He exhaled in frustration and nodded once. “Alright. I'll give my friend another day to contact me and then we move with or without him. Meanwhile, I want you to learn some basic defense moves, in case someone strong-arms you. It's non-negotiable.”
“Hmm.” I didn't think defense moves would do any good against tranquilizer darts but, if that was my ticket, I'd go for it.
Who would have thought that I'd be going back to that place—willingly?
We resumed walking. We were getting close to the Hilton, and it didn't surprise me that the night sky was getting lighter. The sun was about to rise again. Another day, another problem.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The lobby in the hotel was empty save for a bored receptionist, who barely looked awake. He wrinkled his nose when my stench reached him, but when he realized I was the source, he quickly smoothed his expression and produced the room key card, though I noticed his eyes watered up.
Logan urged me to proceed to the room while he had some words with the receptionist, and I hurried up. I wanted—needed—a shower.
I left my duffle unperturbed where it sat by the closet and went straight to the bathroom, not wanting to taint any clean clothes with the stench wafting from me like heat waves off hot asphalt. It was bad enough that my clothes and new coat were going to the garbage bin.
I took the longest, hottest shower of my life. I scrubbed, soaped and shaved, and then scrubbed and soaped again after I washed and conditioned my hair twice, needing to cover the smell embedded in my nose. It felt like it would stay there permanently.
I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and found Logan sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, my duffle bag done and ready, waiting by his side.
“We going somewhere?” I asked with a frown.
“Just to another room,” he answered, his eyes doing a quick, appreciative scan over my body.
I felt a blush creeping up my neck. He was doing nothing to hide his attraction. When his eyes met mine, there was an intense gleam in them, quickly turning into amusement when my blush deepened.
I grabbed some random clothes from my duffle with one hand while the other made sure the towel didn't shift and skipped back to the bathroom.
Another room. I wondered if that was where he had taken his belongings.
Just another room. When he had taken me to my mother—or to Elizabeth's house—he had packed his belongings into the trunk of the SUV because he wasn't coming back anymore. Now I wondered if all he had done was move to another room because he had concluded our deal. Since he was supposed to leave in the morning, he didn't have to spend more time with me?
I frowned at the thought and paused on the act of shrugging into an oversized t-shirt. Why would he do that? Did that mean he'd rather stay away from me, or was he just giving me some space?
My eyebrows went up a fraction when we only moved to the room directly across from mine.
Maybe he wasn't going to avoid me after all, maybe he was just trying to give me some privacy. Had he been here when he got that anonymous call? As soon as we entered the room, a mirror image of the one we left, done in blues and cream instead of green, I realized his belongings weren't there either. Wherever he had left them, he didn't intend—or trust me enough—to take me there. The realization stuck in my craw, but after a few chastising swallows, it went down.
It was none of my business where he spent his time. Or with whom.
“What about the morning flight? When do we leave?” I asked to fill in the silence and give my mind something else to do.
“I was going to wait for my friend in Seattle, but I can still wait for him here. I already left him a message updating him on events. Now, go to sleep. You look beat.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, lingering a moment too long. “I'll be back soon. Sleep meanwhile,” he said, moving for the door.
I was surprised he wasn't staying, but forced myself not to call after him.
I didn't really care anyway.
I watched the closed door for a moment, then moved to the window and opened the drapes, letting the morning light filter through. Our previous room had faced the parking lot and distant buildings, but this one faced the front of the hotel and main street. I stood there for a moment, trying not to think about the fact that Logan hadn't taken me to wherever he had left the car and his belongings. I knew for sure they weren't just parked on a random street nearby, simply because he seemed very attached to that laptop and wouldn't just leave it unguarded somewhere. He'd taken it with us wherever we had gone, even gone back for it after the PSS had wrecked his Range Rover. No, the laptop and his belongings were somewhere else, somewhere safe, and it hadn't been far from where he had found me in the alley, because he had come on foot to investigate the anonymous phone call.
Or maybe there was another plausible reason I was too tired to realize.
That damned trust issue again.
I rubbed the palms of my hands over my face, then pressed the heels on my eyes until I saw stars.
I was tired, too tired for all this bullshit.
I needed some rest. I turned and crawled into bed, determined to get a good night's sleep.
* * *
I woke up briefly when Logan slid in bed behind me, spooning me to him. The shock and outrage of the intimate position was weak compared to the comfortable warmth radiating from him to fully wake me up.
“Hmmm… smells good,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck. Instead of thwacking him like I should have, all I did was press closer to him before promptly falling asleep in his arms, each gentle stroke of my hair pushing me faster and deeper into la-la land.
The smell of coffee and toast woke me up next. I stretched lazily and opened my eyes. The sun slanted into the room at an angle, telling me it was well past noon. Logan sat propped beside me on the bed, a mug of steaming coffee held in both hands, his laptop on his lap.
“Breakfast is ready. Join me,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. I shifted closer to see and found him reading the news.
“What's so fascinating?”
“Some story about terrorists blowing up a military bus in the Mojave Desert. You made the news again, albeit in a much less-glorified way than the last time.”
“What?” I shifted beside him to see.
“It says here that none of the SEALs inside had been hurt. Listen to this: 'All I can say is that whoever these terrorists are, they will soon be dealt with,' says General Jacob Parkinson, a veteran Field Marshall in the Iraqi territory. The bus was attacked a little after midnight from different angles with sleeping gas and firearms. There are rumors of a very dangerous criminal escaping during the altercation, although nothing has been confirmed yet. Our source informs us that, despite the complete incapacitation of our highly-trained soldiers and the explosion of their transportation, there were no casualties as a result,” Logan finished and looked at me.
“I guess that might not look very good for General Parkinson.” I yawned. As long as I wasn't mentioned, the news didn't bother me.
Chapter Forty
A couple pieces of toast and a cup of coffee later, Logan was throwing me around the room like a dry rag. I hit the wall and slid down, staying where I was, mostly contemplating if it was worth it.
“Get up. You have to learn some moves,” Logan said, frowning at me.
“It's not like I can use my talons. Any way I strike with them at any one body part is enough to maim. Which is the reason I am not striking you back.” I was close to whining and pursed my lips to prevent myself from doing so.
After a moment of silence, I looked up and found Logan smiling.
That killer smile again.
“What?”
“You're pouting. You're so cute when you pout.”
“I am not,” I bristled.
“No? It looks like it from here. It suits you.” He smiled again, and I got up.
An hour later, I was cursing him. “You baited me,” I growled, my voice muffled by the c
arpet as Logan held both my wrists behind me.
“Damn right,” he said smugly. Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.
I bucked violently, the joint of my shoulder protesting painfully, but I did manage to unbalance him long enough to flip and kick him off me. Then I lunged for his throat, my talons transforming in the blink of an eye, poised and ready for the killing blow above his jugular.
He smiled at my smug, triumphant expression, his face conveying the unguarded mask of someone who carried no worries.
Just for a second though.
Suddenly his smile vanished, and he again donned that carefully-guarded mask.
“And what if the next time that accursed bracelet they use suddenly affects you?”
I shrugged, “It didn't in the bus yesterday.”
He raised an eyebrow, “How about shackles? Their iron is enforced steel.”
“Probably breakable.”
Another eyebrow.
“What?” I asked defensively. “It isn't like I could have tested the theory without tipping my hand.”
“Alright, we'll try something else,” he conceded, and I got up, my face flaming with the realization that I had been sitting on his chest.
I stood up and turned, but was quickly spun around, my hands trapped behind my back, my chest pressed against his.
“How about this? What can you do?” he murmured, his eyes focused on my lips before he lowered his head to mine.
He was going to kiss me.
It was one thing for us to kiss and know we had to go in less than five minutes. It was one thing to be held and nuzzled and stroked while I slept.
And it was one completely different thing to be held and kissed, fully awake and know there was nothing else to do but kill time until the next day.
He moved slowly, an inch at a time… his lips close… his breath and mine mingling, our hearts racing together in anticipation.
Then his lips touched mine, a slow brush, and my arms were around his neck, and his arms around my waist, and we each pulled the other closer, and…
There was a sharp knock at the door.
I felt a sudden urge to snarl at the intervention. As it happened, I had to bite my lower lip to prevent myself from doing so. Couldn't it have happened about an hour ago? Or better yet, an hour later?
Logan moved silently forward and looked through the peep hole at the intruder on the other side. He exhaled in frustration at whatever he saw and glanced at me before reaching for the door, then paused and looked again, this time as if he had just now noticed me.
He took in my pajama shorts and tank top, hesitated a moment, then moved to the blue cushioned sofa and picked up his discarded bathrobe from earlier and passed it to me.
Well, that was… unexpected.
I gave a pointed look at his bare chest, but all he did was raise an eyebrow when the next sharp knock came. He just ignored the jab and waited as if he had all the time in the whole world, as if he'd rather let the person on the other side of the door stay waiting, or desist and leave, rather than let whomever it was see me like this.
I took a surreptitious glance at the suddenly offensive clothes to make sure nothing had ripped or had somehow become see-through.
Nope, the red shorts were intact, and the black tank was, well, black.
Another sharp knock, which caused Logan to lean back on the sofa and cross his ankles, the robe dangling from his stretched arm.
I donned the robe and belted it closed when Logan indicated I do so, if for no other reason than that I was curiously intrigued.
I was still belting the robe when a tall man came swaggering inside. The first thing I noticed about him as he clipped Logan's shoulder in a camaraderie gesture, was that he was taller than Logan by at least two inches. That put him about five inches above my six feet. The second thing I noticed when his brown eyes met mine was the banked anger. His cold eyes made contact and held, before he swaggered past me and inhaled deeply of my scent. He moved straight for the desk on the far side of the room as if he owned the place. The third thing I noticed was—of course—his strange aura. It was green like that of a were, except light in color instead of the forest green common to the typical were. As if someone tried erasing it without much success. Another strange thing about the aura was the grey specks dotting it.
A chill ran down my spine at the dangerous vibes emanating from him. My mind catalogued and assessed his attire. Black fatigue pants, combat boots, and a black coat that covered all the way down to his ankles. His shoulders were very broad underneath the coat, indicating hardcore workouts. The man placed a stuffed gulf bag on the desk with a muffled thunk and turned to face us. His cold brown eyes passed from me to Logan then back again, but it was Logan he addressed when he said, “So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” with a thick Spanish accent.
Oh, that was a seriously pissed-off guy. Why?
My eyes moved to Logan, but didn't stay for long.
There were three predators in the confined room, and one was dangerously hungry for a fight.
Logan slammed the door shut with a loud bang, and the man's gaze flickered to a point above my shoulder and back again, almost as if he was expecting me to spring at him at any time and didn't dare look away. His eyes moved down my body, assessing, then down Logan's. I could almost see the wheels turning inside his head.
The smell of our mingled sweat, the fact that I seemed to be naked underneath the robe, and Logan's half naked body, and, of course, the time it took for us to answer.
As if the whole thing—the workout, the almost make-out, the deliberate way Logan left the guy waiting—had been for this guy's benefit, so he'd reach this conclusion. My eyes wanted to narrow at Logan, but I remained indifferent, watching the newcomer. There was a glint of challenge in his brown eyes, and the bite of his anger assaulted my senses.
Would it taste as refreshing as Logan's? I caught myself wondering before I could slam the thought away.
“Is this the woman you've been talking about?” he asked in a tone that suggested he had assessed me, the woman, and come up lacking.
I stiffened inwardly, but no reaction showed on my face. No doubt this was the friend he told me he was awaiting a call from.
What a friend.
“Yes,” Logan barked, stopping to my right and a little in front of me. I didn't turn to look at him.
“I thought you didn't indulge during a mission,” the man said, his eyes assessing me again—this time slowly—from head to toe, conveying displeasure with the insult. It felt like he was stripping me with his eyes, contempt and anger the only real emotions thickening the air around us. This man had a serious problem with me and I had no idea why—or who he was.
Logan growled, and the man's gaze again shifted to him, then back to me, and somehow, the contempt and anger became more distinct in the air.
“I see,” he said.
The tension on his shoulder eased and he leaned back on the desk, crossing his ankles and his arms in front of him, suggesting a less watchful and more relaxed posture. I felt Logan relax as well and wondered what had just transgressed.
“Roxanne, this is my friend, Rafael Sanchez. Rafael, this is Roxanne.”
Rafael inclined his head in acknowledgement, his eyes still cold, then shifted his gaze to Logan, dismissing me.
From his direct line of sight only.
I could still feel the contempt and anger oozing in rapid waves, despite his relaxed, outward appearance.
“So, tell me, man, what's going on? You've been leaving me voicemails and cryptic text messages left and right, each time contradicting the previous one. It's a wonder I even found you.”
“It's sort of complicated. Have you eaten yet?”
A reluctant incline of the head. “I met with Doug before heading here.” His eyes moved to me before he added, “I wouldn't mind coffee though.”
“Excellent. I'll make the call and hit the shower before filling you in.”
&nb
sp; “Fill me in now, bro. Tell me what's happening.”
“It's a long story. I'll be quick,” Logan replied curtly. Was it my imagination or was he avoiding the question, not wanting to explain in front of me? What was he hiding?
Not wanting to speculate about something I had no control over, I took the time to examine Rafael's aura now that he wasn't focused on me. He wasn't a were—I could tell that even if his aura was green—and the grey specks meant that whatever he was, he had died first to be made that way. Right? Wasn't the scar running down his temple to his eyebrow proof enough? I'd never seen a preternatural carrying a scar unless they'd been human when they gained it, but I could've been wrong. There were exceptions. I scarred sometimes for a while, sometimes for long stretches, sometimes briefly. It took time for an injury to heal completely, and this might just be residual of a fight not long ago. Perhaps the grey meant that this wasn't his natural life. Perhaps the lighter tone of his aura was only because he hadn't been born this way. Right?
I felt his eyes back on me, the anger and the contempt focusing, hitting me full-force.
“She doesn't look dangerous to me,” he commented, still in that relaxed, bored way.
My eyebrows rose, and I glanced sideways at Logan. Rafael also shifted to look at him, and we both waited for the answer. Did Logan discuss his cases—or the ones he refused, anyway—with his friends?
“I thought you said she left,” he added.
“She did.”
“Ah. Then this is an illusion?”
Logan growled in warning.
Rafael raised both palms outward in a placating gesture. “Hey, no need for hostility. I'm just trying to understand what's going on. First you tell me you found someone to guide us, then you tell me she's not coming but that she's helping from the sidelines, and you leave me these colored scratches with Douglas—who, by the way, is just as confused as I am—and tell me this is where we're going. You tell me we're on our own, and then you change the location where I should meet you three times and leave me to figure out where to find you in the end, and when I do, I find her still here. I'm just trying to understand what the fuck is up with the merry chase.”
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