Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 2 of 2 (23 page)

“Thank you,” she said. She extended her hand.

There was a slight pause before he reached out and very formally shook her hand. His index finger had a callus and she resisted the urge to rub the pad of her thumb against it. “Good luck,” he said.

She swallowed hard. Some good luck would be nice. She opened the door and got out. She went to close the door.

“Hey,” he said. He pointed to the backseat. “Don't forget this.”

Her wedding dress. She grabbed it and the horrible veil that had hurt her head and wadded them under her arm. She ran up the exterior staircase and inserted her key into the door. It opened. She turned.

He was still there. Watching.

She waved.

He nodded and pulled out of the parking spot.

She went inside, feeling strangely sad. She should be happy to be free of the man. She needed time to figure out what to do next and she needed to be totally focused. That would have been difficult if Cal Hollister had stuck around.

She sat down on the ugly green-and-gold bedspread and stared at the tan carpet. What the hell was she going to do?

* * *

C
AL
'
S
FRONT
FENDER
was edging out of the lot when he decided that he might be a fool but he didn't intend to be a hungry one. He still had the pie that he'd tossed into his backseat but it wouldn't hurt to have a backup supply of candy bars, chips and red licorice, his favorite, if he did happen to get stuck. And the hotel vending machine was probably his best bet.

He backed up, parked his SUV and went inside. The desk clerk, phone still in hand, looked up. Cal waved at him and pointed his index finger at the vending machine in the alcove off to the side. The kid smiled back. When Cal saw the prices, he realized the kid was probably laughing
at
him, not with him. It was practically highway robbery. But he started feeding in his dollar bills.

Stormy had seemed a little reluctant to get out of the car. And he'd had the craziest urge to want to keep talking to her. Maybe they could have traded baseball trivia. She'd surprised him with that one. Her eyes had lit up and he'd gotten a glimpse of what her face would look like without fatigue and cold clouding it.

He'd felt an attraction to her. And that, ultimately, had been what had kept him from chatting it up in the car. She was either someone's fiancée or someone's wife. Off-limits.

Just two years ago, he'd had to pick up the pieces when his best friend on the team had gotten a Dear Leo letter. Leo's wife had met someone and had filed divorce papers. Leo had gone a little crazy and Cal had been seriously worried that the man was going to make a mistake that could take the whole team down.

He didn't ever want to be in the middle of something like that. So he'd said goodbye to Stormy and accepted that how she came to be in that snowdrift, in her wedding gown, was going to be one of life's unanswered mysteries. When he'd checked in, he'd verified that there were phones in the room. Hopefully, by now she'd made her calls and help was either on the way or, at the very least, relieved to hear that she was okay.

He had just pressed the last button when the door opened. Two men, both wearing long black coats and dark pants, came in. The taller man had an ugly scar, running from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheek.

Both men gave Cal a cursory look but focused on the desk clerk. “We are looking for our cousin,” the taller one said. His tone was low, almost guttural, and he'd turned his back to Cal. But Cal, who had always had excellent hearing, didn't have any trouble making out the words. The guy had a slight accent, clipping the end of his words, rolling his
r
's just a little. Maybe Russian.

The man held out his smartphone so that the clerk could see something on the screen.

“Pretty bride,” the clerk said.

“Yes, very beautiful,” the tall man said. “Have you seen her?”

Cal casually reached into his pocket and fed in another dollar. Took his time considering his choices.

“Nope,” said the clerk. “I'd have remembered her if she'd checked in,” he added with the exuberance of a horny young male.

The two men looked at each other. They were frustrated. Trying to hide it but not doing a great job.

“It is very important that we find her,” said the shorter one. “She would have arrived within the last hour.”

The desk clerk nodded. “Sorry I can't help. I'm the only one here. If she'd have rented a room, I'd know it. There are a couple motels down the road another ten or fifteen miles. You may want to try there.”

The two men nodded and walked out the door. The shorter one had a stiff left leg, swinging it from the hip, rather than bending it at the knee. Cal grabbed his purchases and stepped back into the main office. Glanced out the window. They were driving a black Mercedes. They pulled out, headed east.

Cal held up his bag of chips. “My favorite,” he said. “Should get me through the night.”

The clerk shrugged and picked up his phone.

Cal pulled up the collar of his coat, opened the door and walked back to his vehicle. Once inside, he started it and flipped on the wipers to clear the windshield of snow.

Pretty bride.

Very beautiful.

Arrived within the last hour.

One only had to be smarter than the average bear to figure out that they were talking about Stormy, or whatever her real name was. And they seemed pretty determined to find her. Cal figured they'd be back for a second check once they got up the road a ways and nobody had seen her.

Really wasn't his problem.

He glanced in his mirror and sedately pulled out of the lot.

CHAPTER THREE

She took a shower and stood under the hot spray for a long time. She stared at her wrists, rubbed them with the washcloth, noting that they were tender. Bruised.

She shampooed her hair, carefully rubbing the bump and the open cut. It stung a little but she figured that was a good thing. Even though it was just a small cut, it was probably a good idea to get it cleaned out.

Not that getting an infection was her biggest problem.

She got out of the shower, dried off and used the small bottle of lotion provided by the hotel. She rubbed Mango Magic on her legs, her arms, her hands. She thought her knuckles were chapped from her time in the snow but realized that they were skinned up and several of her nails had broken off, leaving a jagged edge behind.

She had a very vague recollection of grasping something with her hands, slipping off, grasping again. Hanging on.

She could feel her anxiety mounting and she told herself to breathe deep, to not try to force it. She towel-dried her hair, wishing she had a comb. At least the hotel had provided a blow-dryer. She used it, running her fingers through her hair, jerking when one of her jagged nails caught a strand and pulled.

She used her finger along with some soap to
brush
her teeth. Then she rinsed and rinsed, feeling as if had been days since her teeth had been clean.

She opened the bathroom and was very grateful that she had a towel wrapped around her because Cal Hollister was sitting on her bed, back propped against the headboard, arms behind his head.

He was chewing on a stick of red licorice.

What the hell? “Get off my bed,” she said, working hard to keep her tone even. She would not let him see that she was scared to death.

“No.” He reached down to the end of the bed, where she'd left his T-shirt, sweatpants and her underwear. He scooped them up and tossed them in her direction.

She reached automatically and almost lost her towel in the process.

“Get dressed,” he said.

She stepped back inside the bathroom and slammed the door. Looked for a lock but there wasn't one. Of all the nerve. He may have saved her life but who did he think he was coming here, surprising her, putting her at a disadvantage? She yanked on her clothes, grateful that she'd put the strapless bra in the pile, along with her panties. Once she was finished, she looked around the small room for a weapon. Saw the only thing that might work. A minute later, she walked out, her hands together, casually cupped at her belly button.

She crossed in front of him, sat in the chair near the door. His duffel bag was on the floor, near her feet. From this angle she could see that he had an assortment of candy bars and chips on the bed next to him. “Going for a sugar high?” she asked.

“Always.” He tossed her a Hershey's candy bar. She let it fall in her lap.

“Got these from the vending machine in the office,” he said.

She waited. Where was this going?

“While I was there, two men came in. Squirrelly-looking guys. Lots of black hair and gold jewelry. One guy has a big scar on his face. Other one had a bad knee.”

He was watching her. “Okay,” she said.

“They showed the desk clerk a picture of someone on their phone. Someone, according to the clerk, who was a pretty bride.”

She could feel her stomach clench. “What did the clerk say?”

“Said he didn't have anybody here that resembled the woman.”

She felt some of the pressure lift off her chest. “They left?”

He nodded. “I suspect they'll be back. Them and their friends.”

“Friends?”

“The first two left in a black Mercedes but there was a matching vehicle parked toward the back of the lot. It stuck around. I suspect they were waiting to see if the clerk was lying. If he was, it would be a fairly safe assumption that he'd make a mad dash to the person's room or use his cell phone that appears attached to his hand to put out a warning call. They might have been expecting somebody to quickly exit from one of the rooms.”

“But that didn't happen,” she said.

“Nope.”

“Did the two men see you?”

“Yes. So I suspect the guys in the second car were also told to watch me. So I drove off, in the opposite direction of the first car. I waited to see if they'd follow me. But they didn't. They went the same direction as the first car. Probably didn't want to get split up in this weather.”

“But you came back?” Why? To warn her? Or maybe he'd decided that there might be a way to profit from this unexpected encounter. Maybe he'd considered whether the men might be willing to pay for information on her. “How did you get in?” she asked, feeling very vulnerable.

He held up a plastic key card. “When I first checked in, I asked for two rooms. I thought maybe I'd try to get some sleep before going on to my final destination. That's when the guy told me that he only had one room with one bed. I told him that I'd take it, that my brother and I would have to sleep together. I laughed it off, said we'd done it as kids, that we could probably do it for one more night. He gave me two keys, one for me and one for my brother.”

She'd seen the hotel clerk shake his head. When she'd asked Cal about it, he'd dismissed it.
Just didn't understand what I was asking for.

“You lied to me earlier,” she said.

He shrugged. “I thought if you knew that I was interested in getting a room that you'd feel compelled to offer to share this one. I didn't think that would work out so well for you when your new husband showed up.”

She did not have a new husband. At least she didn't think so.

“You might want to take your wedding gown and veil out of the garbage,” he said, looking in the far corner. “That might not make him feel so great, either.”

She'd stuffed the offensive items into the brown plastic wastebasket. They spilled over the edge.

“You know,” he said, “that's how I found you. I saw your veil blowing in the wind.”

It was a miracle that he'd been able to see it, especially in white-out conditions. Most people would have driven by, clueless that a woman was freezing to death.

She was getting a sense that Cal Hollister wasn't
most people
. “So the hotel clerk thinks there are two men in this room. He doesn't know about me,” she said.

“Nope. I suppose it's possible that he saw you get out of the car but I don't think so. Angle was wrong, plus the guy is obsessed with whatever he has on his phone.”

She was safe. For the meantime. But who were these men? Why would they be chasing after her? She lifted her chin. “I certainly appreciate you letting me know,” she said.

He sat up and frowned at her. “Congrats on being so very civilized and proper. Here's the thing, though. I don't think they were here to invite you to tea. So, I don't think good manners are going to be all that helpful in this situation.”

He wouldn't think she had a civilized bone in her body if he knew how close she was to losing it, to screaming and kicking the damn bed.

“Why are they looking for you?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

“Come on, Stormy. You can do better than that.”

“I. Don't. Know. And I don't know who the men are. In fact, how do I even know that you're telling the truth?” She tossed her hair and tried not to wince when it hurt her head. “How do I know that you didn't just want a reason to come back to my room? How do I know that you're not my biggest worry?”

He stood up. “If I was, you'd already know it for sure. Now, I suggest you start thinking about what you're going to do when those men come back. I know the type. They won't want to be bested by a woman. And whoever is paying for those expensive cars isn't going to be happy that his guys couldn't get the job done. When they don't find you up the road, they'll come back and start turning over rocks. The motel clerk will break in about ten seconds and he'll be opening every one of the rooms for them to inspect.”

Something told her that he was right. Some past experience.

“How long do you think I have?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They told the desk clerk that you would have arrived within the last hour. So, I think their radius will be anywhere you could have gotten in an hour. On a normal day, that's seventy miles, give or take. Today, half that at most. Today, they'll be forced to stick to the main roads. But in a day or less, when this storm dies down, they'll be able to cover ground much more quickly.”

“How long?” she repeated.

“I think you've got eighteen to twenty-four hours. After that, you better be on your game.”

Was she on her game? Not hardly. Something flashed in her head. She shook it, trying to clear it.

“What?” he prodded, maybe thinking that she wasn't taking the threat seriously.

“You said I needed to be on my game. And all I can think of is Leon Durham.”

“The baseball player?” he asked, as if he really couldn't believe it.

“Yeah. He played first base. Talented player but unfortunately, there was the time he let a ball roll through his legs.”

“In 1984. Cubs versus Padres,” he said. “Padres went on to win.” He paused. “How the hell do you know these things?”

She had no idea. It was just there.

It was horribly frightening. She had men chasing after her and all she had a grasp on was useless baseball facts. “Well, Mr. Hollister, it appears that I continue to be in your debt.” She looked toward the door, to give him the hint.

“You can start paying up right now,” he said.

What? He couldn't be suggesting...that, could he? “It's time for you to leave,” she said more sternly.

“Nope.” He lay back on the pillow, stretched his long legs out and kicked off his boots. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes.

“You can't stay here,” she said, louder and with more of a shrill than she expected.

He opened one eye. “I'm tired. I've lost the better part of the evening helping you. Now, I don't care if you want to sit in that chair all night or if you decide to stretch out next to me, but I'm getting some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

“But...”

“Your virtue is safe with me. I don't date married women and I certainly don't sleep with them. And,” he said, “don't get any ideas of rubbing that shampoo you've got cupped in your hands in my eyes. That would just piss me off.”

She had never been so furious. Or so grateful. It was preposterous that he was bulldozing his way into her room but there was something about him that, quite frankly, made her feel safe.

She needed sleep and she didn't intend to do it in this chair. She got up, went into the bathroom to wash her hands and came back. “You don't happen to have a nail file, do you?”

He lowered his chin. “Do I look like I file my nails?” he asked, his tone low.

“Not really. I thought you were the Abominable Snowman earlier,” she added. “And I guess he probably doesn't file his nails either,” she finished weakly.

He laughed. It was the first time she'd heard him do that. It was nice.

He got off the bed, rummaged in the duffel bag that he'd tossed on the floor and came out with a small plastic box. He opened it and tossed a pair of clippers her direction. “Will these work?”

“Yes.” She was so grateful to be able to fix her poor nails that she quickly started clipping. She put the discarded nails in a pile and, when she was finished, dumped them in the wastebasket in the corner of the room, on top of the horrible dress.

“You really messed up your hands,” he said. “How did you do that?”

She was ready for the question. Had anticipated it while she was clipping. Felt good that she was functioning at a level where her brain was working again. “Bridal shower,” she said. “Nasty boxes with too much tape.”

“Uh-huh.”

She pulled back the covers on her side and crawled in, ignoring the fact that six feet of handsome muscle was on the other side of the bed.

He reached up and turned off the light. The room was not totally dark, however, because she'd left the bathroom light on and the door halfway open.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deep. In her head, she counted. By the time she got to two hundred, he was breathing deep and she assumed he was asleep.

She thought about trying to sneak out. He'd tossed his keys on top of the chest of drawers. All she would need to do was grab them and get out without him hearing her.

She was good at that kind of thing.

Didn't know how she knew that but felt it.

But where would she go?

That was the truly terrifying part—to have no idea where her safe place was located. Where her family might be.

She didn't trust Cal Hollister but she trusted the outside world even less.