by Asha King
He checked the time on his phone before following. He was glad he hadn’t planned to leave for a few hours yet to give Belladona time to get the new vehicle, as there was no way he’d coax Liliana in a car with him at the moment, whether she was handcuffed to him or not. If they left by late afternoon or early evening, they’d end up at the motel after dark, which would mean navigating difficult driving conditions but fewer people to notice them when they reached their new room.
Mike followed after Liliana and found her sitting on the edge of the bed by the window. She hadn’t bothered with her duffel bag yet, just sat and rubbed at her arm that had been hanging.
“What the fuck would happen if someone came after me while you were gone and I was cuffed in the goddamn shower?” she snapped. Her breaths heaved, voiced rising with each word. “And don’t give me this bullshit about how it’s my fault because you can’t trust me—you can’t just leave me tied up like that! If someone came here, found me...I couldn’t run! I couldn’t fight back! I couldn’t...” The tears built in her eyes again and she blinked furiously against them.
She didn’t want him to see her cry—he could tell without her saying anything.
Still, as much as he knew she was right, the urge to argue with her rose—to drive home precisely how serious this was. He spun, grasped the folder on the dresser, and tossed it on the bed. The photos spilled out, fanning across the bedspread, glossy gore against the hotel flower pattern.
Liliana stared down at them, reaching gingerly to open the folder entirely and run her fingers over the crime scene photos. “I know him,” she whispered.
Mike leaned over the bed, yanking the photos from the pile to spread them out—all two dozen of them. “And him. And him. And him. This isn’t just about Jimmy anymore, Liliana. The Hartleys have hired a contract killer. The Huntsman. And he is hunting you. He tracked down all these men. He tortured them. Killed them. To find you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away, shoulders slumping. Tears dusted her long dark lashes, rolled down her cheeks.
He hesitated, wondering if he’d gone too far—hating himself a little. He felt like he should be shielding her entirely, hiding her not just from those who were after her but the ugliness connected to her that they committed as well.
Ignorance wouldn’t save her, though. No matter his protective streak, be it purely mercenary or something inborn, he abhorred the idea of coddling or lying. It seemed...disrespectful. More so than the other lengths he would go to keep her safe that she disliked.
He gathered the photos up again and tucked the folder back on the dresser, then sat carefully on the edge of the bed next to her. Though he braced, waited for her ire again, she remained silent and motionless. Thick curls hung over her shoulders, dripping water that was likely cold against her skin.
Swiftly he moved for the bathroom, collected another towel, and returned to drape it around her shoulders. She let him, her head still bowed, and didn’t acknowledge as he lifted her hair from under the towel and let it rest on top. His fingers grazed the back of her neck and it took all of his control to withdraw his hand again.
She still hadn’t looked up at him or said a word. The tears had slowed, at least. Red ringed around her wrist where the metal had cut into it, likely while she was pulling on it trying uselessly to free herself.
Mike unlocked the bracelet still on her wrist and set the cuffs loose on the bed. Tucked the key back in his pocket and reached for her left arm, his strong fingers massaging her wrist, the heel of her palm, then up her forearm, trying to work the feeling back into it and hopefully give her some relief.
“I’m sorry.” It felt like he’d been saying it over and over since he got back upstairs, and maybe he had. “I am trying to keep you safe. I shouldn’t have left you cuffed in the shower. I didn’t know how long my meeting downstairs would take.”
Liliana shook her head and swiped at the tears under her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Shit, they hired a fucking hitman. I’m dead. You should leave me wrapped up with a bow for when he arrives. Save yourself some trouble.”
Of all the things he expected from her, it wasn’t giving up.
“Listen to me.” He touched the knuckle of his index finger under her chin and lifted it. Gave in to the urge and fully cupped her jaw, swiped his thumb under eye to brush a tear away. “People are working to keep us ahead of anyone after you. I am very, very good at what I do. I have never lost a client or someone charged under my care. I’m not going to start now.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his. The defeat edging them quieted, like she might actually believe him. For a moment, at least.
He withdrew his hand and rose, removing himself from her space to hopefully clear the fog filling his head that her presence brought him. He grasped her duffel bag and set it on the bed next to her. “I’ll wait outside the room if you prefer, but you need to get dressed and ready. Have something to eat. We’re leaving in a few hours.”
Long seconds passed and Liliana took a deep breath, swiped under her eyes again at any remaining tears, then she gathered her hair up in the towel that hung about her shoulders. She stood, her back straight again, some of the previous fire returning to her expression, and the look she gave him suggested that if he ever spoke of her momentary breakdown again, she would probably fashion a shiv from a bar of soap and stab him the moment his back was turned.
“You’re fine to wait here,” she said, turning to rifle through her bag and grab a few articles of clothing. “I’ll be ready to go when it’s time.” And she walked boldly past him back to the bathroom, the towel slipping from her body just as she stepped through doorway.
He caught a glimpse of her naked silhouette before the door shut and locked behind her.
Chapter Seven
O’Hara cuffed her again.
She didn’t argue because she didn’t blame him. Anyone with half a brain would look at her and assume crocodile tears, and whatever else O’Hara was, he wasn’t stupid. Truthfully, Liliana didn’t know for sure if she would’ve run or not if he didn’t have her cuffed. Part of her believed him. Part of her didn’t.
All of her knew, at least, knew that sticking with him at least for now was probably the way to go. There would be time to escape later if she thought it was time to do it. At the moment, at least she had shelter and food.
Of course, he didn’t just cuff her—he cuffed her to himself again, and that was getting a little old.
They sat in a different vehicle than the one he’d picked her up in—some old two door thing with a stick shift, which meant her arm was jerked back and forth constantly every time he switched gears. The snow was steady, flakes no longer the soft thick kind but something near hail, hard little balls that beat against the windows. The windshield wipers fought against the snow, struggling much more than the ones on the SUV had, making visibility difficult. Roads were slick and icy in spots but O’Hara held the little car steady, manoeuvring it expertly when most people would have left Liliana nervous.
She didn’t ask where they were going. Figured it probably didn’t matter, even if he told her. It was out of the city—well out of the city, actually, as two hours ticked by on the highway—and past the suburbs, past towns she’d never heard of before. As the hour neared eight p.m., he moved the car onto a dark, rough road off the main highway, drove for another twenty minutes, and then pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of a dingy little motel.
“Well.” She stared out the windshield as snow piled up on the pane, at the doors with peeling orange paint and plastic numbers. “This is more like what I would’ve chosen. I think I’ll miss the other place.”
“It’s temporary,” he said, pulling the key from the ignition and popping open his door.
Cold air rushed into the car and Liliana shivered. When O’Hara started moving, she shifted across the seat with him—they moved fairly well in tandem now after a day and a half of being linked at the wrist. They grabbed their bags from the trunk along with a third
she didn’t recognize, and then he led her to the fifth door in a row of twelve. It was open, the “Do Not Disturb” sign swinging on the knob.
They tracked snow into the small room, dusting the gray carpet with white. Liliana squeezed her bare hands into fists, shivering. O’Hara hit the light and then adjusted the thermostat without a word. Seconds later the baseboard heater kicked on.
She surveyed the small motel room. It was tinier than the other, sporting just one bed, two nightstands, and a low dresser with an old television. In the back was a dark bathroom. A narrow, accordion door beside it likely led to some kind of closet.
“I wonder what kind of room service they have,” she asked dryly as he unlatched the cuff from his wrist so they could remove their jackets.
“We’re not doing room service,” he said. “Not here. No contact with management or staff, not that they likely have much of the latter.”
He moved around the hotel room swiftly, checking windows, securing the curtains, then investigated the bathroom. If there was a window she could have climbed out of later, she doubted it would be operational by the time she was able to check the bathroom out herself.
Liliana sat on the end of the bed and slipped off her boots and her socks, then her sweatshirt. The room was still chilly but she could throw the sweatshirt over her shoulders when they were cuffed together again if she remained cold; she’d figured out fairly quickly that he didn’t like removing the handcuffs and she had to do what she could when she had the chance.
“Pizza?”
She looked up at O’Hara, where he stood now at the door, his cell phone in hand. He’d actually asked, not simply ordered. Huh.
“Or Chinese?” he offered.
“I like pizza. And breadsticks.”
“Cheese?”
“Of course.”
While he called for food, she pulled over her duffel bag and went through the clothes she had left. Definitely had to get laundry done soon—she needed panties, at the very least. She kicked the bag aside and slid up the bed to sit against the headboard, adjusting the pillows so they were comfortable for however long she had to sit there.
“Any chance of doing a laundry run?”
O’Hara sat next to her. “I’ll have someone bring over clothing for you tomorrow.”
Well. He really wasn’t taking chances with them leaving at all.
She offered her wrist with the cuff hanging off of it and he took the free one, snapped it on his own arm.
“Jimmy’s in the wind,” he said quietly.
Ice flashed through her veins, so much colder than the plummeting temperatures outside.
“What?” she whispered.
O’Hara didn’t meet her eyes, instead busying himself with reaching for his overnight bag beside the bed. He withdrew a paperback, the worn cover with A Delicate Truth by John Le Carre written on the front, and he flipped to a dog-eared page. “Those who had him under surveillance lost him. I have my people looking for him.”
Somehow that scared her even more than the contract killer who left a pile of bodies in his wake. “Jesus. You’ve known this all afternoon?”
“Yes. And I’m only telling you now, which you’ll no doubt take issue with. But I’d like to impart the seriousness of it.”
Fuck. “I dated the guy. I saw him kill a woman with his bare hands. I think I know better than you how serious this is—”
“It means that he knows you. You cannot, under any circumstances, contact friends, family, or coworkers. If you run from me, if you try to go for help from anyone you normally would, he will find you.”
Son of a bitch. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hunched over them with her free arm wrapped around her legs. Yet another door snapped shut over her potential freedom. O’Hara knew she didn’t have money of her own. If she found an ATM, cleared out what remained of her account and credit cards, it would lead someone right to her if they had someone watching banking information.
“So you tell me this, and about this Huntsman guy, and show me the photos, and you still do this.” She lifted her arm and the handcuff rattled.
“Yes.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Because you don’t give up. So get very comfortable, Ms. White.”
****
“Getting comfortable” was nearly impossible given the lumpy mattress but first of all, Liliana had slept on far worse in her life, and second, she knew better than to complain. She slept poorly a few hours after they had pizza, tossing and turning, and she didn’t suspect he fared any better though he was perfectly still the entire time. Once again he slept on top of the covers while she was under them. The room was warm but not that warm, yet he made no move to join her. Maybe being on top of the sheets and uncomfortable made constant awareness easier.
Maybe he was trying to keep his distance.
That idea fascinated her and was possibly what kept her up most of the night. At least she wasn’t obsessing over the various people trying to kill her—that was too much, apparently, for her brain to contemplate, so she just shoved it aside and thought of anything else that came up instead. When the light of dawn crept around the floral curtains, coloring the room gray-blue, she rolled on her side and watched him sleep—or at least rest—and contemplated him. The steady rise and fall of his strong chest with each breath, the body she hadn’t seen yet that resided under his clothes, his mouth she wanted to reach out and touch.
When she eventually slept, his profile was still firmly etched in her mind.
Her back ached as she awoke. Limbs were sore too. She opened her eyes and yawned, found O’Hara sitting and reading as he had been most of the previous evening.
“Someone will be bringing clothes for you and some food,” he said without looking up.
Fresh clothes would be wonderful. She stretched, arched her spine, and yawned again as she rolled onto her back.
His book dipped ever so slightly as she did, just for a second, like he’d been watching her in his peripheral vision.
Liliana settled back against the bed with a sigh. “Bathroom and shower, then?”
He unlocked the cuff from his wrist but didn’t put it on her free arm. “The window’s secure, so don’t bother trying.”
Like she was about to go trekking through the snow without shoes. She was impulsive and reckless, sure, but not an idiot in these temperatures.
Liliana climbed out of bed, scooped up her toiletries, and headed to the bathroom. The shower had white tile, once upon a time, and while it looked like it had been scrubbed recently, years had turned it yellowish. A similar yellow, likely from rust, stained rings around the drain in both the tub and the sink. The faint scent of a citrus cleaner hung in the air, though, so she didn’t mind the place much. She set out her toothbrush and toothpaste near where his were already waiting, relieved herself, clipped her hair up, and then hopped in the shower.
The water pressure wasn’t great and temperature hovered around lukewarm more than hot, so she didn’t stay in there long. Normally a shower was enough to leave her refreshed and energized, but coupled with the lack of sleep and the tension his presence brought her, she was still irritable and antsy.
Unfortunately, she was out of fresh clothes, so she wrapped herself in a towel, gathered up everything that needed to be laundered, and headed back into the motel room. She’d just start walking around naked if there was nothing to wear. Crank the heat up and she’d get used to it.
O’Hara might not, and she gave a little smile at the thought.
The motel room had one extra person in it, however, and she paused in the bathroom doorway. Her gaze shot to the girl with the light brown skin who stood near the dresser, bundled up in a thick puffy pale blue coat and layers of a white scarf and hat. She was plucking off her mittens and set them to rest next to a pair of white shopping bags on the dresser.
The stranger’s gaze went to Liliana. “Hi.”
Slowly, Liliana continued into the room, dumped her dirty clothes near her duffel bag. “Hi...�
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O’Hara rose from the end of the bed, set down his phone, and gathered clothes from his overnight bag. “Liliana White, Gina. Gina, Liliana.” As he rounded the bed toward the bathroom, he met Liliana’s gaze sternly. “Do I need to cuff you to her or can you stay put?”
“I promise I’ll bludgeon her if she tries to run,” Gina said brightly as she pulled off her hat, honey-colored curls springing out to spill over her shoulders.
O’Hara snorted and shook his head, said nothing and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Liliana padded over to sit on the bed, shivering in the towel as the warmth of the room dried the water on her skin. Well, she had precious minutes of freedom and contact with another human being for a few minutes. Lucky her.
“I come bearing food.” Gina pulled down the zipper on her coat and unwound the scarf, then gestured to another bag near the bed—a much larger one. “And clothes.”
Liliana perked up at that, sliding down the bed to peer into the bag. Folded clothes, still with the tags from Old Navy. Lots of them. And panties.
“Thank God,” she murmured as she pulled out a pair of dark yoga pants, T-shirt, and underwear. She glanced at the labels. “Um, you knew my size?”
“Mike told me.”
How observant of him. Did he go through her underwear when she wasn’t looking or was this just normal research on his part?
Gina dutifully looked away while Liliana ripped the labels off the clothes and slipped on the underwear beneath her towel. Then the yoga pants, T-shirt, and she discarded the towel.
Fresh clothes. Much better already.
She looked at Gina, then shifted down the bed a bit. “No chairs in this room, but you can sit.”
Gina smiled gratefully. She left her coat on, so apparently wasn’t staying, but grabbed one of the bags from the dresser. “There’s a coffeemaker in the car I didn’t bring in yet, along with a case of water. And, to start you for breakfast...” She withdrew a white box from the bag, one with a pink logo and her name on the top.
