by Julie Miller
“Yes. We won’t miss them.”
The stairs to the second floor were at the far right side of the building. When they got there, she realized he was right. Even without the binoculars, they could probably see what was going on. With the binoculars, they could pick out fine detail.
Good. She wanted a close-up look at the men. If life was fair, she’d have an epiphany of sorts and know exactly who she was. A couple things had already popped into her head. Perhaps...she looked around...perhaps a visual would be the push that got the sled going down the hill at warp speed.
“Don’t touch anything,” he said. “We don’t want to leave any fingerprints behind, just in case.”
She sat in one of the chairs, with her hands folded together, resting on her lap. The office was warm and soon she was nodding off. She got up, took off Cal’s big coat and started walking around the room to stay awake. “I need something to do. I’m going crazy.”
He was slouched in the chair, arms behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles. “How about sports trivia? What year did Tiger Woods begin golfing professionally?”
“That’s easy—1996.”
“Your turn,” he said.
She studied him. “The first World Cup was held in what country in 1930?”
“Uruguay,” he said. “How many wins did Muhammad Ali have?”
“Fifty-six wins. Five defeats,” she added.
“There’s no extra credit,” he teased. “Who did Wayne Gretzky play for in the 1980s?”
“Edmonton Oilers. Who is the only pitcher to lead both the National and the American League in shut-outs, in the same season?”
He scratched his chin. “CC Sabathia. Played for the Indians, then the Brewers.” He smiled at her.
“You’re really good,” she said.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said. He was quiet for a few minutes. “There are a lot of women broadcasting professional sports these days. Do you think that might be your job? Or maybe you’re a sportswriter.”
“Just the idea of standing up in front of a camera and talking to thousands of people makes my knees shake. I don’t think that’s my job. I suppose I could be a writer. I feel like that’s more realistic but it still doesn’t seem right.”
“Okay. Maybe you’re just a sports geek. We’re trying to make lemonade out of grapefruit.”
She sat back down. “We could have slept longer,” she said.
“Yep. But I didn’t like the idea of being surprised by your cousins.”
“I don’t think we’re family.”
“I hope not,” he said. “It’s going to be a real buzz killer if you see them and the first thought that comes to your head is what you’re supposed to bring to Thanksgiving dinner.”
She stared out the window. “Thanksgiving. Is that why you’re headed home?”
“Yep. A few months ago, I decided that this was going to be the year...the year I joined my brothers for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You told me about your brother Chase. How many others?”
“Just one. Brayden. Everybody calls him Bray. He’s four years older than Chase, seven years older than me. He left for the marines when I was in middle school. Now he’s a DEA agent and lives in New York.” He was silent for a minute. “It will be good to see them,” he added.
It wasn’t all that unusual for family to get together on holidays but the way he said it, she had the distinct feeling that there was more to the story. She wanted to ask but decided not to. She settled for something less personal. “Do you cook?”
“Uh, no. Not really. You?”
She tried to remember if she liked to cook. Had no idea. “I will definitely be out of your hair by Thanksgiving,” she said instead.
He shrugged. “Thanks for not driving off earlier.”
She stared at him. “You left the keys on purpose. It was a test, wasn’t it?” she challenged.
“I figured it was better for both of us if we knew the answer to the question early on.”
“The question being, will she run if she gets the chance?”
“Exactly. At least here, I had access to heat and there’s more snacks in the vending machines. There are lots worse places to be stranded.”
She wanted to be angry, to be outraged that he’d baited her. But something told her that she would have done the very same thing. She stood silently, watching out the window. Finally, she turned to him. “Where exactly were those vending machines?”
He laughed but quickly silenced it when they saw two Mercedes sedans drive into the hotel parking lot. He put the binoculars up to his eyes.
With her naked eye, she could see that no one got out of the one car. They parked in the back row, facing out, so that they had a good view of the office. Two men got out of the other car that had taken a front-row parking space.
“Do you think the clerk is in danger?” she whispered, before realizing how foolish that was. The men couldn’t hear them. Now that it was happening, now that the men were actually back, it made her chest feel tight. What the hell did they want with her? If they had bad intent, was it possible that innocent bystanders would be caught in the fray? That was unacceptable.
“I thought of that,” he said. “I don’t think so. A dead hotel desk clerk in the middle of Missouri will get some attention. Every hotel in the state will be on hyperalert. It would seriously hamper their abilities to inquire about you at other places. I think they’ll use other means of persuasion to get his attention.”
“A new cell phone?” she asked drily. “Unlimited downloads?”
He smiled and handed her the binoculars. “My guess is old-fashioned cash. Take a good look at the two men when they come out of the office.”
“You’re awfully confident that the clerk will show them the rooms?”
“He’s barely voting age and certainly no match for these guys. He’ll take the cash and when they tell him to keep his mouth shut about it, he probably will because not only would he lose his job, he’ll have to worry about these guys finding him and that their weapon of choice will no longer be Ben Franklins.”
“Is that what you’d do?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Hell, no. I’d lead them both into an empty room and take them out. Then I’d wait for the two goons in the car to get impatient and come check on why their friends are no longer visible. Then I’d take those two down.”
If another man had made that boast, she’d consider it false bravado. But Cal said it factually, without emotion, as if it was all in a day’s work.
Navy SEALs were well trained. That was a given. And, she suspected, very confident of their abilities. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have the guts to do what routinely needed to be done.
The door of the hotel office opened. She stared through the binoculars. The Mercedes Men walked on each side of the front desk clerk, who hadn’t even thought to put on a coat. He would be freezing by the time they looked at every room.
Cold but hopefully alive. She stared at the faces of the men, waiting for some memory to return. But there was nothing. She could see the scar that Cal had described. It was very noticeable and seemed familiar. Why, however, was beyond her grasp. She studied the shorter man. The way he walked, how he swung his leg from the hip, was eerily familiar.
“Know them?” Cal asked.
“Both the scar and the way the other one is walking seem familiar. But I’m wondering if it’s because you mentioned both things last night when you described them. Maybe I pictured that and now I think I’ve seen it before.” She looked at him. “I think I’ve lost my confidence to sort out what is real and what isn’t.”
“Okay,” he said.
“You say it like it’s no big deal,” she said, angry at herself. “I don’t know any more than I knew ten minutes ago. We wast
ed all this time.”
“It was a long shot,” he said, “that simply seeing them would jump-start your memory. One we probably needed to take but not the basket to put all our eggs into. I got what I needed.”
“And what was that?”
“I wanted to verify that the two cars were still traveling together and that they hadn’t split up. I think we can assume that this is going to be their pattern. One car and two men are always backup. I also wanted to see how long it took them to come back. It was about six o’clock when they were here last night. It’s almost noon. That’s eighteen hours. I think we have to assume that they probably took turns sleeping so that they didn’t lose any time looking. It gives me a feel for how they’ve identified their search area.”
“They’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Even if I had been out there somewhere, in the dark, in the snow, it would have been virtually impossible to find me.”
“I know. But they kept looking. That gives me some idea of how determined they are.”
“This is absolutely crazy,” she said, watching the desk clerk knock on doors. If no one came to the door, the clerk would unlock the door, the men would step inside, only to reemerge a minute later. Some of the rooms were occupied. When the knock was answered, there was a brief conversation before the two men stepped inside, out of view. Like before, in less than a minute, they’d be back. “What do you think they’re saying to the guests?”
“I suspect it’s some line about the men being inspectors of some sort and they have to make a quick visual inspection of the room. The guests are probably irritated but as long as the men get in and out quickly, will probably not make too big a fuss.”
“Good. If they do, this could turn ugly.” And that would be on her conscience forever.
The men looked at all eight rooms on the first floor and started upstairs. “Are we going to stay until they finish?” she asked.
“We have to. We can’t risk the men in the second car seeing us leave.”
But that would make them sitting ducks if the men decided to search the warehouse next.
She watched as the trio made progress. The hotel clerk had his arms wrapped around himself and he looked miserably cold. The other two men, in their big black coats and dark pants, simply looked miserable. They both had square faces and flat noses.
“Do you think they might be brothers?” she asked, handing him back the binoculars.
He watched for a few minutes. “I think you’re probably right,” he said. “I didn’t see that right away because I was focused on the one guy’s stride.”
They watched in silence for a few minutes. The trio got to the door of the room where she and Cal had spent the night. They knocked. Waited. Opened the door.
If Cal had not come back to warn her, she might still be in the room, oblivious to the fact that danger was on her heels. “Thank you,” she said. “I probably can’t say it enough.”
“You’d have done the same for me,” he said.
She liked to think so. The men came out. Checked the final two rooms. Their mouths were set and their posture tense. The trio walked back toward the office.
Please, just go, she thought. She did not want the young hotel clerk harmed.
She let out her breath when the men returned to their car and the young man went back inside the office. They were leaving. She was grateful.
Until she realized that the Mercedes Men were headed toward the warehouse. She and Cal had nowhere to go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cal moved quickly. “I’m going downstairs. Stay up here. No matter what, stay up here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever it takes,” he said. He grabbed the coat that Stormy had shed and tossed it at her. “Lock this door behind me. Hide in that closet,” he said, pointing across the room.
“Shouldn’t we call 911?”
“Won’t do us any good. By the time they get here, it’s going to be over, one way or the other.” He could tell she didn’t like the sound of that.
“But—”
“No time,” he said. The Mercedes Men were halfway down the road. He pulled up his pant leg, reached inside his cowboy boot and came out with the knife that he kept strapped to his ankle. He pressed a button on the handle and the blade extended. He handed it to her.
She didn’t recoil or throw up her hands. She took it, tested the weight in the palm of her hand, then gripped the handle.
“Do you think you could stab someone?” he asked.
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
“Good. If anybody besides me opens that closet door, let them get close and then go for center body mass. Don’t hesitate. You’ll only get one chance.”
He took two steps toward the door.
“Cal,” she said.
He turned and she was close. Close enough to reach her arms up, pull his face toward her and kiss him hard. It was unexpected and explosively hot. He opened his mouth and their tongues battled.
When she pulled back, he felt as if he’d been hit by an incoming missile. Dazed.
“Be careful,” she said.
He was generally never careful but almost always successful. “I’ll do my best,” he managed.
He ran lightly down the stairs. If the Mercedes Men followed their pattern, two would enter. He would have the advantage of surprise. It would be enough unless one of them got off a lucky shot. The trick was letting them get far enough inside that the other men waiting in the car didn’t realize that their buddies were under attack and come running. That would change the odds.
He absolutely could not let any of them get upstairs. While the knife gave Stormy a bit of protection, it was an inefficient weapon against a gun.
He stood flat against the wall, near the door that they would either pick the lock or simply knock down. He listened hard. Could hear the first set of tires. The car engine. Second set of tires. That engine. Then nothing for a minute.
Car door slam. Second car door slam.
He breathed normally, in and out, in and out. He needed to get steady fast. Needed to get that kiss out of his head.
His buddies would be laughing their tails off knowing that his knees were practically knocking together. Not because of the Mercedes Men. Them he could handle.
The doorknob jiggled. It had been an easy door to unlock. If they had any skill at it, it shouldn’t take them long.
He listened for the lock to tumble.
What he heard was a muffled cry, the voice deep. Then fast conversation at the door in a language that he didn’t know. Then the sound of running feet. Two car doors. Engines changing gears.
The cars were both leaving.
What the hell?
Then it made sense. He heard the sound of another approaching vehicle, coming from the direction of the hotel. Big rumbling engine.
The engines from the two cars were fading. They’d turned right out of the parking lot, headed back toward the Interstate.
He needed to see. He ran back upstairs to the windows.
It was a big delivery truck. The sign on the side said Wardman Toboggan Company.
It was a “good news, bad news” kind of moment.
Good news in that the Mercedes Men had decided a confrontation wasn’t in their best interests. Bad news in that the likelihood that the truck would pull into the garage and see their rental car was pretty high.
He’d had no compunction about taking out the Mercedes Men but didn’t want to have that same fight with an unsuspecting employee.
“Change of plans,” he said, turning. Then smiled when Stormy didn’t immediately open the closet door. Good girl. “Just me,” he said. “Mercedes Men backed off when a company truck started down the road. Let’s roll. We need to be in our vehicle and
ready to go if those garage doors open.”
She opened the closet door and tried to hand him back the knife. “You keep it,” he said.
She shrugged, retracted the blade and put it into the pocket of his coat that she’d once again put on. She didn’t ask any additional questions, just followed him down the stairs and got inside the SUV. He could hear the engine of the truck. It needed a tune-up.
He started the SUV. Counted to five. The garage doors started rising. All three of them. He saw the nose of the big truck in front of the third door. Waited until the door in front of the SUV was open far enough that they could squeeze under.
Gunned it. And they were out of the building and sliding around the edge of the big warehouse, likely before the man in the truck had any idea what had happened.
He went the opposite direction of the Mercedes Men, heading back toward the hotel. But he didn’t stop there. Just kept going until he was also back on the Interstate.
She didn’t say a word until they were safely back on the road with nobody following them. “That was fun,” she said.
He turned, trying to figure out if she was being sarcastic. He didn’t think so.
It was oddly endearing and very attractive. “Ready for the drive?” he asked.
“Sure. But what about the people at Wardman’s?”
“Well, I suspect it’ll go sort of like this. When they first saw my SUV pulling out, they probably would have tried to figure out if there was a legitimate reason for me to be inside. For example, did the SUV belong to someone who works there? When they came up empty on that, they might have tried to get a plate number. But they wouldn’t have. We got out of there pretty fast and this morning before we started, I made sure there was a nice mud and snow mix on the plates, obscuring the information.”
“They’ll call the police?” she said, more fact than question.
“I imagine so. First, they’ll call the boss. He or she will tell them to call the police. Then there will a quick look around to see if anything is missing or disturbed. When everything looks okay, they’ll probably calm down, and quite frankly, the cops won’t put any time into it.”
