Lance: A Hitman Romance (Santa Espera #2) (13 page)

“Client,” she spits back. “And you’re right. You’re not.”

Katie picks up her coffee and leaves the office with it before I can say anything else. I feel a part of me wanting to follow her, to convince her that she was wrong, but I hold myself back. Turning away from the table, I walk to the desk where Samantha is just finishing up her conversation.

“Okay, thank you,” she says, hanging up the phone and looking up at me. “The cab’s on their way.”

“Great,” I reply. “How much do I owe you for the cubing?”

But Samantha shakes her head. “It’s on the house.”

I shake my head.

“No, Sam. Let me pay you.”

“Nah. You can call it a parting gift,” she says. “Although, technically
you
were the one who parted with
me
.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says. “Now go on, he said it would only be a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate it,” I say. Digging my car keys out of my pocket, I toss them to her where she catches them one-handed.

“No problem,” she says, pocketing the keys.

I pick up my duffel bag and sling it over my shoulder again, then I turn and head for the door.

“Lance?” she says when I’m halfway outside. I pull back and look to see her giving me a strange smile from behind the desk. “You know … I should have said this before, but … I never got a chance to thank you for what you did.”

I drop my eyes and give a nod.

“It had to be done,” I say. “And I’m just glad I was there to do it.”

And with that I push out the door and step into the brilliant sunshine again.

Katie is a few yards off, her back to me as she sips at her coffee. I walk up to her, my feet crunching on the dry dirt.

“The cab’s coming,” I say to her as I pass by. “Come on.”

I head towards the entrance and a few seconds later hear Katie crunching her way after me. When I pass by the fence and step to the side of the road, Katie steps up beside me. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel the tension between us, thick and uncomfortable.

“Samantha and I knew each other a long time ago,” I say to her in the silence. “She practically grew up on this yard and I used to visit her when I was a teenager.”

Katie doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t take another sip of her coffee. I go on.

“It was just her and her dad living here. He was a drunk and he used to beat her, and sometimes he would go further than that. Touch her when she was sleeping, or make her do things she didn’t want to. It wasn’t until he was finally out of the picture that I shacked up with Samantha, and we spent half a year living here, working hard on this shop till she could run the place on her own. That was over a decade ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

Katie takes another sip of her coffee.

“Did you two love each other?” she asks, and I think about it for a moment.

“I think she loved me,” I say. “I’m not sure how I felt towards her.”

Katie nods.

“So you slept with her because you were using her, and you needed a place to stay.” Off in the distance the cab appears, heading up the road towards us.

“Almost,” I say, watching the cab as it approaches. “I had run away from home by that time, so yes, I needed a place to stay. And Sam let me be with her.”

“And what about her father? What happened to him?”

The cab slows down as it pulls up beside us. I watch it come to a stop.

“I killed him for her,” I say, and then I open the back door and slide in, bringing the duffel bag in behind me.

I look out to see Katie down the last of her coffee and then she gets in after me, closing the back door of the car.

“Where to?” asks the cabbie.

“The nearest motel,” I say, and he starts up the meter as the car rolls out onto the road. I see that Katie’s still got the empty coffee cup in her hands.

“Did you really-” she begins, but I cut her off with a “Shh,” indicating the cabbie up front.

“Yes,” I say in a low voice. “I did.”

She hesitates a moment.

“Were you paid?”

I shake my head.

“No. That one was for free.” I look at the cup in her hands. “Why are you still holding that? Why didn’t you get rid of it?”

Katie looks down at it and her cheeks blush a little.

“I didn’t want to litter,” she says, and I can’t help but smile.

The motel isn’t that far away, and I can read the large white sign before we reach it. Espera Inn — ironic, considering this place is practically on the southern border of the city. When the cabbie pulls into the parking lot, I take out some money from my pocket and hand him a ten. I tell him to keep the change and we get out, me slinging my bag over my shoulder. The cabbie turns around and leaves for the city again.

Katie and I walk to the front office and step in through the door. As I walk up to the desk, Katie veers off and throws out the Styrofoam cup in a garbage can. Behind the desk is a large man, balding, and with his elbow on the desk, his head resting in his hand.

“Excuse me,” I say, and his eyelids flutter as he comes back to life. “I’d like a room,” I tell him and he blinks at me before looking at Katie with a half-asleep expression.

“Single, or a double?” he asks when he looks back at me.

“Single,” I say, and I look over to give Katie a glance just as she starts to open her mouth. She closes it again.

“Name?”

“Walter and Shannon Lundgreen,” I say, and the man puts it into his system.

“And how long do you need the room?”

“A few days,” I tell him, and he puts that in too.

He tells me the price and I take the cash out of my pocket, paying him. Then he gives me the key and bids us farewell as Katie and I leave the office together.

“Why did you get us a single room?” Katie asks as we walk toward the stairs. “I am
not
sleeping in the same bed as you.”

“For the sake of appearances, you and I are going to be married while we’re staying here. Okay?” I say. “And since it’s not the 1950s, that means that we as a married couple are going to share the same bed.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” she says, and I stop at the foot of the stairs, looking at her with a smile on my face.

“I’m sleeping on the bed,” I say. “And you can too, if you’d like. It doesn’t make a difference to me one way or the other. Although I must warn you: I like to sleep in the nude, so just a heads up on that.”

Katie opens her mouth but I start up the stairs, walking away from her, still smiling.

“Let me make one thing clear, Lance,” Katie says as she hurries to catch up with me. “We are
not
having sex. Okay? Do you hear me?”

“That’s what you said in your office,” I reply. “And look what happened there.”

“You took advantage of me!” she says as we reach the top of the stairs. “You … you seduced me!”

“If I seduced you then it wasn’t hard work,” I say, walking along the doors, looking for our room. “In fact, I dare say you enjoyed it.”

“I … didn’t … that’s besides the point,” she says as we stop in front of our door. My smile widens and I look at her to find her blushing again.

“Look,” I say, leaning down. “We’re going to be here until Sam can get us another car. Nobody knows we’re here. Everything that happens is entirely off the books. So what harm would it be for us to enjoy ourselves a little?”

And even though Katie opens her mouth to answer, she doesn’t say anything. Still smiling, I straighten back up and put the key in the lock, opening the motel room door and stepping inside.

Katie

As I watch Lance walk into the motel room, I struggle to quell the heat on my cheeks … and down between my legs. His words echo in my ears, and I shake my head, trying to forget them. Trying to forget
him
.

But luckily, or unluckily, all thought leaves my brain as I step after him into the room and am hit by a wall of damp, lung-debilitating heat.

“Whoa,” I say, struggling to breathe. “It’s like a sauna in here.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, but he takes a few steps forward, past the door to the bathroom on the right, dropping his duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. The far wall contains a single window, the only one in the room besides the one by the front door, and inside that window sits an air conditioner that doesn’t seem to be on. Lance walks up to it, twists a few knobs, and bangs on the top of it with his fist.

“It’s broken,” he declares.

“Well,” I say, my blouse already sticking to my body. “Can we get a new room?”

But Lance shakes his head.

“I don’t want to give that guy at the front any reason to remember us any more than he does. No switching rooms.”

“Well, what about getting it fixed …”

My words die off as I watch Lance wrap his large arms around the machine and carefully lift it up and out of the window. I stare at him, gawking. I remember one summer trying to put an air conditioner in my window. It took all of me, Amanda, and Doug just to get it off the ground. Lance carries it like it’s no problem, swinging it around and setting it down gently on the floor.

“There,” he says when he stands back up. “Air.”

“That won’t make the guy remember us?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Pulling the air conditioner out of the wall?”

“I’ll put it back when we leave,” he says, taking a step towards me. “But right now I’m hungry, and I want something to eat.” He get closer and then stops in front of me and I feel my heartbeat pick up in my chest. Part of me feels like he’s going to make some comment about eating me out, in which case I have exactly the right retort to say back to him. But instead of that he says, “We passed by a burger place on the way here. What do you want?”

I blink, stunned at the kindness, especially considering how much of a jerk he’s been being.

“Um, a cheeseburger would be great,” I say, and Lance nods.

“Fries?”

“Sure.”

“Coke?”

“Yes.”

He nods again, and then walks past me to the door and leaves, shutting it behind him.

I stare at the closed door for a second, and then I turn, taking another moment to look around at this prison I’ve gotten myself — well,
Lance
has gotten me — into.

This motel room certainly didn’t come out of the
Ritz
, that’s for sure. I feel like nobody’s been here for a while, and the lack of air conditioning has made the wallpaper seem sticky and gummy. There’s a double bed up against the wall on the right, and across from it sits a TV on top of a table. Against the wall beside the window is a round table with two plastic chairs around it.

Oh yeah, this is going to be a great place to spend a few days.

My eyes travel down to Lance’s duffel bag, where he left it on the floor right beside the bed.

Ugh, typical man. Just leaving his things lying around where anybody could trip and hurt themselves.

I walk over and bend down, grabbing onto the straps and giving it a heave. But when I try to lift it I only succeed in nudging it a bit on the floor, hardly moving it at all.

“What the hell?” I say out loud.
What’s in this thing?

My eyes glance to the door, where it’s still closed, and then I squat down and unzip the bag, pulling the sides open to reveal what’s inside.

An audible gasp leaves my mouth. Besides that freak event today in my office, I’ve never seen a real gun close up before. This bag, however, looks like it has at least a dozen! There aren’t just handguns here, either. As I scan over the mess of black metal I see longer ones too — a machine gun? Rifle? Or maybe a shotgun?

I honestly don’t know. I feel my heart hammering inside my chest, and after a few moments of staring, I reach down with a shaking hand and touch them.

Dull metal scrapes together as I move the guns about. The things feel cold and solid against my fingers. I find one of the handguns and pick it up, wrapping my hand around the handle. It’s heavier than it looks, and the barrel is at least eight inches long. I turn it over, admiring it. It feels nice in my grip. I slide my finger in over the trigger, putting my other hand underneath, lifting it up and aiming it at the wall.

KATIE!
I scream at myself.
What are you doing?!

I shiver runs over me and I blink, as though seeing the thing in my hand for the first time. Pulling my hand out of it and treating it as though it were a poisonous snake, I drop it back down into the bag and get ready to close it. But even so, I don’t pull the sides together. Not yet.

I look over the machines inside again, staring at them, enamored. Inside my belly there’s a strange stirring that I know isn’t coming from hunger. I reach inside again to touch the barrels and handles, and then I see other things, folded up at the bottom and just poking out.

Reaching in, I push the guns aside as I riffle through these new things. There are some folded clothes — two t-shirts, a pair of jeans — and something that reminds me of those things I’ve seen in the movies … a bullet-proof vest. I also see boxes of ammunition and a clear Ziploc bag which, when I get a closer look, seems to hold neatly lined and bundled stacks of money.

Jesus. When he said “supplies” I didn’t think he meant for the Armageddon.

I drop the things down and push the guns back over them, then zip the bag back up. Standing up, I look down at it, at where it’s out right beside the bed. It’s obvious I’m not going to be able to move this thing on my own. I’ll just have to leave it here.

I feel a wind blow through the open window and I close my eyes, thankful to breathe in air that isn’t so stale. Today’s been so hot, and so much has happened. What I could really use right now is a shower. So I turn around and walk to the bathroom, opening the door and flicking on the light switch on the wall.

As the overhead florescent blinks into life, I look around at the drab and colorless bathroom. I don’t know why I expected there would be anything better. Beneath the mirror is a counter with a sink in it, a stack of towels piled up in one corner. I take a good look at myself, leaning in to my reflection. My hair could definitely use a wash.

Along the same wall is the toilet, and beside it, and taking up the entire far end of the room, is a bathtub with a shower. It comes complete with a shower curtain that looks like it was maybe popular in the 70s. This time I let out a soft laugh.

It’s like they tried to go for the worst-looking things,
I think with a smile. Closing the door behind me, I walk over to the shower and turn it on, hearing the loud spray of water as it hits the tub below.

As I let it warm up I begin to take off my clothes. My fingers unbutton my blouse and I remember how it was only, what, two hours ago? that Lance undid them for me, right before we made love against the wall.

Well …
made love
doesn’t quite give it justice. Right before we fucked against the wall.

Because that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Just a fuck, nothing more. Quick, and dirty, and with absolutely no feelings attached to it. I let him get into my head and I have only myself to blame for that. Besides, what did I expect was going to happen? That he was suddenly going to become a perfect gentleman the moment he put his penis inside me?

And I thought
I
was supposed to be the smart one.

Naked now, and with my clothes in a pile on the floor, I flick on the ventilation fan and grab one of the towels, putting it on the toilet seat. Then I step into the shower and pull the curtain closed behind me.

The water feels good against my skin, and soon all thought leaves me as I wash away the grime and sweat that’s covering my body. I have to unwrap the bar of soap before I can use it, and when I get to washing my hair the shampoo and conditioner bottles are so tiny that I nearly use them both up. But they do the trick, and after I’ve rinsed all the suds off I turn off the tap and pull back the curtain, feeling new and thoroughly refreshed.

Reaching down, I grab the towel from where I put it and dry myself off in the tub. It’s only now that I realize that I don’t have any extra clothes, and I don’t exactly relish the idea of wearing my sweat-soaked panties and bra. Lance probably isn’t back yet, so maybe I can wear some of those spare clothes he brought with him. I mean, it’s not my fault that he brought me here without any notice.

So I wrap the towel around my chest, a little unnerved that it only just covers my ass. But still I open the door and leave the bathroom, turning around the corner … only to find Lance standing at the round table, taking burgers and fries out of a big paper bag.

I freeze, and he looks over at me, his eyes on mine for only a moment before I see them travel down to my body. He smiles and I feel myself blush and my heartbeat picks up, that heat flowing down to between my legs again. But still I pull them together and take a step back, holding the towel tightly to my body.

“Damn,” Lance says in a low rumbling voice. “I wish I’d gotten back sooner. I could’ve joined you.”

I ignore the flush on my cheeks.

“In your dreams,” I say, but when I turn to glance at his duffel bag, about to ask if I can borrow some of the clothes he brought, that’s when I spot a plastic bag sitting on the bed.

“What’s that?” I ask him, and Lance looks over at the bag.

“Oh, there was a store next to the burger place that sold some women’s clothes,” he says. “I picked you up some, in case you needed them.”

He turns back to the food and I stare at him, speechless. I open my mouth but I don’t know what to say. Walking over to the bag, I open it up and inside are some shorts, two t-shirts, a couple pairs of socks and some running shoes.

“I didn’t know what size shoe you wear,” he says, and I look up to see him watching me. “So I had to guess.”

“Lance, thank you so much,” I say, honestly touched. “This is really sweet of you.”

I see the flicker of a smile on his face before he drops his gaze and sits down in one of the plastic chairs.

“Food’s ready,” he says, picking up a French fry and eating it.

“Okay, I’ll just be one second,” I say, and I pick up the plastic bag, taking it with me back into the bathroom.

Once I’m changed, wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and socks (I decided to leave the shoes in the bag, but I checked and they do fit) I come back out to see Lance already enjoying his burger. I come over and join him, sitting down in the other chair. Lance doesn’t say anything but takes another big bite. My stomach rumbles and I unwrap my cheeseburger, taking a bite out of it and almost moaning in delight as the delicious flavor and grease floods into my mouth.

“Mm,” I moan, swallowing my bite. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” Lance nods, chewing his food. “Thank you so much for getting this.”

Lance shrugs and swallow his bite. “We gotta eat,” he says.

We eat together in silence, the room feeling more calm with the occasional wind blowing in through the open window. I take another bite of my burger and chew it, looking around. Then I settle my gaze on Lance, watching him.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I say when I swallow my bite.

Lance shrugs again, not looking at me. “Go ahead,” he says. He picks up his drink and takes a sip.

“Well … you said you’d been doing this for twenty years now. But you don’t look much older than me … when did you start doing this?”

Lance pops a few fries in his mouth as he gives me a look.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me as your client anymore,” he says, and I feel a heat rising in my cheeks.

“I’m not asking as a therapist,” I say to him. “I’m asking … as a friend.”

He chews the French fries, watching me as he does. Then he swallows them.

“The first time I killed somebody was when I was ten,” he says.

I stare at him, shocked.
Ten? Ten years old??
That can’t be right. When I was ten I was still combing my Barbie’s hair. I don’t think I’d even known anybody who had died by that time.

“That’s … young,” I point out glibly.

Lance only looks at me again, but doesn’t say anything as he takes another bite.

“Um, so what happened? Who did you kill?”

He chews and swallows, and then picks up his drink, taking another sip. When he puts it down he says, “He was a mob boss. The head of some shit family. He was in his headquarters playing cards while I put a bomb into his car, rigging it to blow when the ignition started. It worked, and up he went.”

“Wow,” I say, and I look down at the burger in my hands. “Why did you do it?” I ask before taking a bite.

Lance chews for a moment before swallowing.