“Pull into the motel parking lot,” he instructed, then waited for her to comply. “Park in front of the office.”
He’d rented the car under an alias and stashed it for this leg of his departure. He hadn’t known then that he would have a passenger. To some degree the snag could work in his favor. Having dumped Maggie’s car at the bus station would serve as a ruse, helping to buy sufficient time to get to St. Louis.
Maggie shut off the headlights and the engine. Her hands continued to clutch the steering wheel. Her respiration was slow enough to indicate some level of calmness, but he couldn’t be certain of how she would react during the next few minutes.
“We’re going in to rent a room.” He leaned forward. “Don’t force me to do something you’ll regret.”
“Like you haven’t already?”
Her voice didn’t wobble now; rather, she sounded weary and resigned and just a little frustrated. That shouldn’t make his gut tighten with regret, but it did. He mentally narrowed the situation into focus and blocked those senseless, dangerous emotions. “You’ll thank me later. Now, get out.”
They emerged simultaneously. He tucked the weapon into his waistband beneath his jacket. His arm went around her waist and she tensed.
“Relax.” He paused and looked directly into her green eyes. They glistened with the fear she worked so hard to hide. “We need this to look natural. No trouble, okay?”
She nodded. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Her breath caught and she trembled. The satisfaction he should have felt at having that much power over her failed to make an appearance.
Keeping one arm around her, Slade pushed open the door to the office. A bell jingled. The guy behind the desk looked up from the compact television blaring with the canned laughter of a sitcom. He studied Slade from behind his nerdy eyeglasses. Looked young enough to be a college student or maybe a dropout. Working the graveyard shift apparently made him a little jumpy. He lowered the volume on the set.
“You need a room for the night—” the guy glanced at Maggie “—or the hour?”
Slade didn’t smile. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a bill big enough to get the clever guy’s attention. “The night. We’ve still got a long way to drive.” He pulled Maggie closer and gave her the smile he’d kept from the clerk. “Don’t we, baby?”
She nodded, the move jerky. “We… Yes.”
The clerk reached for the old-fashioned row of boxes that held actual keys to the available rooms. “Make it on the west end,” Slade prompted. “I don’t want to wake up with the sun in my eyes.”
The clerk tossed a key onto the counter. “Clean sheets are over there.” He pointed to a row of shelves on the other side of the room. “Checkout time’s 10:00 a.m.”
“Thanks.” Slade picked up the key, then, keeping Maggie close, grabbed a stack of bed linens.
Outside, Slade opened the passenger-side door of the rental. “Hop in. We’ll park in front of the room.”
Maggie climbed in and Slade closed her door. He kept an eye on her as he rounded the hood. Those Irish genes of hers could kick in anytime now. Maintaining control was essential.
The view of their room and the sedan would be blocked by the tractor-trailers parked along the road at that end of the property. Any additional layers of security were welcome.
Once parked, Slade was out of the car first and at her side by the time she opened her door. He passed the linens to her, then ushered her to the trunk where he grabbed the one bag he’d brought along, a backpack. To her credit, she didn’t scream or try to run or even argue with him as he guided her to the room. She waited quietly as he unlocked the door and opened it. Just as quietly, she walked inside and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. The linens landed in a heap on the naked mattress.
The bare bulb glowing above their door was the only exterior light working on that end of the row of rooms. He unscrewed the bulb and took a final look around the parking lot. They seemed to be in the clear for now.
With the door secured, he checked the bathroom and closet, then placed his bag on the floor and shoved the key into his jacket pocket alongside her cell phone. He’d taken it as soon as they were far enough away from the explosion for her to work up the courage to try to use it without him noticing. He’d turned it off and removed the battery, just in case.
Maggie was strong and brave. He’d admired that about her for the past two years. She would need all the strength and bravery she possessed for what was to come.
As if that courage had abruptly kicked in to full throttle, she turned on him, green eyes blazing as hotly as that mane of red hair. “What kind of trouble are you in—” her lips tightened “—whoever you are?”
“Sit.” He gestured to the bed.
Her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not taking any more orders until you answer my questions.”
Weariness hit him hard. Or maybe it was the drain of having her look at him that way. Funny, his entire life he’d never cared what anyone thought of him. He’d stopped caring about that kind of thing by the time he was seven. By twelve he would have killed anyone who got in his way like this. That he tolerated it now startled him still. His indulgence of this unfamiliar aspect of human bonding the past two years was the biggest surprise of all. He’d spent endless hours making this lonely, hardworking woman want him as she had never wanted anyone before. After that, he’d told himself that stringing her along was necessary for his cover.
As it turned out, he had been the fool.
He contemplated drawing his weapon to gain her cooperation, but he lacked sufficient motivation. Instead, he dropped into the chair by the window. The room was a little cold, so he turned on the heat. The box beneath the window rumbled then shook with the effort of noisily blowing out stale air.
“I mean it,” she warned when he turned his attention to her once more. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m walking out that door.”
He dropped his head back on the chair and deliberated as to which lie to offer. There were so many. So many, in fact, that he had to think hard to sift out the most recent ones. Counting the water stains on the ceiling distracted him for a moment. The stains were dark and without uniformity or pattern. Like his life.
As good as her word, Maggie started for the door. He grabbed her arm as she passed his chair. Her gaze collided with his. She was just mad enough to call his bluff. Another funny thing. He never bluffed.
His lapse into the mundane was going to get him killed. And anyone else who had the misfortune of being with or connected to him.
“Maggie, sit down.”
She stared at him for an endless moment before relenting. With a frustrated about-face she stamped to the bed and sat, arms still crossed, one foot patting against the ragged, once-beige carpet.
With a heavy breath he settled his eyes on hers. “The people who hit the brownstone—”
“You mean the ones who blew it up?” she snapped. “That’s what they did, Slade. They blew it up.” She gestured in frustration. “Innocent people may have been injured or killed.”
He reached for patience. “No one was injured or killed.”
“How do you know?” She shot to her feet. “You can’t know!”
“I