She tilted her head, looking utterly confused. “How much what?”
He hadn’t noticed how quick he was to resort to money until he’d done it to Lola’s mom in exchange for information. It was beginning to bother him a little, like a dull cramp in his side. It had upset Lola too. He knew, even when she didn’t mention it.
The portly man came through the backdoor and waddled over to them. “What’s going on, Matty?”
“Dad, this man is asking for a guest’s room key.”
Beau cleared his throat. What was happening to him that he couldn’t crack a teenage girl? But at least going up against another man put him back in his comfort zone—because man to man, fortune favored the alpha. “Not a guest,” Beau said. “My wife. And I don’t like being kept from her like this. Do yourself a favor and give me her room number. It’ll save you a lot of hassle.”
“Calm down, sir,” he said. “No need to overreact.”
“Overreact?” Beau curled a hand into a fist. “I drove all the way from Dallas to surprise her. That’s eight goddamn hours. If I call her, it’ll ruin everything.”
“She’s your wife?” the man asked. “Let me see your license. The names match, we won’t have an issue.”
Beau refrained from rolling his eyes. His wallet burned a hole in his suit jacket, but showing them his ID with a name that didn’t match hers could mean the end of the conversation. “Well, actually, I don’t have my license on me—”
“Didn’t you say you drove here?”
“Right. Yes. Sometimes I forget it, though.” Beau slid his wallet out. He’d be needing it anyway. He made a show of looking through it, keeping it close to his chest. “That’s what I thought. I left it at home. All I have in here is cash.” Beau looked up. “Plenty of it.”
Both of them shook their righteous heads. “Not going to help you here,” the man said.
Beau put his wallet away and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Look. Her name is Lola Winters. Just look her up.”
Matilda typed with agonizing slowness. She cocked her head at the computer screen. “What’d you say the first name was?”
“Lola.” The look on Matilda’s face told Beau something was amiss. It occurred to him that Lola had a reason to stay hidden—him. And he wasn’t supposed to know her real name. He added, “It could also be under Melody.”
“Here she is.”
“Seriously?” Beau asked, taken aback. Confident as he’d been, the news still hit him right in the chest and sent his heart racing with excitement.
“Yeah.” The man had been watching over Matilda’s shoulder, and he looked up from the computer screen. “You sound surprised.”
Beau covered his ass with the biggest smile he had—and it was genuine too. In no time at all, he’d lay his eyes on that black, shiny hair, those big, lying blue eyes. “I’m just eager to see her. Very, very eager.”
“I remember her,” Matilda quipped. “Checked in last night because of the storm. She didn’t mention anything about work.”
“That’s great,” Beau dismissed with a deep inhalation. “Which room? I have flowers in the car, and they need—”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head at the computer, her eyebrows triangled in the center of her forehead. “She already checked out.”
His heart stabbed him right in the chest, that fickle motherfucker. Bragg had warned him about this—people on the run rarely spent two nights in one spot. But Beau had convinced himself that on some level, Lola wanted him to find her. That maybe, somehow, she wasn’t really on the run. She was just drifting. “When?”
“This afternoon, right after the storm let up. Not too long ago. That’s weird she didn’t mention it to you, especially since she had to work today. What’d you say she does, anyway?”
Beau closed his eyes. He pictured her running away from him through Middle-American wheat fields, her head over her shoulder as she smiled, waved at him. Ha. Gotcha. Not knowing where she was had been torture, but just missing her by a few hours was almost worse. If he’d flown to Dallas right when he’d arrived at the airport. If he’d driven twice as fast.
“Did she leave a note?” he asked evenly. “Anything behind?”
“I didn’t check her out, but I haven’t seen—”
“How about lost and found?”
The girl looked up at her dad.
“Why don’t you just call her?” he suggested, watching Beau carefully. “Maybe she went back home or moved to another hotel in the area.”
Beau opened his mouth to make his demands. He wanted to speak to whoever’d checked her out. To see surveillance footage. To check the room she’d stayed in for clues. He took a deep breath and walked outside, leaving behind two suspicious expressions. With the time difference, he’d lost two hours between California and there, and it was almost six o’clock at night.
Beau extracted his cell phone from his suit pocket, cringing as if it were painful. He called Bragg and spoke first. “She’s gone. Are there any new charges?”
“Not since last night.”
“Check again.” Beau ignored the detective’s sigh and waited on the line. He could still catch her, no matter where she was. If she was driving, he would fly. If she moved fast, he would move faster.
“Nothing, boss,” Bragg said into the phone. “You going to stay out there or come back?”
Beau hung up the phone and stared at the black screen. He didn’t know where to go from here or if he could go through this again another night. How the fuck could she do this to him? Toy with him this way? He purposely chose not to see the irony in the situation.
He needed to think—to be in a clean, uncluttered place, alone with his thoughts—and to sleep. He’d stayed at The Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis before. He wasn’t sure how far it was. There had to be a nearby city with something upscale. But Lola had stayed at the Moose Lodge last night, and suddenly, feeling close to her seemed more important.
He returned to the front office. “I’m sorry if I seemed angry,” he said and, to his surprise, he meant it. By not giving Beau information, the young girl had been protecting Lola. No matter how mad he was, Beau could only hope everyone else Lola had encountered so far had done the same. “It’s just, my wife—” He practically choked on it. My wife.
“Poor thing. You can’t even spend a night without her,” the girl said—alone again, a hopeless romantic again. “Are you going to be all right?”
Beau nodded. He took his wallet out once more. “Can I get a room for the night?” he asked, holding out his credit card.
She withdrew as though he’d just sneezed on it. “I don’t know.”
“Please,” he said, too exhausted for anything other than begging.
She sighed and took it. “Oh, all right.”
“Any room is fine.”
She shrugged. “They’re all the same, unless you want to be by the icemaker or something.”
“Any room is fine,” he repeated.
He took his key, then crossed the street to the liquor store. The man in camo was gone. Beau bought the most expensive Scotch they had, a brand he’d never heard of and didn’t plan on remembering.
He returned to his room at the Moose Lodge, where there was no minibar, no luxury showerhead, not even a robe. He sat on the edge of the bed with a drink in his hand and stared at a crack in the wall that ran out from behind the midsized TV. There’d been many cracks throughout his life, but very few the last ten years. Money had a way of smoothing them over.
When would she stop? How far would he go? There was a finish line. An edge. There had to be. He couldn’t follow her to the ends of the earth and keep his sanity. Selfishly, he hoped at some point she’d run herself into a corner. When she did, he’d be there—right behind her, right in front of her.
The pillows were lumpy, the bathroom lacking in toiletries, the vending machine broken. And except for the fact that almost having her and losing her again felt as if he’d dropped his heart a short distance and fractur
ed it—he was fine at that motel that was not The Ritz-Carlton.
Chapter Eleven
Lola was engrossed in her fifth conversation of the last hour, except that she hadn’t said a word. She sat on the terrace of Café Du Monde surrounded by people who’d unknowingly let her into their lives for a few minutes here and there. The family of four to her right had stopped in New Orleans for beignets on their drive home from Disneyworld. The little girl wore a Minnie Mouse hat with an oversized red bow that matched her sunburnt nose. The boy’s T-shirt, with Florida written in Disney lettering across the chest, was also colorfully decorated with food stains.
Lola sipped her second café au lait. She’d also heard a French couple’s flowering and heated conversation behind her. She couldn’t understand or even see them, but she’d imagined their quarrel would catapult them into each other’s arms before the night’s end.
Her table was like the center of the world that hour, with tourists from all different places to her left and right, in front of and behind her—sitting, drinking, eating, conversing and then leaving to give their table to the next group.
Being as caught up as she was in what was happening around her, she’d almost forgotten she herself was one of them until someone spoke to her.
“I was beginning to think being alone around here was a crime.”
Lola glanced over at the nice-looking man at the next table. “It might be,” she said. “But I wouldn’t know since it makes quick getaways easy.”
His answering chuckle was deep and throaty. A piece of his black hair flapped as a breeze passed over them. He held open a hand. “This is risky sixty seconds in, but I’ll take the chance. Join me for a pastry?”
His brown eyes matched her milky coffee. The lines around them crinkled with an inviting smile. The last two days had been the regular driving, eating, sleeping and sightseeing. She’d spent more time alone on this trip than she ever had in L.A., but she was only lonely when she thought of Beau. She smiled back at the man. “Thank you, but I’m happy here.”
“All right.” He dropped his elbow onto the table. “Are you a local too?”
“No.” Lola turned in her chair slightly to see him better. “I thought only tourists came here.”
“Myth. I’ve been eating beignets for years, and unfortunately for my figure,” he patted his stomach, “I never grow tired of them.”
Lola grinned, understanding all too well. Between driving five to ten hours a day and rarely cooking for herself, her pants were getting tight. “It’s my only night in New Orleans. As a local—anything I shouldn’t miss?”
“Done the French Quarter, I assume?”
Lola nodded. “And a walking tour.”
He shrugged. “The best part of this city is…the way it is. I don’t know how to describe it. Walk along the Mississippi River or through the streets. To experience New Orleans, just pay attention to what’s around you.”
“That sounds too easy,” Lola joked.
“Existing in the moment? It’s harder than you think.”
Lola glanced at her hands. The parents returning from Disneyworld had been talking about the workweek ahead of them. A group of girls who’d been sitting near Lola earlier had been reminiscing about New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina. Like most people, Lola was often looking forward or backward while life happened around her.
“What would you say to some exploring?” The man waved at her, bringing her back from her thoughts. “Let me take you around the city, buy you a drink at my favorite spot. New Orleans has a lot of secrets, ones only the locals know. I’ll show you how to forget tomorrow and enjoy the present.”
Then again, existing in the moment could be overrated. Lola signaled for a waitress, shaking her head at the self-important pick-up line. “No, thanks.”
“Are you taken?”
“No.”
“Then why not?”
“I’m just not interested.” What she didn’t say was that even though she was alone, she didn’t feel single. A large chunk of her heart still belonged to Beau, and mere weeks wouldn’t change that. Lola took out her wallet.
The man held up a hand. “I’ve got your bill. Go on and enjoy the rest of your night here.”
“But—”
“I insist.” He leaned over and took the receipt from her table. “If you want to thank me, pay it forward.”
Lola wasn’t sure what to do other than leave the restaurant. She stopped at a corner market for a new pack of cigarettes, having finished the last one somewhere around the Missouri-Arkansas border. Once her trip ended, so would the bad habit she’d started up again. Cigarettes had become a form of comfort, reminding her of her early days at Hey Joe, when she was off drugs and alcohol completely. Smoking had kept her sane. Until Johnny had started to nag her about that too. Lola knocked the pack against her palm, walking along the Mississippi River.
She eventually stopped and rested her elbows on a railing to watch the day fade over the river. She took a drag of the first cigarette from her last pack. She’d decided in the Ozark Mountains that it was time go home to Los Angeles. Tomorrow, she’d start the trip back. She didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Ending the trip felt like closing the door on Beau for good, though. Letting go of her anger meant severing any remaining link to him. That was for the best, but the idea made her stomach turn and her eyes water. It was unexpectedly physical, the process of saying goodbye. Even her jaw tingled. It got stronger, prickling down her throat. Without warning, she gagged.
Lola pulled the cigarette away from her face and looked it over. The river water rippled below her. She put a hand over her mouth, the ground suddenly unsteady, as if she were out at sea.
She realized it wasn’t thinking of Beau that’d turned her cheeks warm and her palms clammy. But a cigarette hadn’t made her this nauseous since she’d sucked down her first one at fourteen. Lola stuck the butt between her lips and pulled out the pack to check for an expiration date. And then it hit her, the reason her mom had been forced to quit smoking twenty-nine years ago. Lola’s mouth fell open. The cigarette dropped onto the concrete, scattering ashes at her feet.
Chapter Twelve
Four weeks earlier
Lola removed her new diamond earrings and set them on the bathroom counter. She glanced up at her reflection. Beau was in the doorway, his bowtie hanging around his neck, a shadow of stubble on his jaw. He came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. “When did you change?” he whispered. “I wanted to watch.”
“I never let you watch.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Lola’s heart skipped as he nuzzled her neck. The idea that he’d seen her undress without her permission made her flush. He was a dog—she knew that. He’d treated her like a dog. What made him think he could get away with that—standing just out of sight as she unzipped the long zippers of the dresses he’d bought her, unclipped the stockings of her wasted lingerie, unclasped her heavy, expensive necklaces. “You watched me?” she asked, her breath coming faster.
“Mmm.” He moved her hair aside and kissed a spot under her ear. “No. But it’s been very tempting.”
The thin silk of her robe did nothing to hide the fact that Beau wanted her. It was a blunt reminder of their knee-quivering chemistry, of being owned by him.
He slid his hand down the smooth fabric and cupped her backside. “All night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.” When he spoke, it was into her neck and hair, breath so hot, him so close, she struggled to maintain focus.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth dried, and her pussy got greedy-wet. She put her palms on the counter, bracing herself as she began to slip under his spell. “Stop,” she murmured.
“I’m not doing anything.” His fingers curled around the meat of her ass, brushing the private underside of her.
She saw herself—breathing through her nose, reddening from the neck up. Beau was also watching, and their eyes met. He moved both hands around to he
r tummy and pushed his pelvis into her, sending her gasping toward the mirror.
“You hide it well,” he said. “Until you don’t. You want to fuck as badly as I do.”
She would’ve denied it, but her vocal chords wouldn’t cooperate. He roamed his hands down her body, then up the backs of her thighs, and up and up until he was cupping her tits through the silk. He squeezed them, rubbed them, released them to slip his hands inside her robe and put his skin on hers.
“Oh, God,” she said, bending over the lip.
“That’s it,” he said, keeping her breast in one hand as he undid his pants with the other.
Her protest was a moan. She’d been there less than a week, but her body was rubber-band tight, so tight, and she wanted that release. Needed it. She hadn’t even touched herself since the last time he’d been inside her—had just slept chastely by his side the last few nights she’d been living there.
It fascinated Lola to see them together that way. Beau’s jaw set as he glanced down and back at her. She’d seen that reckless look in his eyes before—the first night, in Beau’s lap at the strip club, and many times after that. He always wanted to get inside her with a determination neither of them could fight.
He slid a finger along her slit, then pressed the tip of his cock to it. Neither of them moved. The bathroom lights glared, suddenly blinding. The longer he rested just his head between her folds, waiting, the harder she throbbed around it.
She knew what he wanted. It wasn’t enough to give herself over—she had to beg for it, for him to finish her off for good.
“I can feel you getting wet,” he said.
Lola shook her head hard, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror. Her knuckles whitened from making fists.
“No?” he asked. “You think I don’t know when your pussy’s hungry? Feed it. Push back onto me.”
“I can’t.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said. “You don’t own me that way anymore.”
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