by L. L. Muir
Except for a certain experience in a closet that was likely to supply her with nightmares for years to come.
Shawn and Dorothy Jean sat in the back with Macey up front. The ride was short. However, once they pulled up in front of the Econo Motel, Shawn didn’t get out.
“Okay,” he said. “So, you brought us to the cheapest hotel. Remember that. Anyone asks, that’s what you did, okay?”
The woman looked nervous. “Okay.”
“How much would it cost to have you call in sick for the rest of the week?”
“A week?”
“A week.”
“A thousand dollars?” She shrugged. The woman didn’t know how to negotiate.
Shawn laughed. “Make it two? And if you have to report the route, tell them you dropped off some old man here, would you?”
The woman perked right up. “Old man. No problem.”
“Now maybe you can take us to the nicest hotel?”
“That would be the Davenport.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The woman gave Macey a nervous smile, then put the pedal to the metal.
“You don’t have to hurry,” Shawn said quickly as they headed for a red light with no signs of slowing.
The woman took her foot off the gas and stopped at the light. Her bottom lip protruded a little, like she was disappointed. After she’d dropped them off at the sidewalk in front of the Davenport, Macey couldn’t help but worry.
“You think she’ll blab?”
Shawn shrugged. “We didn’t have a choice. Dorothy wouldn’t have fared well if we changed cabs all night. We’ll just have to hope for the best.”
“So now you’re Mortimer?”
“He must be rubbing off on me.”
* * *
Much to the doorman’s distress, Macey waited with Dorothy on a bench outside while Shawn got a room. A dozen suspicious glances later, Shawn came out and brought her a key.
“I’m going back in without you,” he said. “They’ll be expecting my wife and children to be coming up from the parking garage. You bring Dorothy Jean in a few minutes. Walk straight to the elevator like you own the place. No one will stop you. We’re in the Governor’s Suite. Seventh floor.” He gathered the backpacks and went inside.
Governor’s Suite? Brilliant. The Governor’s Suite sounded disinfectable.
Macey counted off three minutes, then walked Dorothy through the lobby, careful not to make any eye contact. She could hardly wait to sleep stretched out on a bed again. It seemed like ages since she’d gotten up early and edited that last chapter of the new book. If she’d have known what was in store for her that day, she’d have crawled back between the sheets and slept in.
If she’d have known what was in store for her, she’d have packed a better bag. While she was thrilled Shawn had packed the duck, his choice of clothes was pathetic. He’d included the sweats and sleeveless sweatshirt she often wore when she was too busy writing to worry about what she looked like—or smelled like.
She tried to put out of her mind the fact that he’d been watching her when she’d been in grunge mode. And in the past six months, she’d hit that mode often. But what worried her most was the fact that it was the outfit she was usually in when she did her thing.
But if he’d been watching, even once, when she did her thing, he would never have risked his life to save her from Lacrosse. Alter egos aside, he would have kept his distance from someone as certifiable as her.
Of course, there was always a chance he hadn’t been watching on those days. But if he’d really only left home when she had, he couldn’t have missed much. The million dollar question was…if he hadn’t steered clear of her, knowing everything, then what in the hell was wrong with him?
* * *
Macey shared a double queen room with Dorothy. Shawn claimed he wouldn’t be able to relax and think about his own bed until he had them barricaded inside their room, just in case either of them walked in her sleep. The way Dorothy rolled her eyes showed she knew full well he was talking about her, but she slid into bed and turned out her lamp like a good girl. Macey was happy to do the same. At least no one would be able to surprise them in their sleep—all that furniture couldn’t be moved silently.
Nightmares, however, got in just fine. And after a disturbing night, Macey awoke refreshed, but discombobulated. It was ten o’clock when she stepped out of the shower and back into the clean things she’d slept in. Dorothy slumbered on.
She opened the door to the suite and found a new addition to the barricade. Shawn hadn’t been able to sleep in his bed after all. He was snoring on a richly upholstered loveseat he’d pushed over in front of the pile of tables blocking her exit. He wore nothing but his jeans. His calves hung over one arm of the loveseat. His head was smashed into the other arm at an odd angle. She had a hard time looking away from the hair on his chest.
“Shawn?” she whispered.
He didn’t stir.
“Shawn,” she tried a little louder.
Still nothing.
“Neighbor Dude,” she sang.
He bolted upright, grabbed the back of the couch for balance, and jumped to his feet, blinking.
She giggled and pointed to the pile of tables. “If you let me out of here, you can go back to bed. I’ll stand watch.”
He scooted the short couch away, unstacked the furniture, and headed to his room all without ever opening his eyes completely. She marveled at how unguarded he was able to be when he believed they were safe. It had been the same at the little cabin.
If her own secret agent could relax, she could too. They were safe and sound behind locked doors and pseudonyms. And without an old woman to babysit—for the moment at least—or Cop Dracula to run from, she decided to celebrate by ordering some room service and making a plan. It would be easier to think without Hot Shawn leaning over her shoulder anyway.
* * *
Macey was a nervous wreck.
As soon as she’d hung up the phone, after ordering breakfast, she worried she might’ve said something to give them away to Lacrosse. She had to remind herself that Cop Dracula couldn’t have a bug on every phone line in Spokane. Besides, she hadn’t said anything that might identify them. And it wasn’t as if her voice could give her away. Could it?
She considered waking up Shawn and confessing what she’d done, so if there was a real reason to worry, he could tell her. But she didn’t want to look like an idiot. So she settled for standing in front of the door for half an hour, holding the ornamental fireplace tools, watching for the service cart to arrive.
The peep hole was one of those old-fashioned privacy holes that had a little door that swung down in front of it. So it was tricky holding the poker in one hand and the three-pronged tongs in the other while pushing the little door aside and pressing her face up to the tiny round window. She only hoped Hot Shawn wouldn’t come out and find her all bent and twisted, flattened against the door with the tongs over her head and her butt sticking out because the hole had been installed with someone shorter than her in mind. It was bad enough she’d end up with a kink in her neck, and who knew where else.
She bruised the top of her head twice and her forehead once before two linen-covered carts were finally wheeled off the elevator and pushed toward the Governor’s Suite by a couple of young men. They looked either bored or sleepy—maybe a bit of both—and she couldn’t imagine Lacrosse would hire them to shine his shoes.
She hid the fireplace tools behind her back and opened the door so they wouldn’t have a chance to knock and wake up Shawn or Dorothy Jean. She scribbled an incoherent signature on the bill and told the boys she’d pull the carts in herself, as she didn’t want them waking up her “kids.” Actually, it was so they wouldn’t get a look at all the furniture stacked in front of her bedroom. When she got the door closed, she watched the boys return to the elevator. Nothing remarkable. Nothing suspicious. No one was exposed. No one was in danger.
An auspicious start to
the day compared to the previous two. She only hoped it would stay that way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was just like old times. Just her, Mortimer and Keefer having breakfast and hammering out a strategy. She was in her sweats and in the zone.
She pored over a map she found in the desk drawer alongside a bible. Luckily, Spokane was so close, the map included Coeur d’Alene. She had to make a wild guess about where she had finally run the yellow semi off the road. Not far from town. Maybe four miles.
She imagined what had gone on inside the semi’s cab once the old lady climbed inside…
A little bickering about how slow she moved. How impatient he was. She’d had to keep the chumps from watching out the window, hadn’t she? Or they might have caught sight of his raggedy old ass scurrying away with one of their backpacks.
Macey smirked, imagining the look on their faces if they would have known how much money was in the backpack they hadn’t taken.
Back inside the truck now. “Where is it?” the woman would have asked.
A thumb over his shoulder. The bag was right there, was she blind?
She would grab it. Look at the road for a moment to keep from getting motion-sick, then unzip the prize.
They’d be almost out of town. The café had been on the west end. Only a few blocks, really. A winding road here. Then a straight shot onto the highway.
She would have dug around, feeling for a wallet or something substantial. The duck would have confused her. Looking at it, she would have wondered why a grown woman would have packed a duck. She would have searched further, found nothing of value at all. Then, in frustration, she would have rolled down the window and pitched the duck.
She looked at the map, stuck her finger on the point closest to the one in her imagination. “Here.”
After a quick estimate of how far a woman of that age and size could have thrown a little ball of plastic, she knelt one knee on the chair, picked a plum from the complementary fruit basket, and threw it across the living room. It landed in a plant in the far corner.
“I know that look.” Shawn stood across the table wearing a fluffy white robe. “You’re writing, aren’t you? Just can’t help yourself, I suppose. You can’t just enjoy your breakfast. Your mind just starts providing entertainment?”
She kept her mouth shut. Looking at him, imagining what he wasn’t wearing beneath that robe, stole away whatever coherent reply she might have come up with. It brought to mind a scene in a Julia Roberts movie, and the one wearing the robe could be rented by the hour.
He lifted a dome off one of the plates on the cart. “What’s this?” He let go of the tie on his robe and lifted up another dome. “What is all this?” He set a lid aside and lifted a small plate to show her the pancake with the smiley face made of fruit.
“Breakfast.” She cleared her throat. “For the children.”
His face lit up. “Oh, that’s smart.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, then pulled some of the plates onto the table in front of him. His knee peaked out. His legs were certainly not together. “Lacrosse will have a look at the records for anyone who checked into a hotel last night. In a little while, I’ll speak to someone in the office and see if they can change my check in time to yesterday morning.” He made a stack of domes to the side and smiled down at a pile of pancakes. “I hope it’s as good as it looks.”
Macey pulled her knee off the chair and sat down properly. She grabbed her fork in one hand and her knife in the other to keep either of them from accidentally falling on the floor. Because, of course, she’d have no choice but to look under the table for them.
“Still hungry?” he asked.
“You have no idea,” she said through gritted teeth.
Five minutes of watching him wolf down his breakfast was enough of a turnoff that she was able to set her utensils aside.
“I thought you said you were starving.” He circled his fork above the platters. “There’s still plenty for Dorothy Jean. None of our kids appear to be hungry.”
She smiled and shook her head, then bent back over the map and tried to remember where she’d stuck her finger.
“What’s that?” He took a swig of juice and pushed his plate aside.
“A map of Coeur d’Alene.”
Confusion made a little dip in his forehead. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m trying to guess the best place to look for the duck. The old woman wasn’t driving, so that rules out the south side of the road. And she couldn’t have thrown it very far. Maybe fifty yards. I’ve narrowed it down to maybe three miles at most. We could walk it. One at a time, so we don’t leave Dorothy alone…” She noticed his bulging eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Shawn snorted and got to his feet. “Are you really that oblivious?”
“Oblivious? To what?”
“To the danger, Macey. I’m trying to save that woman’s life.” He pointed to the other bedroom door. “I’m trying to save your life, and all you can think about are your silly little children’s books!”
He paced, then turned on her again before she could recover enough to respond.
“Well, forget Mor Coffee. And forget Keefer Boone. You think any of that will mean squat when Lacrosse gets a hold of you? He could gut you on national television and no one could touch him. He could say, Here is your precious Mortimer Coffee and she is a threat to the world, only because I say she is, and no one could stop him from doing whatever his twisted mind can dream up for you. But that’s okay. You go back for your precious book files.” He sneered. “Wells had no idea how right he was. Most important thing in the world. I guess with your small world view, it really is.” He closed the bedroom door firmly behind him. But then he opened it again. “Just don’t expect Dorothy or me to help you look for it,” he said, then the door shut again.
Macey’s jaw was still hanging open—probably because her ears hadn’t been able to take it all in and make sense of it. She couldn’t believe he’d just erupted on her like that. Could she give him a little slack for the two days of hell they’d gone through? Sure. But he’d simply come up with a new way to call her selfish. And they’d already covered that. If he thought he could just dig it up again, he was wrong.
She stomped to his bedroom and threw the door open. It banged against a chair and the deep carpet stopped it. He was sitting on his bed, fuming, leaning back on his hands. But his legs were spread a little too far. His robe lay open almost to his…
While he watched, she stomped into the bathroom and brought out a big towel. Then she threw it at his crotch and met his eye.
“You are an idiot.”
“Okay.” He rolled his eyes and gestured toward the door. “Fine. I’m an idiot. Get out.”
She shook her head. Little, fast shakes with her chin pushed forward. “I’m just getting started.”
He glanced at the towel, then seemed to realize why she’d put it there. He grinned and set it beside him on the bed.
She narrowed her eyes, partly out of self-preservation. “First of all, you’re a perv. You’ve been watching me for six months? Why not just come to the door and ask me what I knew about Dave Wells? Just ask. Did he ever give you anything? How hard is that?”
By the look on his face, the idea had never occurred to him.
“Some secret agent. You wasted half a year!”
His jaw popped. Twice.
“And tell me, huh? What in the hell are you thinking, putting a bug in my bathroom?”
He smirked, then thought better of it and bit his lip. She was tempted to haul off and bust that lip wide open. When his gaze dropped to her fist, she guessed he knew it. So she let him sweat for a few seconds.
“And second of all, you’re an idiot.”
He rolled his eyes. “You said that already.”
She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “I am going back to get that duck, not for my files, but for Dave’s. Because someone around here used to think those files might be able to expose the
bad guys so Dorothy Jean and I wouldn’t need saving.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes to disguise her sniff. “You think I don’t care about anyone but my career?” She wrinkled her nose, trying to convey her disgust. “Go to hell.”
She expected to make it out the doorway in three long strides, but Agent Idiot beat her to it. He put a hand on the doorframe and braced himself across the opening.
“Whoa.” He reached a hand toward her waist, but she gasped and he pulled it back. “Hang on a minute. Just hang on.” He was breathing heavily. She hoped it was just from jumping off the bed and sprinting to the door.
Or maybe she hoped it wasn’t. If he was turned on by the fact that she’d fought back, she hoped he got frustrated as hell.
“Forgive me.” He stooped a little to see her eyes.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re not. You’re an ass.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Tough titty.”
He choked on a laugh. “No. Really. I’m sorry. I forgot, for a minute, that there were more files in the duck than just Keefer’s stories.”
“Bullshit. Let me out of here.”
He took a step toward her. She took a step back. Then suddenly he closed the door and grinned. “Not until you accept my apology.” He’d smiled the same way at the pancakes.
“Don’t touch me.” She backed toward the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He laughed so hard it bent him forward, threatening to open his robe again.
She took a step and punched him in the throat. He stopped laughing and started coughing, then he groped for the bed and sat on the edge.
“Don’t mess with single women. We take defense classes for fun.” She stood her ground and listened to make sure he was still breathing, which he was, so she headed out. “Your robe’s too small,” she added, and closed the door behind her.
