Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  He let up slightly and cupped his hand to her ear, then whispered. “Lacrosse knows we’re here. I moved us to a different room. They can probably hear everything, so don’t speak until I tell you it’s safe.”

  She nodded, then wiped her face and nose on her black sleeve before letting go of him.

  He kissed her wet cheek, looked into her eyes, then took her hand and led her down another three flights. When they reached the third floor landing, he turned her to him, then gestured to the hotel robe hanging over his arm.

  What’s that for? she mouthed.

  Take off your clothes.

  She frowned and shook her head.

  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You’ll have bugs all over you.”

  Goosebumps rose on her flesh at both the warmth of his breath on her skin and the idea of bugs crawling on her. And though she knew what bugs he meant, it was the thought of little creepy crawlies that allowed her to push her embarrassment aside and do what he asked.

  He glanced up the stairwell, then down, then reached for the little tab on the zipper of her uniform top. She smacked his hand away.

  He frowned and huffed out an impatient breath. Hurry.

  She whipped the zipper down and the top off then reached for the robe.

  He pulled it away and shook his head. Not until you’re clean.

  She tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes to let him know she wasn’t buying it. He mimicked her, careful to keep his eyes off her tan bra…for the most part. When he started glancing up and down the stairwell again, she kicked off the shoes, and slid the pants off.

  And there she stood, in all her glory. Tan bra, pink lace panties, and white cotton socks. He was probably thinking he hadn’t done such a good job with her make-under.

  The wig was the only thing helping her feel as if she still had something on.

  Oblivious, he pulled the wig off her head, felt inside the cap, then ran his fingers through the hair before handing it back to her. She held it in front of her like a skimpy towel while he picked up her purse and felt his way through that as well. There wasn’t much there, and he’d purchased every little item in it, including the purse, but she still felt violated.

  He handed the bag back and picked up the maid’s clothing. From his back pocket he pulled the little black sensor he used to sweep the hotel room for bugs every time something had been delivered to the room. Nothing happened. He dropped the clothes and started scanning her body, starting with her socks. The anticipation of some alarm going off when it reached her unwaxed parts was unnerving. When she passed that test, she watched his face as he moved the wand higher, slowly, toward her bra.

  She tapped his arm, then leaned close to whisper, “Come on, TSA, I thought we were in a hurry.”

  He glared at her and kept glaring.

  She was confused, until a flashing red light on the top of his sensor caught her eye. She lowered the wig out of the way. The light kept flashing. Shawn moved it closer to her bra. It flashed faster. His message was clear, his eyes boring into hers, daring her to protest while he reached up under her bra and ran his fingers along the inside. He didn’t smile, obviously disappointed not to have found anything but her boobs.

  And one of those, he’d seen already, the day the madness started.

  He waved the little black wand in front of her again, then reached for her cleavage. She knocked his hand away and did it herself. She shouldn’t have been surprised to find a small, round, almost weightless disk with a wire for a tail.

  She turned it over. There was a sticker on the back. A hand-drawn smiley face, and the words, hi parker.

  Shawn read it too. He took it from her hand, glared at it, then dropped it down the gap in the staircase. Then he turned back and scowled at her pink panties.

  “Don’t you even,” she whispered.

  “Are you that sure?” He looked as disgusted by the question as she was.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  He finally lifted the robe from his arm and opened it for her. Once she was covered, they stepped through the door and hurried to room 356. The door opened on the first try for which she was grateful. Another ounce of adrenaline in her system, she worried, might be the death of her.

  ***

  Shawn ushered Macey in first. There was a lamp on. It was a normal hotel room. Dorothy Jean lay sleeping in the middle of one of two beds. Three backpacks sat next to the door. The rest of their luggage was piled on and around an armchair in front of the window.

  The most welcomed sight she could imagine.

  Shawn stepped in behind her and closed the door silently. Then he leaned back against the opposite wall with two feet separating them.

  “Macey?”

  “I’m so happy to see you’re okay.” The tears started again.

  “Are you?”

  “Of course!”

  “You wanna tell me why you smell like some guy’s cologne?”

  She laughed, relieved to be able to make any sound at all without Lacrosse listening in. But she sobered quickly when she saw the murderous look on Shawn’s face.

  The embrace in the stairwell tugged itself out of her hands like a wild kite and flew away.

  Her eyes adjusted quickly and the light from the lamp had become part of the interrogation.

  “Shawn,” she said, asking him with her tone to give her a chance to explain.

  “Miss McDaniels…” He stepped to the side so he could retreat from her another two feet.

  “Shawn.” She closed the distance and took both his hands in hers. “Dave Wells is alive.”

  His eyes flared for a fraction of a second, then narrowed. “No, he’s not.” He pulled his hands from hers. “You’ve been talking to Lacrosse?”

  He grabbed the purse out from under her arm and started digging through it again.

  “No! Of course not,” she said. “Hey. I’m sorry I worried you. But—”

  He tossed the bag onto the vanity and it skidded into the sink and then out again from the force. He pressed his finger against his lips, hard, warning her not to speak, then reached for the lapels of her robe. He’d exposed her bra again before she stopped him by laying a hand across his.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  His jaw popped. His lips narrowed. They were both breathing hard, but only because he was as pissed as she was. He finally stepped back and put his hands on his hips. He tilted his head, telling her to undress again. She tilted her head in the opposite direction, telling him to go to hell.

  “Your socks?”

  She popped them off and threw them at him.

  He looked them over then dropped them.

  “Satisfied?”

  Shawn lunged for her, took her hand, and pulled her after him into the bathroom. He closed the door and pressed her back against it, searching her face, listening to her breathe.

  She tried to focus on being angry and told herself, if he kissed her now, it would mean nothing. She still wouldn’t forgive him for treating her like that.

  His head came forward and her lips parted on their own, but he didn’t kiss her. He pressed his mouth to her ear.

  “Get in the shower.” It was an order, and a reminder to not to speak.

  “Wow,” she said in full voice. “You two think alike.”

  He grabbed her forearm and held tight, pulling her toward the tub with him. He turned on the water then insisted she climb in. With water splashing all around the room, he twirled his finger in a circle, telling her to turn around. Only after the robe was completely soaked, did he speak.

  “What do you mean, you two think alike? You been showering with someone else tonight?”

  She turned to face him, holding her arms in front of her.

  “No. He just suggested I get in the shower with you so I could tell you what’s going on without anyone else hearing.” She looked down at her dripping, bedraggled self. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two planned this.”

  He s
norted. “Lacrosse and I? Plotting together? Just to get your clothes off? I’m pretty sure I could have managed that on my own.”

  She tried to ignore the sting, but couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “You and Dave. Duh.”

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her to him, unconcerned with the water splashing down his front and over the edge of the tub. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Dave is alive. That was probably his cologne you were smelling. He always wears too much.”

  Shawn shook his head, disbelieving. “He can’t be alive, Macey. I saw his body. Whoever you saw tonight was not David Wells.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When it was clear there were no more transistors hidden on her person that hadn’t been shorted out by water, Shawn turned off the faucet and let her get dressed. She stepped out of the bathroom and found him waiting for her, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.

  He pointed in Dorothy Jean’s direction. “I don’t want to wake her,” he said quietly. “It took a lot out of her to wake up and move.”

  Macey nodded and sat down with her back against the bathroom door, facing him while she toweled the bottom of her hair dry.

  “Lacrosse knows we’re here, in the Davenport.” He sighed, like he’d failed. “Joseph called after you left. He said we should expect the scary dude to hit the Davenport any time now, because the feds have been checking all the hotels in the city, checking room to room, and this hotel was just about the only place that hadn’t been checked yet. But the fact that he hasn’t checked here means he’s avoiding the place.” He shrugged one shoulder, like he was too tired to raise both. “I don’t know what he’s waiting for. He should have found us by now. I should have stolen a van and let Dorothy Jean sleep in the back. Staying in one place was suicide. And I knew better.”

  He dropped head and closed his eyes briefly.

  “I think I know what he’s waiting for.”

  “Really?” He lifted his head and half-smiled, like he thought she was going to tell him something outrageous.

  “Yes, really. He’s using us as bait.”

  “Bait.” He gave an amused snort. “For whom?”

  “For Dave Wells and his organization.”

  “Dave Wells?” Shawn snorted again. “Even if he were alive, which I promise, he isn’t, he’s the least organized guy on the planet. The only thing he could pull together would be a carpool to a ski resort. So whoever is pretending to be Wells was probably sent by Lacrosse to get you to let down your guard. Maybe they already know what a sucker you are for a cute guy.”

  She winced. It hurt, having her words thrown back at her, after she’d told Dorothy Jean she could trust Shawn just because he was cute.

  He sighed loud enough to wake Dorothy Jean. “I’m sorry, Mace.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his face hard. “That was a mean thing to say. I’m just mad at myself for letting you leave in the first place, that’s all. I’ve been making dick moves all night.”

  She wasn’t going to argue.

  “But, if you can stand to still talk to me, tell me everything that happened after you left the room.”

  Leaving out her private thoughts about wanting to get back to him as fast as she could, she told Shawn everything she could remember, even the part about Dave enjoying his drink a little more than usual.

  “And he looked just like the real Dave?”

  “No. It was him. You know what Dave was like, bigger than life. Even if someone copied his face to the smallest detail, the rest of him couldn’t be faked, you know? He looked a little thin, but that’s it.”

  “And he got close enough to you to slip a bug into your pocket?” His jaw jumped, then jumped again, while he tried to act casual.

  “Yeah. I guess so. But since it had a smiley face on it, I figured the bug was just him reaching out, trying to tell you he’s alive, letting you know it’s really him.”

  Shawn rolled his eyes. “Dave was never a smiley face kind of guy.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He obviously expected you to find it. And he sent his ex-girlfriend back to you to tell you he’s on your side.”

  His brow furrowed and he straightened, which made his shirt stretch tighter across his pecs. “You didn’t date that long.”

  She wouldn’t have been too surprised if he started beating on his chest. Maybe he wasn’t jealous of Dave after all. Maybe it was just a competitive thing.

  “No, we didn’t,” she admitted. “You’re right. He was never my boyfriend. But we went out enough that I can tell whether or not it’s him, for pity’s sake.”

  He shook his head. “You have no idea what they’re capable of at that hospital. They could have taken Dave’s actual face off him after he died and put it on someone else. Did you notice anything weird about his face?”

  “You mean, like a scar running all along the edge?” She rolled her eyes. “Gee, no, but I didn’t think to check.”

  “Think.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to see that face again. “He had some bruises, and a scrape on his chin, like he’d been in a fight—like he’d been in a lot of fights, actually. But it was Dave. And his plan sounded pretty good.”

  Dorothy Jean snorted, then quieted.

  Macey lowered her voice. “What do you think?”

  Shawn studied his hands for a minute, then looked up at her. “I think you’ve already made up your mind.”

  “About what?”

  He shrugged that shoulder again. “You believe he’s really Dave. And you’re willing to trust him.”

  “I didn’t say that. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. I didn’t tell him how well Dorothy Jean is doing, even when he brought up the subject. And I’m not going to trust him completely until you do.”

  He smiled a little. “Maybe. We’ll see. We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “I’ll sleep—”

  “We can share the second bed, to leave Dorothy Jean alone.”

  She had been prepared to volunteer for the floor, but not because she was worried about him taking advantage of the situation. If anything was going to happen between them, they’d had plenty of chances before. Besides, he couldn’t be very attracted to a woman he thought was an idiot. And until he saw Dave with his own two eyes, he would keep on believing she’d been duped.

  But she hadn’t. No one could imitate that smile, or Dave’s dark root beer eyes that crinkled around the edges and made you feel like he was giggling inside. That was the Dave she remembered—the same Dave who had plucked her off the street and slipped a bug into her cleavage while checking her disguise. It wasn’t his fault that his story was just a little too good to be true.

  She stretched out on top of the covers with her clothes on, her shoes at the ready on the floor. Gone were the days of pajamas and robes. It was running time again. Someone might still come through the door at any moment.

  Shawn tossed his half of the bedspread over her, then settled behind her. Even with a foot or more of distance, she could still feel the heat of his body. But instead of heightening her senses, like she expected, it comforted her.

  About fourteen more hours and they’d be out of there for good. As soon he was reunited with his old friend, Shawn would be a believer. And he’d be so grateful he might forget about how thoughtless she’d been by leaving the suite in the first place.

  Maybe, he’d be so excited, he’d want to celebrate by kissing her speechless again.

  As an invitation for a pleasant dream, she fell asleep on that thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Macey woke to the sound of knuckles rapping on the door. The warm weight behind her disappeared at the same moment she bolted upright. Shawn bumped into the wall and cursed.

  Dorothy Jean chuckled. “Relax, you two. I ordered breakfast.”

  The knock sounded again. “Room service,” someone said quietly.

  All three of them went to the door. Shawn sto
od behind it with his gun raised. Macey hid inside the dark bathroom, and Dorothy Jean opened the door. “Good morning young man,” she said. “I’ll take that.” Once the door was closed, she chuckled again. “Maybe you two need a nap.”

  Shawn watched out the peep hole for a second, then relaxed. Macey followed the smell of bacon.

  Dorothy Jean sat at the table and lifted the lid. “I’m sorry. I only ordered enough for a hungry old woman, not enough for three. We’ll have to share.”

  Shawn seemed surprised. “That’s good. The room is under Mrs. Nalder. A lone woman.”

  “That’s what you said.” She picked up a bagel and handed it to him.

  “Yes, but what name did you sign for breakfast?”

  Dorothy Jean nodded once. “Mrs. Nalder, Room 365.”

  “Excellent,” he said, though he frowned.

  That frown had a way of making Macey’s stomach drop.

  “What’s wrong now?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” He stretched his face in an attempt to smile. “I was just wondering what else she might be able to remember.”

  “About last night?” Dorothy Jean sawed at a fried egg. “About you waking me up and telling me we had to move?” She took a bite while they waited, then started sawing again. “Or spending six months in the Boob Center in Rexburg?” Her eyes twinkled as she casually poured syrup on a smiling pancake with a slice of green melon for a mouth. “How about when we escaped the research hospital?” She cut into the pancake, but then set her fork aside and turned in her seat to face Shawn. “But before that, I’m a little fuzzy. Maybe you can help me.”

  Shawn gulped. Macey heard it.

  “Did we first meet in the doctor’s office?” Dorothy Jean was playing with him. “Or did you come to my daughter’s home the first time? You remember my daughter, Linda, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said clearly, like a confession he wasn’t proud to make.

  “Me too,” Dorothy Jean said, her voice laced with a bitterness Macey had never heard from her before. “I remember it all.”