Lovers in Hiding

by Susan Kearney

  When they reached the third floor, he motioned her back and ducked his head into the hallway. “It’s clear. Once we’re in the hall, if anyone comes by, face the nearest door, give them your back and pretend to be searching for your key.”

  “Got it.” His precautions were making her breath come in ragged gulps.

  By the time they arrived safely in one of the rooms he’d reserved, perspiration had beaded on her upper lip, and she felt as though she’d just accomplished a major feat. Never before had she realized that sheer tension alone could wear her out.

  The tense situation hadn’t appeared to faze Clay. He took his bag from her, opened it and pulled out some electronic equipment. With a suction cup, he stuck a wire with a tiny microphone attached to the wall between their room and one the agency’s men occupied.

  After several minutes, Clay unplugged the device. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Maybe they’re sleeping?”

  Clay shook his head. “This microphone is sensitive enough to pick up the slightest sound. No one’s in that room.” He took the headset off and snapped open a box filled with sharp tools.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re going to pick the lock?”

  “The one on the balcony.”

  “Why can’t you pick the lock in the hallway?”

  “I could. But we’re much more likely to be spotted out there by another hotel guest, a bellhop or maid.”

  She supposed that made sense, although the balconies exposed them, too. The rooms on this side of the building all had terraces with ironwork railings. Climbing from theirs to the one next door shouldn’t be difficult if she could forget they were three stories off the ground. While Melinda didn’t particularly enjoy heights, she didn’t have any abnormal fears of them, either. Yet her pulse escalated as she realized that a three-story fall had to be high enough to kill.

  Clay extracted from his pocket two pairs of thin rubber gloves like those a surgeon might use, and handed her a set. “Put these on.”

  She thought the gloves would make them conspicuous or clumsy. After donning them, she realized how close someone would have to look at the skin-toned, thin material to see that it wasn’t her real skin. And after a minute or two, she actually forgot they were on her hands.

  “You can stay here,” Clay offered again.

  “I’d rather climb over the balcony with you.”

  “In that case—” Clay flipped off the room’s interior lights “—let’s go.”

  MELINDA DIDN’T KNOW which was worse, watching Clay climb over the balcony or doing it herself. Physically, the maneuver wasn’t that difficult, especially with Clay lending her a steadying hand. However, if the rusty railing they clung to broke loose, or if she lost her balance and pulled Clay with her, they’d both be goners.

  She covered the last bit of distance by holding her breath and telling herself that Clay wouldn’t let her fall. Finally, her feet touched solid concrete on the other balcony. She tried not to think about climbing over again to search the second room if they didn’t find the missing documents here.

  Clay took out a penlight, and within moments he’d successfully jimmied the lock to the agents’ room. He opened the door, and the cool air-conditioning struck her in the face and reminded her to breathe.

  Clay went in first and she stayed close behind, shutting the glass door behind them. Quickly he shined the light over the bed and nightstands. He moved to the dresser drawers, opened each one, rifled through the clothes, then slowly and soundlessly shut them to go on to the next.

  She pointed to the closet where several suits hung. While Clay checked the shelf, she dug into the jacket pockets. She found loose change, a clean handkerchief and breath mints. Something hard and plastic rubbed her fingers. Something rectangular.

  In the darkness, she pulled out the object. “Clay?” she whispered. “I found something.”

  He shined the light on her hand. She held the missing tape to her answering machine.

  “Good work.”

  Clay’s praise didn’t stop her hand from trembling with both fear and excitement. Hoping the men hadn’t erased her messages, she slipped the tape into her pocket. Her find told them several things. The men who’d paid for this hotel room were the same men who had been inside her house. Not only that, but she and Clay now had proof that what his boss had suspected was true. These men were running their own illegal operation from within the CIA.

  Still searching for the missing papers her brother had sent her, Clay checked under the bed, inside the medicine chest and behind several pictures that hung on the wall. He even tilted the mattress and box spring off the bed before neatly smoothing everything back the way it was.

  The room had yielded all the information it held.

  Once again, Clay took the microphone and headset out and attached them to the wall of the second room. While he listened, her nerves stretched taut. If the men returned, they’d be caught red-handed with the tape. But she couldn’t complain. She’d asked to come with him and refused to let her rising fears interfere with his mission.

  He motioned her back toward the balcony, opened the door, and they both exited the room. This time not only did they have to cross from one balcony to the next, they had to navigate around a concrete structural pillar.

  Again, Clay picked the lock within seconds. While she fervently hoped she’d find her appointment book or the information her brother had sent, this room was empty except for furniture and men’s clothing.

  Clay had just about finished his methodical search when she heard footsteps down the hall. Clay grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the balcony. As someone clicked a key card into the hallway door’s lock, Clay shut the balcony door behind them.

  Hearing footsteps enter the room, they stood on the terrace with only a glass door and a curtain between them and discovery. Lights came on, and she felt like a possum in a car’s headlights. Instead of going back to the room he’d originally unlocked with a legitimate key, Clay silently moved toward the second room he’d paid for and they quickly scampered over to the next balcony.

  Just as her feet landed, the glass door of the balcony they’d just left opened. Clay spun around, gave the man his back and pulled her against his chest so that she remained completely hidden.

  “Darling.” Clay’s voice carried on the night air. “Are you sorry we eloped?”

  Eloped? Despite her heart beating so hard that blood rushed to her ears, she immediately caught on. “Daddy has no right to tell me what to do. I’m a grown woman.”

  Clay chuckled. “You certainly are. And I know just how to make you happy.”

  “Yes, you do. Take me inside, honey,” she cooed. “Let’s make a baby.”

  Somehow Clay picked another lock and ushered her inside while keeping his body between her and the man next door so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of her. Once there, she flung herself onto the bed and was about to speak, but Clay placed a gentle hand over her mouth and shook his head, a warning not to talk. He pointed to the microphone, and she realized those men had access to the same equipment as Clay had.

  “How about a shower?” he asked.

  “Oh, sweetie. I love doing it in the water.” She followed him into the bathroom and watched him turn on the water, knowing it would disguise their whispers.

  Then he leaned forward and spoke into her ear, “We can talk now if you keep your voice down.”

  “Do you think they have my brother’s stuff with them?”

  “Probably.”

  “What’s going to happen when they find out that tape is missing?”

  “I’m hoping they think they dropped it. But I didn’t get a chance to relock the last door before we fled. The agent may remember that after he finds out the tape is missing.”

  “Now what?”

  “We need to get out of here. But let’s wait until our neighbor goes to sleep.”

  Right now that shower looked mighty good to Melinda. She wished for her bag that they’d l
eft in the other room so she could change into clean clothes. But there was no point in letting all that hot water go to waste.

  “Would you mind if I used the shower?”

  Clay gestured that it was all hers and left, then closed the door behind him. She started to lock the door, then hesitated. He might need to tell her something, and she had no need to lock him out. She hadn’t known Clay long, but she already knew he wasn’t a peeping Tom.

  But suddenly, she wondered if removing her clothes was a good idea. Especially when she recalled her neighbor. However, Clay would stand guard, and he wouldn’t have told her to go ahead if he thought the situation still dangerous.

  Deciding to take a quick shower, grateful for the soap and shampoo provided by the hotel, Melinda removed her clothes and stepped under the water. It felt great to wash away the day’s salt, sand and tension.

  She’d meant to be quick, but she lingered, unable to resist thoroughly washing the debris from her hair that she’d acquired earlier in the day when Clay had tackled her on the beach. She even used the body lotion the hotel provided before slipping back into her clothes.

  Leaving the shower water running so she and Clay could exchange a few words if necessary, she stepped into the room. Once glance told her she was alone.

  Clay was gone.

  He’d abandoned her with the bad guys right next door. She wanted to scream his name. Instead, biting on her lip to keep silent and heart rising up into her throat, Melinda fled back into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Chapter Six

  Clay quietly closed the door behind him, surprised by the dark hotel room. When he’d left Melinda in the shower, the lights had still been shining brightly.

  While he could hear the water still running in the shower, and Melinda might still be there, he sensed another presence in the room. A short, sharp intake of breath, the softest rustle of clothing, a tiny flicker of movement in the darkness. Moving slowly and silently, he eased Melinda’s bag to the floor and drew his gun.

  Leaving her alone, even for just a few minutes, had been a mistake—one he wouldn’t make again. She couldn’t have had time to fall asleep on the bed, and he prayed that she’d remained safe in the bathroom, that he wouldn’t stumble over her body on the floor.

  He shifted his back around the corner to face the beds and balcony. In the darkness that cloaked the room due to the knockout shades and drawn curtains, he couldn’t see his hands holding his gun. Couldn’t see the furniture. Or his foe. He navigated the room from sheer memory, like a blind man.

  Slow and easy.

  Another fragile rustle of clothing made him turn his attention from the bed to the curtains. Had the indistinct sound come from that direction? Although he’d locked the balcony door behind him, he knew how easily the lock could be picked. It would take only a moment for an intruder to hit the light switch and draw the curtains shut.

  Without knowing exactly where Melinda was, his options were limited. Leaving, he didn’t consider. Flipping on the light and ordering the intruder to come out had a certain appeal. But if Melinda was still in the shower, she could walk out into bullets flying.

  And there was always the chance the intruder had grabbed Melinda and was holding her a silent captive with a knife to her throat behind the curtain. The mental image had him breaking into a sweat. As much as he longed to attack blindly, he wouldn’t risk hurting anyone until he knew their identity.

  Which left him back at square one. Prowling at a snail’s pace, silently merging with the darkness, making the blackness his friend. Muscles tensed and ready for battle, he used his memory of the room’s layout, combined with his outstretched foot feeling his way to advance cautiously through the darkness.

  Then his foot tangled in the curtain, warning his opponent. Out of the darkness and through the curtain something glanced off his head and hit the floor. Wood cracked. Clay shifted and raised an arm cocked at the elbow to defend himself against a second blow.

  Instead, someone barged into him. He grabbed a shoulder, spun his assailant around and flung him onto the bed. He closed the distance, landing on top. Small and wiry, the man fought, kneed and elbowed, but Clay simply used his weight to subdue his foe.

  A long wet strand of hair slapped his face. Suddenly an awful, mind-numbing thought occurred to Clay. “Melinda?”

  “Clay!”

  Confused, he rolled from atop her, found the light switch and flicked it on. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “It’s you!” Melinda blinked at the light and stood, her wet hair a mess, her face so pale it was almost luminous, her entire body trembling.

  The realization that she was frightened battled with his desire to step forward and comfort her or turn the television’s volume on loud—just in case of microphones next door. Necessity made him choose to turn the television up and then, when he stepped forward to comfort her, Melinda’s rigid scowl and dark frown kept him from taking another step. She fisted her hands on her hips, squared her shoulders, and when she lifted her chin, he could see her eyes blazing with fury.

  He reholstered his gun and shook his head. “I thought someone had snuck into the room.”

  “So did I.” She tossed her head, flinging her hair out of her eyes. “I came out of the bathroom to find you’d left me alone. I thought the bad guys might have gotten you. My first instinct was to go back inside and shut the door but then I realized I’d only trapped myself.”

  But she hadn’t stayed in the bathroom. Oh, no, not Melinda. She’d hidden herself and came out fighting like a prizefighter. “Go on.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you leave me? Do you know how frightened I was thinking that something had happened to you? Where were you?”

  She had been worried about him? For a moment he didn’t say a word, just stared at her in amazement.

  Finally he gathered his wits and glanced at the bag he’d retrieved and left by the door. “I thought you might want a fresh change of clothes after your shower.” At his admission, her eyes softened. He shook his head and sagged into a chair as he realized the severity of his mistake. He’d put her in danger and the thought rocked him right down to his core. It was one thing to theorize that he might not be qualified to protect a woman in serious danger, quite another to think his mistake could have cost Melinda her life. She could have been killed. He could have lost her—permanently. The thought ripped his gut. She had come to mean much to him in a very short time. “I should never have left you.”

  The last anger in her eyes died, and her face softened with understanding. “You could have told me that you intended to leave.”

  “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was one thing to know he wasn’t cut out for this kind of work, it was another to have it proven to him. Hell, he could have accidentally shot her. He might get her killed yet.

  He’d seen the forgiveness in her face when he murmured an apology, but he couldn’t forgive himself as easily. He had to do a better job of protecting her. He needed to be more responsible, more careful. Just thinking of all the possibilities, running the scenarios through his head, made him feel worse.

  The possibility of never again seeing her toffee eyes shine bright with curiosity or her full lips curve up in a pleased smile set him on edge. A sharp slippery edge where falling could prove fatal to both of them.

  “I forced myself to come out of the bathroom. I was too afraid to go out the front door and headed to the balcony. I heard footsteps and doubted I could escape in time.”

  It had been his footsteps that she’d heard. “So you turned out the lights and drew the curtains?”

  She stepped over to him, her eyes showing her former confusion. “I didn’t know what to do.” The confusion cleared as she nailed him with a frown. “Sorry, I could have hurt you.”

  “I’d deserve it. What did you hit me with?”

  “A picture frame. It was the only thing within reach.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just glad you didn’t have
a gun.”

  She leaned closer, close enough for him to smell her clean scent. As she peered at his head, a wet strand of hair curved provocatively down her throat. “That’s not funny. I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.”

  He pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. “With all the commotion in here, someone may have called security. Or our friends next door might have gotten curious. We need to go.”

  “I thought you wanted to wait until they went to sleep?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Having her almost sitting in his lap while the adrenaline seeped from his bones created an intimacy that he needed to escape. Her fresh scent had him distracted, daydreaming over the possibility of turning back the bed, diving into those clean sheets and discovering if she tasted as good as she looked. He stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Melinda asked from her seat beside Clay in the car as he pulled out of the hotel parking lot and onto a busy two-lane highway. Amid the traffic, she felt anonymous, safer. Still, she occasionally glanced into the side-view mirror checking for a tail.

  He drove smoothly, his long fingers commanding the steering wheel with a strength that reminded her how easily she’d put her trust into those hands as he’d helped her climb from one balcony to the next. Those large hands, with strong, clever fingers made her wonder what else he could do with them. She thought about what it might feel like to have him explore her, wondered if his touch would be fast and feverish or slow and sensual, and realized she had little knowledge to go on. Despite the simmering sexual attraction she had so much trouble ignoring, the man hadn’t so much as attempted to make a move on her.

  “I’m taking you shopping.” All business, Clay merged with the traffic, changing lanes frequently, never letting up on his vigilance.

  Shopping? “For a tape recorder?” she guessed, eager to hear the messages left on her answering machine. “You think my brother, Jake, has called?”