smiled. "Let's talk about you. Tell me in detail everything that's gone on in your life since you were twelve and I was eighteen." He went back to work, took her nipple into his mouth, suckled, drew on it until she gasped. He ran his hand between her legs, then a finger between the satin folds shielding her clitoris. She was wet. Heaven in his palm. He took his mouth and tongue from one breast and transferred them to the other. "You're not talking," he murmured against a slick, pebbled nipple, nibbling her softly.

  "And I might not... ever again." She kissed his head, then sat back to look at him. "You're good at this, Emerson. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment."

  "I sure as hell hope so, because I don't plan on stopping anytime soon." He blew softly on her moist nipple, licked it."We have a long night ahead of us." And considering he was hard as an oak slab, he was definitely going to be up for it.

  She let out a half breath, pulled it back in with a sharp gasp. "How about"—she put her mouth to his ear—"more bold sex, life story to follow." She paused. "In the A.M."

  He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, eyes languid with passion and a touch of humor. Wade's heart bounded, tried to claw its way out of his chest. He kissed her, tasted her, first softly, then with the urgency his body forced on him. Their tongues met mated, and drew apart."You're not the only one who could get used to this." He wasn't smiling, wasn't teasing, and his own words scared the crap out of him. He didn't want to want this woman—this hungrily. And he hadn't the damndest idea how to stop the craving. "I want you again. I want to be inside you. Deep, deep, inside you."

  Their gazes met, locked.

  Joy reached over, stroked his jaw. "Bed, Wade. Take me to bed." She fisted her hands in his hair, pulled it."Now."

  * * *

  Wade glanced at the red digits on the clock radio beside his bed. Three-forty A.M. He should be sleeping the sleep of the dead or damned, because his body was, for the moment, sexually sated. Actually, "numb" would be a better word.

  Yet he still couldn't keep his eyes closed.

  Joy didn't have the same problem. They'd made love twice more, and she'd conked out on him seconds ago. Now, cradled in his arms, she slept as if in a coma, her breathing unlabored and deep, her expression as soft and innocent as a child's. He touched her face and pushed a few long strands of hair to a place behind her ear. He couldn't stop looking at her. And he couldn't stop thinking he was going down fast. He cursed softly, lifted an arm to prop his head, and transferred his gaze from the sleeping beauty in his arms to the ceiling.

  That was when he heard it.

  He lifted his head a fraction, heard it again. A scratching sound from the wall behind his bed, then a shuffling. He shouldn't be hearing anything from the adjoining room; it was empty. Had been for years.

  "You hear that? "Joy asked, her voice thick with sleep.

  "Yes." He pulled his arm from under her and got to his feet. "I'm going to check it out."

  By the time he shucked into his jeans, she was wrapped in his robe and standing beside him. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Go back to bed. No need for both of use to miss shut-eye."

  She shook her head. "I'll come with you."

  "Why?"

  "It's my hotel. Why wouldn't I?"

  He had no answer to that. "Then stay behind me." Wade knew the hotel got its share of street people wandering the halls, looking for a warm place to hang out. Most of them were harmless, but he wasn't taking any chances.

  Joy rolled her eyes. "You, Tarzan, me Jane?"

  "For the next few minutes. Yes."

  The hall was empty. Wade put his ear to the door the sounds had come from and listened. "Nothing. Probably a mouse on a midnight hunt."

  She didn't look convinced. "Maybe. But have you got your keys—which, by the way, I'd like a copy of when you get around to it." She rattled the door handle. "I'd like to take a look."

  "Why?"

  "It's my—"

  "—hotel." He finished the overused phrase for her.

  She smiled slightly, but her expression stayed one of puzzlement and curiosity when she looked at the door to the suspicious room.

  "I'll get the keys."

  When they walked into the room a few minutes later, he knew his own expression carried the same puzzlement. The uncovered window allowed enough street light into the room for them to see a can of beer and a bag of potato chips, both of them on the floor next to a chair, about a foot from, and facing, the wall separating the room from Wade's.

  "What the hell?" Wade flicked the light switch but nothing happened. Probably no one had been in here to change a light bulb in years. He picked up the beer can, empty. The potato chip bag was two-thirds gone, but the contents were fresh.

  Someone had been in this room, and judging from the positioning of the chair, they were getting their rocks off tuning in to the events taking place in Wade's bed. He needed a closer look, but he didn't need Joy looking over his shoulder. "Check the window, would you?"

  Joy crossed the room and left Wade to himself. He quickly ran a hand along the cracked plaster in the wall eye-height from the chair.

  A goddamned peephole!

  Judging from the angle, whoever was in here didn't see everything, but they'd damn well seen enough.

  Chapter 13

  A nerve jumped and ticked in Wade's jaw; rage coursed along his tightened stomach muscles.

  "Find anything?" Joy came back to stand with him.

  "Nothing." He lied, not about to tell her they'd been on something close to Candid Camera for the past few hours. "You?"

  "The window is secure from the inside. Painted shut, by the look of it. Whoever it was didn't come in that way, which means they had a key." She pursed her lips, paused, then said, "But I think I know who was in here."

  "I'm listening."

  "Big Mike." She put a hand to her stomach, rubbed as if to calm it.

  Wade's stomach got even tighter. "What makes you say that?" He waved a hand around. "Hell, it could have been anyone." And he hoped it was, because there was something seriously ugly about knowing the person who'd ogled them through a peephole.

  "It smells like Mike."

  He stared at her. "Smells like?"

  "He has a kind of rancid odor, then he piles on a cheap scent. Aftershave, maybe. It makes him smell like stale cigar smoke and lemon. He's always drenched in it." She shuddered. "In lieu of a shower, I think."

  Either Wade's nose was out of kilter or he'd never been close enough to the man to get a good whiff of him, but he was impressed. "I'll talk to him. See what I can find out. But for now, let's get out of here." He decided he'd break the man's nose before he tossed him out the damn door. Sick, perverted bastard!

  Before Wade could get Joy out of the room, her gaze hit on the chair near the wall. When she spotted the gap made by the cracked plaster, her eyes went wide. "God, he was watching us, wasn't he?" Again she pressed her hand against her stomach, briefly closed her eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick."

  In the dim light, Wade couldn't make out her skin tone, but judging from her voice he put it at green for nausea. He took her hand, pulled her to him, and kissed her forehead. He held her for a long moment, then walked her out and into the dark hall. "Don't think about it." He shut the door and locked it. As soon as he got Joy settled, he intended to go to Mike's room, but what he planned for the asshole wasn't something he wanted Joy to see.

  They went back to his room and Joy went immediately to the bathroom. Wade checked his wall. When he found the peephole—hard to see among the busy vines in the scratched and torn wallpaper—he blocked it with his bureau.

  When Joy came back in the room, he was already in bed. Waiting. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  She stood beside the bed. "As okay as I can be after starring in my first live porn act." She rubbed her freshly washed face with both hands, then set her mouth in a stubborn line. "Tomorrow that pervert is out of here."

 
" 'Tomorrow' being the operative word. Okay?" But it would be a lot sooner if Wade had his way. He reached out a hand for her, and she took it, her own cold and tense. "Right now you need sleep." And the sooner she was asleep, the sooner he could bust Mike's face in.

  Joy looked down at him, her face grim. "I don't want you to get all macho about this. The Hotel Philip is my responsibility and it was my"—she looked aside briefly—"bare butt on display. I'll handle it my way. If you have any other ideas or plan on a little dragon-slaying on my behalf, I'm asking you to forget it. I'm used to handling things on my own."

  Wade considered her request, mulled over the idea of lying, checked his adrenaline gauge—high—then made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Proud eyes. Fierce, independent eyes. "How about we handle it together, Cole. Yours wasn't the only butt on display, you know." And no way was he letting her face down that behemoth on her own.

  "Fair enough." She crawled in beside him and snuggled under his arm. "And I agree tomorrow is soon enough. We're both too tired for dragon-slaying, anyway."

  Wade pulled her close, kissed her hair. He'd go along with her on this, but as far as he was concerned, there was far too much interest in Joy Cole—and none of it was healthy. Once they'd dealt with Big Mike, he had to get her out of the Phil.

  * * *

  Just after nine a.m., someone attempted to break down Wade's door. At the first loud thump, Joy came awake with a start, disoriented, her heart racing in her chest. Wade, his dark head coming up with a jerk, was right behind her.

  "What the hell..." He jumped out of bed, dragged his jeans on, and was at the shuddering, thudding door in five strides.

  "Come quick, Wade. It's Sinnie. She's hurt. Hurt bad." Gordy grabbed Wade's hand at the same moment Joy got to his side.

  "Where, Gordy? Where's Sinnie?" Wade let the boy pull him—to Room 33, Joy's room. The door was half off its hinges, wide open.

  "There." Gordy pointed to the bed. He was crying. "You've got to get her, Wade. Get her. Please."

  "Dear God!"Joy spotted Sinnie first. The old woman lay crumpled beside Joy's bed, unmoving, blood seeping out from under her head and shoulder. Joy put her face close to hers. "She's breathing, but barely."

  "Get your mother, Gordy." When the boy didn't move, he yelled. "Now!" Gordy bolted down the hall. Joy knew he'd told the boy to get his mother to stem his panic, give him something to do.

  "She looks bad," she said. "It looks like her head and upper shoulder are cut." She ran to the bathroom to get towels, rushed back and pressed one against the visible shoulder wound. She was afraid to move her head, scared she'd do more damage than what had already been done.

  Wade hooked his fingers around Sinnie's frail wrist. "She's got a pulse—weak, but a pulse. But she's ice cold. Shock, I think." Wade got up, pulled the blankets from Joy's bed, and covered her. "Call 911, will you?" He put his hand over Joy's, freed her from holding the towel, a towel turning blood-red as the wound oozed.

  "I'm on it." Joy retrieved her cell phone from beside the bed. When she'd completed the call, she knelt beside Wade. His face was pale and grim.

  He stroked Sinnie's hair, leaned in close, and said, "Hang on, Sinnie. Help is on the way. Hang on, love."

  For the first time, Joy looked around the room. Obviously Sinnie had come to do her cleaning as she'd been doing for the past couple of weeks, and someone had surprised her. The wicker basket she always carried was tipped over, the brushes and other cleaning supplies splaying out from it across the room's threadbare carpet.

  "We need another towel," Wade said, not looking up.

  "Done." This time, when she rushed back from the bathroom, she glanced up. Another message was added to the one she'd discovered yesterday and hadn't had time to remove. This one was in the same hand, in the same red felt pen.

  YOU HEARD ME. GET OUT. GET OUT NOW!!

  The last exclamation point snaked to the floor, close to where Sinnie now lay, breathing shallowly and clinging to what was left of her life. She must have interrupted the person who was doing it, and knowing Sinnie, she wouldn't have retreated. She'd have barreled in and...

  Joy didn't want to think about what happened next. But it was her fault. Maybe Wade was right, maybe she should leave the hotel. It seemed as if nothing had gone right since she'd come here. Sinnie might die because Joy had stubbornly insisted on staying in Room 33.

  When Joy passed Wade the towels, she noticed Sinnie's hand and bent down to look more closely. Her fingers were curled tight around a pen.

  A red felt pen.

  She glanced at Wade, who was concentrating on switching the towels, and gently opened Sinnie's hand and took out the pen. She was still in confusion about what it could mean when the paramedics strode into the room—all business and efficiency. A second later, Cherry and Gordy arrived, to stand quietly by the door while the paramedics did their work.

  In no time they had Sinnie on a stretcher and were giving her oxygen. Joy stuffed the pen in her pocket. And watched Wade, his face sober, talk to one of the men. She'd sensed a bond between Sinnie and Wade, but until now hadn't known how deep it ran.

  When the paramedic nodded, Wade turned to Joy.

  "I'm going to follow the ambulance to the ER. I'll fill out a police report there. I don't know how long I'll be." He strode toward her, kissed her quickly, and squeezed her upper arms. The look he gave her was intense and serious. "Go with Cherry I'll call you as soon as I know something. I'll call you at her place. Stay out of this room, Joy." He shot a glance at the defaced wall, his expression hard. "Promise me that."

  Arguing in times of crisis was foolish, so she nodded.

  "And promise me you'll leave the Mike thing until I get back. You'll stay away from him."

  Joy hesitated, but nodded again. Considering what had happened to Sinnie, she needed to think, and the idea of confronting that huge, miserable excuse for a human being without Wade at her side didn't sound smart.

  "Good." He looked relieved, glanced at Cherry. "Keep an eye on her, would you?"

  "Don't worry. You take care of Sin." Cherry, looking as if she were going to cry, stepped aside to let the paramedics wheel the unconscious Sinnie out of the room.

  "I will, too, Wade," Gordy said, sounding determined and more mature than his innocent mind said he was.

  "I'll call," Wade said again and followed the medics and stretcher down the hall.

  Joy frowned and looked at Cherry and Gordy. She didn't react well to orders. "I can look after myself, you know."

  Cherry didn't flinch. "Of course you can—you're a smart woman. But add that"—she gestured at the threat on the wall—"to all the other weird stuff going on around here, being smart translates into staying clear of this room for a while." She took Gordy's hand, the gesture as natural as if he were four feet tall instead of six, and stepped out the door. In the hall, she looked back and added, "And I'll even throw in breakfast. Bacon, eggs, the works."

  "And a big pot of coffee?"

  "Done."

  "You're a smooth one, Cherry Ripley." Joy worried the pen in her pocket but couldn't stop a smile. The pen and what it meant would have to wait.

  "Yes, I am. And judging from the fact that you're wearing Wade's robe, so is he."

  Joy looked down at herself. She'd forgotten. "Give me ten minutes."

  "I'll go put on the coffee." She looked up at Gordy. "Will you wait in the hall for Joy, sweetie? By then it will be time for you to go and walk Melly."

  * * *

  "If she's not dead, where is she, Michael?" Christian's blood ran cold, thick, and slow. Things were not going as planned.

  Mike's eyes darted around the penthouse like a pair of birds looking for the cage door. "I dunno. Some hospital. It was that stupid kid, or whatever the hell he is." He held a wad of tissue to the cut and bruise on his forehead where Sinnie had slashed him with her broom handle. "Shoulda done him, too," he groused.

  "You're referring to Gordy?"

  The man grunted a ye
s, looked venomous.

  "Did he see you?"

  "Nah. All of a sudden he was hollerin' at the door. Maybe he heard something, I dunno. Anyways, I got myself into the bathroom. Then the old bat—couldn't believe it with the blood and all—shouted the kid's name. Then the dumbo broke the door and barreled in, right away started shouting for Wade. When he crossed the hall to get him, I got my butt out of there fast."

  "And then?"

  "I ducked into a room down the hall. Hung tough. Until they came and took Sinnie away."

  "Alive. You're sure?"

  "Not for long. At least that's what I heard one of the medics say. One of them said, 'Too old to take that kind of hit.' Or something like it."

  "And you. Of course, she saw you."

  "She ain't going to make it, Mr. Rupert. No way. And if you want, I can go to the hospital. Finish the job."

  "For now, all I want you to do, Michael, is keep your dimwitted suggestions to yourself, and leave me to think things through." The idea of this burly, hideous man shambling through hospital corridors was a thought not to be borne. No doubt he would make a mistake and drag half of Seattle's police force into Christian's home. Police at his door—unstoppable—entitled to entry. Out of his control. Christian's heart spiked and plunged at the image.

  Although it was not in his nature to pace, rage and uncertainty forced him to movement, and he pushed himself out of his chair. With help from his cane, he shuffled toward the windows overlooking his beloved terrace, worked to settle his mind.

  The afternoon sun burnished the electric blue glaze on the planters, flickered among the new leaves on the trees. The morning rain had marked the patio stones with damp shadows, making them frames for unknown silhouettes. So inviting, so... terrifying. He used to go out there, feel the fresh air on his face, touch the crisp, new foliage; now he could not. His mind wouldn't allow it. And now his world was cut by half.