“I said I can’t imagine Shane Moore confiding anything important to Willie. Shane was too smart to confide in a drunk.”
Isabel nodded. “I think you’re probably right. I talked to Willie for a while before you came in tonight and tried to pump him for information, but I don’t think he has any idea what Shane was involved in.”
Ben Lockhart had done an excellent job in pulling together background material on most of the people on the list from Meagan Moore. Not only had he detailed their rap sheets, but also when possible, he’d obtained a photograph.
For the next two hours, Adam and Isabel pored over the information. Adam pointed to one of the pictures Ben had provided of a burly man with tattoos.
“Blake Hariman,” Isabel said, reading the name beneath the photo. “Nice guy. His arrests include armed robbery, possession of a deadly weapon and aggravated assault.”
“And according to Ben’s information, he was one of Shane’s closest friends.” Adam gazed at her intently. “Isabel, we’re playing a dangerous game with dangerous people here. If any one of them get the faintest hint that we aren’t what they think, what we’re pretending, then we could wind up dead.” His expression was somber, his eyes deep pools of gray mist.
“I know,” she agreed. “But, there’s no reason for anyone to suspect us of being anything other than Bella and Adam Wilcox. I told Bart, the bartender, that you’re looking for work and he said he might be able to set you up doing odd jobs around here. I think we’re pretty solid in our disguise, Adam.”
For the first time since they’d entered the room, Adam smiled. Isabel felt the power of his smile right down to her toes. Adam was an attractive man when he was somber, but when he smiled, he was absolutely devastating.
“We sure don’t have to worry about anyone recognizing you. I’ve never known a bottle of rinse and some makeup to make such a difference. I watched you for several minutes before I finally realized that you were you.”
“You were watching me?” Isabel eyed him curiously, a sweeping warmth shooting through her. Had he been watching her because he’d thought she looked good?
His smile fell from his features, and was replaced by a frown. “I was watching everyone,” he replied. He got up from the bed and looked at his watch. “It’s after midnight. Shouldn’t we call it a night?”
Isabel nodded and quickly gathered up the papers and shoved them back into her duffel bag. She stood and was suddenly struck by just what “call it a night” would entail.
She and Adam were pretending to be man and wife. They would spend the night in this room together. Tonight, and every night for as long as they played this game, they would sleep side by side in the bed that suddenly looked far too small.
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