by Debra Cowan
She studied him, wishing she could erase some of the remoteness from his eyes, yet knowing that was all that kept her from kissing him again. "All right."
He pushed aside a tree branch and let her precede him up the dark trail. Moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating their way.
Devon spoke over her shoulder. "Maybe O'Kelly knows something by now."
"I told you I called him earlier. There's nothing."
"Well, maybe that's a good sign. Maybe—"
"It means he doesn't know anything," Mace said tightly.
Devon couldn't imagine another day like she and Mace had spent today, with tension so tight between them they were both about to snap like a stressed rubber band. "Hey, the department could get a policewoman to stay with me and we could go back."
"No policewoman."
"You might have a better chance of catching those two men if I were at home."
He stopped then and turned her around, staring at her as if she'd suggested she stand in the middle of a busy highway.
"I don't think you like being out here with me any better than I like it."
"I don't."
"Well, then?"
"We've been all through this," he growled, taking off through the woods again.
She hurried to catch up. "It's been two days. Maybe we can go somewhere else."
"Damn, Dev, we're not on a world tour here. There's no need to move unless we have to."
"It can't be any easier for you to be at the cabin than it is for me. I'll admit it even if you won't."
"Good for you."
She stopped, watching his ramrod-straight back and stiff shoulders fade into the shadows.
When he realized she wasn't following, he spun around and walked a few steps back toward her. "Come on."
"Did you bring me here because you wanted me to remember, Mace?"
"Hell, no!" He exhaled loudly and tilted his head up to study the night sky, as if searching for patience.
"Did you think I would remember how things used to be between us and want them to be that way again?"
"Do we have to do this?" He sounded suddenly tired and looked haggard in the hazy light of the moon.
She choked back a sob, a painful knot of memory. "Do you think I could ever forget how we used to be?"
She shouldn't have admitted it to him. She saw the hope flare in his eyes. Then she saw it die.
He tunneled a hand through his hair, then massaged his neck. In a grainy voice, he said, "We can't leave, Devon. Not until O'Kelly finds something."
Her heart ached for Mace. Why, oh why, couldn't she accept his life? Why did she have to run scared?
She nodded and walked toward him. They crossed the lawn and reached the cabin.
Suddenly, Mace turned to her. "Why don't you wait here?"
Apprehension skittered up her spine, but she nodded in silent agreement. What was wrong?
As he edged up to the porch, she strained to hear something, anything, but there was only the slight swish of trees in the wind, the distant slap of water against the shore. A faint fish odor drifted from their hands.
"Mace?"
He held up his palm and she fell silent.
He glanced around the porch, then stepped up to the door. Dread edged through her. She clenched her fists tight against the urge to follow him, to wrap her arms around him.
"Damn."
The word was so soft Devon nearly missed it. She peered around him and followed his gaze until she saw what held his attention. Squinting closely, she made out a piece of broken tape on the door frame.
"Looks like we'll be leaving, after all," he said quietly. Alarm fluttered as she stared at the tape. "You put that there before we left. What does that mean?"
"Somebody's been here."
Somebody who was looking for her.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
"You've got to be kidding."
Devon stared around the hotel room, her jaw slack. "When you said we were leaving, I didn't think you meant for this."
"We'll be safe here until we can figure out what's going on."
She grimaced and took in the utterly gaudy surroundings of their room at the No-Tell Motel. She still couldn't believe someone had actually put the name on a sign, off the highway, no less. Neither could she believe the decor.
Raspberry velvet glutted the room. A frayed velvet spread, complete with moth-eaten edges, covered a round bed. Ceiling mirrors threw back the image of the bed, in a startling red reflection. Matted pink-and-gold carpet covered the floor. Gold tassels decorated the draperies, which were the same worn crimson.
The pale pink walls looked grungy, and Devon reflexively wiped her palms down the front of her jeans. Her gaze was again drawn to the bed. At the end next to the wall hung a metal box. She pointed, wrinkling her nose. "What is that?"
Mace turned from his position at the window and drawled, "That's a change box. For our vibrating bed, honey."
"Ugh." A pink-shaded lamp, edged with ratty gold fringe, rested on the white lacquer night table, and pink light suffused the dismal room.
In front of the bed was a television set with a cardboard sign that listed available video entertainment. Devon gingerly lifted the card, her eyes widening. "Busty Biker Babes?"
Mace grunted, checking out the locks on the door.
"Sex on the Saddle? Candy's Land? Mace!"
"We'll only be here awhile. It's the best access for a quick exit." He looked out the window toward the office.
By way of a hundred-dollar bill, he'd managed to obtain this room, which faced the office. The promise of another hundred had gotten from the manager and his wife a solemn vow that Mace would be immediately alerted to anyone asking about him. They had also agreed to steer any such visitors to Room 1, on which Mace could also keep an eye.
He moved away from the window and looked around the room. "Once O'Kelly calls me back, maybe we'll have something to go on."
In spite of their almost comic surroundings, a chill crept up Devon's spine as she recalled their return to the cabin. Thank goodness Mace had cleared away all traces of their presence before they'd gone fishing. He had told her that he hoped the people on their trail had assumed they had already left the cabin.
"Wanna watch TV?" He flicked a hand at the video box.
She grinned weakly. "No, thanks."
"Me, either." His blue gaze bored into her, measuring, testing, and she shifted uncomfortably.
She hadn't become hysterical tonight, but neither had she let more than two inches separate them since they'd left Micki's cabin.
"You did great tonight."
She blinked. "I did?"
"Yep." His lips tugged up in a crooked smile. "Your dad would've been proud."
He walked into the bathroom and Devon sank down on the edge of the bed. He had to be kidding! She had been—was—scared to death. She hadn't screamed and cried like a wimp, but neither had she helped much. Her movements had been wooden and strictly mechanical as she walked to the car, following Mace's instructions to pick him up at the marina where he'd returned the boat.
The threat to her was real and moving closer. It all seemed like some grotesquely slow movie. She couldn't believe this was happening to her.
She'd done great? Who was he trying to kid?
But his praise sparked something warm deep inside her. A realization bloomed. Mace had never, ever, criticized her fear or concerns. He'd never suggested she get a backbone or try to act more bravely.
She had always been the one to find fault, to assume that she wasn't the strong kind of woman that he needed.
Could she have been wrong this whole time? Was there something inside her, some core of strength that she had never realized? Could she perhaps really be enough woman for him? Automatically, from months of practice, she tried to dismiss the possibility, but this time it nagged.
Fear still gnawed at her, but there was a new sense of competence, of dete
rmination. Whether or not it was due to Mace's company and reassuring presence, she didn't know, but she felt as if she could handle the threat, at least.
She hadn't performed any heroics tonight, but neither had she embarrassed herself by panicking. She was holding it together. Even though she was frightened, she wasn't paralyzed by the fear.
She could no longer dismiss the danger. As much as she'd resisted the idea, she could no longer pretend that she wasn't dependent on Mace—this time for her life.
And she could no longer deny that she was still in love with him.
* * *
The nightmare stalked her that night. Again she was back in the kitchen. Again through the laundry-room doors she saw the two men who murdered her father. Blood pooled on the floor, crept toward her feet.
Her chest ached with the pressure to cry. Night closed in around her and frigid cold hooked at her insides. The men held guns. She held a gun. Blood slicked her hands. Her father's eyes stared sightlessly up at her.
Pressure built in her chest. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to hide.
Her eyes flew open and her gaze swept the cheap motel room. Where was she? What had happened?
She sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, shaking as if she had the flu. Suddenly she remembered she was with Mace. She remembered where they were and why.
Mace sprawled in a chair near the window, his long legs stretched out and resting on the corner of the bed.
The air was sparse and tight. Devon struggled to breathe, to dismiss the horrible pictures in her mind. Her chest ached with a sob she didn't dare let out.
Mace was here. Everything was all right. It had only been a dream.
She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Her skin was clammy now and her head throbbed. She shoved her hair away from her face and pushed back the thin sheet, which smelled of smoke and dime-store perfume.
Her feet touched the floor and she bowed her head. Despite the dust and dirt in the flat, cheap carpet, she gave a sigh of relief. This was real. She was all right.
"Devon?"
She started, her hands clenching the edge of the bed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Mace's eyes gleaming in the darkness, his features haloed by the vapid streetlight that fingered through the threadbare drapes at his back.
"I'm okay. I just need a … drink of water."
He swung his legs off the corner of the bed and straightened in the chair.
She didn't want to tell him about the nightmare. It had probably been triggered by their quick exit from the cabin. Or handling Mace's gun. She didn't want to confess her cowardice to him.
"Dev?"
She pushed up from the bed and walked to the bathroom door, staring at the places where the white paint was chipped and peeling. "I'll be right back."
She slipped inside, the pressure around her chest easing somewhat. Leaning back against the door, she drew in deep breaths until the quivering in her belly stopped. Until her hands quit shaking. Until the bloodied image of her dad faded.
She was fine, she reassured herself, but how much longer until this was all over?
A lone, uncovered lightbulb hung from a string in the ceiling and cast a gray pall over the plain white room and its platinum fixtures. Water dripped from the sink faucet, following a rusty line created by a continual leak.
Shaking, she moved to the sink and turned on the water so Mace wouldn't wonder about her. Peering into the mirror, she studied the wavy reflection staring back at her. Her face was pale, her eyes huge and dark, her lips bloodless.
If she and Mace weren't caught by the men chasing them, would she be strong enough to endure the trial? Would she be able to actually testify in front of the man accused of having her father murdered?
Her gaze caught on the condom machine dangling from the wall. "Well, you're in the Happy Hooker Motel, aren't you?" she muttered. "You never thought you'd be in a place like this either."
Nausea rolled through her, until she unexpectedly remembered the feeling of control she'd had while holding Mace's gun. Remembered the absolute trust she'd placed in him tonight when they'd returned to find the cabin had been visited. From somewhere deep inside, determination welled.
She might be scared, but she wasn't running. Not anymore. Not from her nightmares. Not from the men who were trying to find her.
She turned off the light and opened the door, stepping out into the stale-smelling room. After a few seconds her eyes readjusted to the grainy dimness.
The light from the window illuminated the few steps back to the bed. In the half-darkness, she could see the gleam of Mace's eyes and knew that he had been waiting for her.
"Everything okay?" His sleepy voice, like silk-covered gravel, slid over her and sparked a flutter of warmth low in her belly.
"Yes." She eased onto the bed, still sitting on the edge, her toes curling into the cool dirty carpet. There would be no more nightmares tonight.
Behind her, Mace's chair groaned as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Other sounds filtered to her—the creak of a vibrating bed several doors down, the occasional moans and rough laughter that drifted through the walls. In the darkness, Devon's face heated and she tried to shut out the reminders of the triple X-rated hotel where she and Mace had sought safety.
In a few seconds, she shut out the other raucous noises and focused on the sound of his even breathing. She didn't close her eyes, just stared at the shadows that stretched along the opposite wall, listened to the steady plop plop of water from the bathroom faucet.
Her stomach settled somewhat, but the sense of fear hovered. She ached for Mace to hold her. No, not Mace, she amended, just the touch of another human to chase away the fear. She couldn't sleep again tonight.
Though Mace's breathing was deep and even, Devon knew he wasn't asleep, either. She could feel his watchful gaze on her.
"Why don't you take the bed for a while?" She turned slightly toward him. "Your back will hurt tomorrow if you sleep in that chair all night."
"I'm okay." His voice carried no hint of the tension that had stretched between them for the last two days. In fact it was soothing and easy, restoring some security to her world, which had been skewed by the nightmare. It would be easy to pretend that they were simply two friends sharing a room for the night. "Don't want to get too comfortable."
His casually spoken words immediately brought her back to grim reality. Though he left the threat unvoiced, it was still tangible and very much a possibility. Those men could already be on their trail again.
"I don't think I'll get much sleep anyway." Her voice shook and she clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling uncontrollably. "You should let me have the chair."
"I wouldn't feel right about it." He shifted and the chair squeaked with his weight. "Why don't you lay down and at least try for a little rest?"
At his gentle request, she glanced over her shoulder. He was draped in shadows and she couldn't see his face.
She wanted to argue, or better yet, get in the chair with him, but she slowly lifted the thin sheet and slid into bed. She felt the weight of his legs and feet on the corner of the bed and a sense of security enveloped her.
But she didn't close her eyes. All night, she stared at the stupid gold fringe hanging from the Pepto Bismol-colored lamp.
* * *
She hadn't slept at all. Mace knew because he'd stayed awake the rest of the night, watching her. The garish light had cast her pale features in a frighteningly deathlike pall.
What had happened to wake her last night? A dream? She hadn't cried out or thrashed around. Could she simply have awakened and been startled by the unfamiliarity of the room, the bed? Most likely she'd been on edge due to the scare at the cabin yesterday.
Whatever it was, the fact that she hadn't confided in him chafed. He should be relieved. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up with her again. Hell, who was he kidding? He was already tangled up with her.
He stood in
the shower, letting the hot, sporadically pulsing water rinse the sticky soap from his body. Devon had already bathed, and despite Mace's best try, he couldn't staunch the memory of the showers they'd shared in the past.
With great effort, he kept from dwelling on the image of soap-slick ivory breasts and rose nipples, of sleek thighs and quick hands.
He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, forcing out the memories. One thing he'd always liked about her was that she'd never taken hours getting ready in the bathroom. She was still like that. She'd showered and changed in less than fifteen minutes, exiting the bathroom wearing the pink T-shirt and denim shorts she'd worn the day they'd gone to the cabin.
Had that been only three days ago? Seemed like another lifetime. She'd left her shampoo in the shower, and he poured out a dollop, then worked it into his hair, inhaling the honeysuckle scent.
Whatever was bothering her, she was handling. She'd been quiet since they'd both gotten up, but she wasn't skittish. She was probably thinking as much as he was. Was she thinking about him?
The possibility streaked through his mind before he could halt it and he grimaced in disgust.
She'd done well yesterday. Pride surged through him, then that damn flare of hope he could never quite squash. Just because she'd handled things so far didn't mean she could handle them for a lifetime. It wasn't something he was willing to find out, either.
It was over between them. Truly over. And for the first time, he was moving on. At least he'd met that hurdle and cleared it while they were at the cabin. It didn't mean he wasn't still affected by her, but maybe someday…
He stepped out of the tub and quickly dried off, pulling on his jeans and a blue knit pullover shirt. After giving his hair a rough towel drying, he stepped out into the room.
Devon stood at the window, peering between the raspberry drapes. She turned at the creak of the bathroom door.
Her gaze skipped over him and she glanced away. "What now?"
"I want to call O'Kelly, tell him what went down yesterday." Mace sat on the edge of the round bed and reached for his boots.
