by Theresa Weir
There was a knock on the door.
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, and he looked at Cleo as if to ask, Are you staying or are you going to be modest and make a run for the bathroom?
She ran for the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Chapter Ten
Inside the bathroom, Cleo checked the side zipper in her bag. The money was still there. Reassured, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face, then put on the clothes from the day before. She detested having to wear the same panties two days in a row, but she could hardly go without since she had nothing else to wear but the black skirt.
What had gotten into her? She was humiliated. Ashamed. And yet, just thinking about how he’d touched her-
Stop.
Just forget it ever happened. Or at least pretend it never happened.
Yes, she could do that. She was good at pretending.
She put on a little makeup, tied back her hair with the black fabric-covered rubber band, and joined Daniel for breakfast.
She stared at the tray, hoping to find something that wouldn’t make her stomach heave. And if she didn’t, well, she’d become proficient at pretending to eat. The crescent rolls were a possibility. Coffee, yes. Orange juice, no. Not only was it orange, it probably had pulp in it. Oatmeal? Definitely no.
She sat down on the bed, poured herself some coffee, and picked up a crescent roll.
“Something wrong?”
She pulled her gaze away from the roll to where he sat at the tiny hotel-room table, a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage in front of him, fork in hand.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just guessed. You might notice that I didn’t order anything for you that was once alive.”
Muted sunlight drifted in, accentuating his perfect bone structure. Sunlight could be harsh and honest and unflattering. Not so with Daniel. It bathed him in a soft patina, light falling over sun-bleached eyebrows, revealing blond, curling eyelashes.
Her gaze dropped to the blond hair on his forearms, then to his hands. Strong hands, with fingers that were long and sensitive. Unbidden, a memory came to her, the memory of those fingers touching her, slipping inside her as she contracted around them. She put a hand to her mouth, remembering the pressure of his kiss.
She slowly came to realize that he was talking. His lips were moving, but she wasn’t listening. She pulled herself away from her erotic daydream, back to his voice.
So much for pretending the previous night never happened.
But apparently he’d been able to put it from his mind. Apparently it hadn’t been a big deal, because he was rambling on about the menu, wondering if she wanted something else.
By herself she would have ordered a milkshake-something with a lot of calories, something she’d never had trouble getting down. But she wasn’t by herself, so she just lifted the crescent roll.
“This is fine.” She took a bite, hoping it really would be fine.
The outside of the roll was flaky. Those flakes separated in her mouth, giving the roll a certain textured hairiness. She quit chewing and swallowed the piece whole, then quickly washed it down with coffee. She did the same with the next bite. By the time she’d finally finished three bites, Daniel was done. He pushed his plate away then got to his feet, leaving her to finish her breakfast in private.
In the bathroom, Daniel let out a long breath and raked a lock of tousled hair back from his forehead. This was going to be tough, having to spend the rest of the day in close proximity. Every time he as much as glanced at her he got a hard-on. He kept visualizing the way she’d looked as he held her against the wall, her eyes closed, head tipped back, lips parted.
He shaved and brushed his teeth, and when he stepped from the bathroom, he was relieved to see that Cleo had finished off the entire bowl of oatmeal, another crescent roll, and the glass of orange juice.
She patted her lips with the white cloth napkin. “I can’t eat another bite.”
And then he got to a subject he’d been pondering for quite some time. “I’ll bet they have rubbers in the gift shop.”
She grew very still. Was she considering? Checkout time wasn’t for several more hours. He wasn’t scheduled for duty until tomorrow.
She dropped her napkin on her plate then put her plate aside. “Yes.” She seemed preoccupied, as if giving more attention to something else going on in her head than the actual subject matter of their conversation. She looked at him and gave him a smile that almost knocked him down. “I’m sure they do.”
She was good, but she wasn’t that good. Maybe some other poor joker might have been taken in by her performance, but to him she was as transparent as glass.
He played along. It was sadistic, but he loved watching her get caught in her own trap. “I’ll go down and get a box of condoms,” he said. “And we can finish what we started last night.”
She got slowly to her feet.
What she wore was no more than a costume to her-the black skirt, the tiny top-but that knowledge made everything seem a little more dangerous, a little more erotic. Bad and sweet.
She crossed the carpet in her bare feet with their red toenails. She stopped in front of him and looked into his eyes. For the briefest of moments he thought maybe she wasn’t acting, maybe she wasn’t working him. In her eyes, he saw awareness of him as a man; in her eyes, he saw attraction and the memory of something hot, something clearly sexual.
He kissed her.
It was meant to be a teasing thing, but as soon as her lips opened under his, his head began to reel. He could feel himself falling under her spell just like any other blind idiot. He forced himself to pull away, to hold her at arm’s length. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted, exactly the way they’d been the night before when he felt her tighten around his fingers. Her lipstick was smeared. He wiped at his own mouth.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice sounding strained to his ears.
She didn’t answer. She only swallowed and nodded.
Cleo shoved her feet into her sandals, then grabbed her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. From the top of the television, she snatched Daniel’s car keys.
At the door she checked the peephole. All clear.
She stepped out and pulled in a sharp breath as Daniel materialized in front of her, fingers wrapping around her arm.
“I decided you might like to come with me,” he said. “You know. To help me pick them out. I thought there might be a particular style you were partial to.”
He’d never had any intention of leaving her by herself. He seemed to know her too well. Or was he just adept when it came to the criminal mind? And was that what she was? A criminal?
Yes, taking pay for services not rendered would put her in that category.
Refusing to back down, she looked him in the eye and said, “I don’t have any preference about style. Just make sure you get the right size. I imagine small would be a good choice.” Did condoms even come in sizes? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. From the look on his face, she’d gotten her point across. People always said guys were hung up on size. What better way to get him back than an attack on his attributes?
“Small?” he said, quite obviously hoping he’d heard wrong.
She lifted her eyebrows, a silent but reluctant assent. ’Fraid so.
Worry and insecurity seeped into his eyes. She had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. They both knew she’d held him in her hands, and there had been nothing small about him. She couldn’t believe how easily he was convinced otherwise.
“Does that bother you?” she asked, careful to keep her features neutral.
“No.” He shrugged. “No.”
He was almost as good at this as she was. It was as if they were standing in the hallway of the hotel, speaking their lines, playing parts.
“Don’t worry. I’ve heard size doesn’t really matter to women.”
His expression said, Yeah, right.
“In fact-” T
his was dangerous water. Did she want to go there? She’d told herself to forget about last night and here she was, throwing it in his face. But the fact that she could turn it around, that she could throw it back in his face, was oh so satisfying.
“Last night I really didn’t need…well, it at all.” She pretended to give the subject some deep thought. “In fact, I probably didn’t even need you.”
There, she thought, watching him with satisfaction. It’s erased. He’d been so smug, thinking he’d really taken her somewhere, thinking she’d been totally under his control, wanting him to go down on her anytime, anywhere. Let him think that she had never wanted him or needed him.
The insecurity in his face dissolved. She watched as a muscle twitched in his cheek. Keeping a grip on her arm, he stuck his card in the reader on the door behind her, waited for the green light, then opened the door, shoving her back inside.
At first she thought she’d gone too far, goaded him past his limit. Was he going to attack her? Force himself on her? Instead he shoved her away as if she sickened him. And that was what she’d been trying to do, wasn’t it? Sicken him? To make sure there wasn’t a replay of the previous night? She never wanted to find herself at his mercy again.
Sex with Jordan hadn’t been anything like that. It had never been that weak-in-the-knees, losing-control kind of thing. Together they had been more like two puppies snuggling in the sunlight. It hadn’t been dark. It hadn’t been mysterious. There had never been a need so great it overshadowed common sense.
Daniel Sinclair was like the very town he came from. He looked harmless on the surface, but underneath there was something going on, something she didn’t want any part of.
“Give me your bag.”
When she didn’t comply, he jerked it from her shoulder, opened it, unzipped the side pocket, and helped himself to her money, stuffing the roll into the front pocket of his Levi’s.
This could still work, Cleo tried to reassure herself. She would do what she’d planned to do at the beginning-stay in Egypt a while, make a satisfactory effort to try to find the key, then be on her way.
He shoved the bag back at her, saying, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He cast a quick glance around the room, looking for anything they may have left. “What am I thinking?” he said with a rough laugh. “You probably already picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down.”
He surprised her by swinging around and grabbing her, cupping her chin in his palm, forcing her to look directly at him, which she did with unflinching eyes.
“You think this is over,” he said. “But it’s not.”
About halfway to Egypt, Daniel slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate. Cleo, who’d been half dozing, came awake. Why were they stopping?
He got out, slammed the door, quickly rounded the car, and opened the passenger door. “Scoot over.” When she didn’t move, he gave her a light shove. “You drive.”
“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I don’t like to drive. Maybe I only drove yesterday because you seemed a little out of it.”
“For chrissake, don’t start this again. Just scoot over and drive.”
She would have put up more of a fight, but semis were blasting by, rocking the car, stirring up tornadoes of dirt and debris. She moved across to the other seat while he took her place on the passenger side. She adjusted the seat and mirror, waited for an opening, then pulled the patrol car onto the highway.
“Should I really be driving this?” she asked. “I’m not a police officer.” It was probably a little late to mention that her driver’s license had expired.
“Like you’re really concerned with breaking the law.”
“I just don’t know why you want me to drive.”
He was leaning with his elbow against the door, his hand to his forehead. He lifted his hand away and started using it for emphasis. “Because I have a fucking headache,” he shouted. “Because you’ve given me a fucking migraine! Does that answer your question?”
She shot him a quick glance. “Want a couple of aspirin?”
“What I want-” he was still talking with his hands, gesturing wildly “-is to get back to Egypt and dump you off at the police station. That’s what I want.” He adjusted his seat so he was reclining. “Don’t forget to take Sixty west,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him cross his arms over his chest. “We don’t want to end up in Arkansas.”
Cleo actually enjoyed being behind the wheel. She noticed she was passing a lot of people, and checked the speedometer. Eighty-five. Oops. She slowed to seventy-five, but a few minutes later the red needle crept up to eighty-five again.
Two hours later she hit the outskirts of Egypt where she pulled into The Palms, stopping in front of room number six. She put the car in park and cut the engine. Beside her Daniel stirred.
“What are we doing at the motel?” His voice was thick and groggy.
“I want to change clothes before going to the police station.”
He must have been too sleepy to argue. “Go ahead. I’ll swing by the house and check on Beau. Then I’ll be back to get you.”
He had her money. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Listen,” she said, twisting in the seat, her left arm draped over the steering wheel. “Let’s just forget what happened at the hotel. Okay?” It had been hard for her to bring herself to ask him for anything. But what she was offering was a truce. He had to see that. And anybody with a shred of human decency would take her offer.
He stared at her with spoon-bending concentration. “Not in a million years.”
Chapter Eleven
There was no sign of Beau. Daniel strode through the quiet house, shouting his brother’s name.
He unlocked the patio door and checked outside. Premonition came to greet him, tail wagging. Daniel gave the dog a distracted rub on the head. “Where’s Beau?” he asked.
Premonition sat on Daniel’s foot, tail thumping the ground.
Daniel went back in the house, rechecking the kitchen in case Beau had left a note. The counter was empty.
Daniel hurried to the bedroom, peeled off the ridiculous T-shirt, and slipped into a wrinkled cotton shirt. He buttoned the buttons, then hurried out to his car.
Before picking up Cleo, Daniel took a swing down Main Street so he could check out Beau’s usual haunts, slowing when he got to the Tastee Delight. No sign of Beau. The two picnic tables sitting in the shade of the awning were empty. He pulled up to the curb. Leaving the car and air conditioner running, he got out and went to the order window, tapping impatiently on the counter with his knuckles.
Someone appeared behind the glass. A man. About Daniel’s height, wearing a blue-and-white Tastee Delight cap and a blue Tastee Delight shirt.
Beau.
“What the hell are you doing in there?” Daniel asked in disbelief.
Beau grinned. “I work here.”
“Since when?”
“Since today. I said this would be a neat place to work, and Matilda said I could start today.”
“Matilda?”
“The manager.”
“Is Matilda in there?”
“Yeah. You wanna talk to her?”
Damn right he did. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
A moment later a woman with a serious face and a brown ponytail that fell to her waist appeared.
“This is my brother, Daniel,” Beau told her.
“Hi.” The word came out more as a question than a greeting.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure.” She glanced at Beau, obviously realizing that Daniel’s impatience and irritation had to do with his brother. “Why don’t you finish mopping?” she suggested to Beau.
Beau trotted off and Daniel leaned close to the screen. “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked in a loud whisper.
Frown lines appeared between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Hiring Beau.”
“Beau’s been comi
ng here every day for the past two months. He knows every single item on the menu. He’s clean. Is he ever clean. And he follows directions. He’s meticulous. Everybody likes him. And he’s enjoying himself. What is it you don’t understand, Mr. Sinclair? Are you insinuating that I’m taking advantage of Beau? I’m paying him minimum wage, just like I pay every other new employee. After he’s been here a month, that will go up, the way it does for everyone else.”
“It’s just-” Daniel scratched his head. He’d never thought about Beau having a job, making a living.
“I think you underestimate your brother,” the woman said.
What was his problem? He should be glad Beau had a job. Here he’d moved back to Egypt to take care of Beau, but Beau seemed to be getting along fine without him.
The motel room was every bit as bad as Cleo remembered, except that now it smelled like stale French fries, and her chopped-off hair was lying in a pile on the bathroom floor.
She threw away the stale fries, but for some reason she couldn’t make herself throw away the hair. She scooped it off the floor and put it on top of the TV.
It was weird being back in the motel room, seeing the belongings she’d thought she would never see again. It was almost as if she’d left a part of herself behind and had come back to get it.
Not wanting to remain in the room any longer than she had to, she quickly changed clothes. She put on a white V-neck cotton T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans that were ragged at the bottom and alarmingly loose around the waist.
While slipping into her sandals, she twisted her hair into a bun, then jabbed a wooden hair pick through it to hold it in place. After that, she gathered up a few tools of her trade and put them in a small bag.
When she’d first become interested in psychic phenomena, she tried all the aids. Although she’d taught herself to read runes and the tarot, she’d never felt anything other than a fraud. In fact, she’d come away from the lessons relieved and convinced that she had no power. That was until the child disappeared. But she hadn’t used cards or stones to bring about the answer, to bring about the nightmare.
