Читать книгу Sweet Deception: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense - Angel Nicholas - Страница 11

Ally latched the seat belt, grabbed the door handle with one hand and the seat with the other. Greg swerved around a car. Glancing back, she spotted a dark sedan maneuvering to stay behind them. Her heart leapt into her throat as Greg narrowly avoided the rear bumper of a delivery truck. They roared down the block, taking the next corner so fast Ally’s shoulder slammed into the door with bruising force.

Before she could catch her breath, he whipped them around another corner. The hard right flung her the other way. They tore down a quiet alley and onto a sleepy residential street. He slowed, taking the next corner at a more sedate pace. Kept all four tires on the pavement even.

Ally’s racing pulse didn’t care.

His gaze locked on the rearview mirror and she turned to peer out the back window. Towering maple and oak trees filtered weak moonlight through their full branches to shine on stately homes. The street remained empty. She straightened, her stomach quivering like unset Jell-O.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Greg smiled. “Too much excitement for you?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. She sank low in her seat, longing for a steaming hot bath to ease the tension from her muscles. Ha. If this was excitement, she needed it about as much as she needed a hole in the head. She winced and rubbed the sore spot on her temple where Boner had pressed the muzzle of his gun. Poor word choice.

Greg pulled into the parking lot of a dumpy motel, the flashing sign illuminating the dilapidated puke-green and pink exterior. The place probably rented rooms by the hour.

Greg disappeared inside the tiny lobby. A few minutes later, he dropped a key in her lap, complete with a key ring in the shape of a miniature rubber…dildo? No way. She leaned closer, gaze tracing the outline of ridges and what definitely looked like the head of a, err, phallus.

“We were in luck. They had one room left.”

“Great.” She stared at the thing resting between her clenched thighs. No way was she touching that key ring. Someone could have used it in desperate times.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She tossed him a polite smile then yanked open the door and scrambled out. She had no business being ungrateful. He was keeping her safe. A sleazy motel, complete with gross key ring, was the least of her worries.

Meticulously avoiding the swinging plastic penis, she fit the key into the thin door. The dim interior wasn’t encouraging. Greg shut the door and curtains before hitting the overhead lights. She cringed.

Two beds covered with gray and red shiny comforters squatted over stained gray carpet and were flanked by black lacquer nightstands where large lamps with brilliant-red lampshades perched precariously. Even the walls were a dull shade of gray. Heavy drapes in eye-straining swirls of red, gray and black finished off the décor.

His surprises were certainly…surprising.

“This isn’t so bad.”

She turned and stared. Was he insane?

“I have to admit, I was a little worried when I first spotted this place.” He switched on one of the monstrous lamps and mystery stains on the bed’s shiny cover leapt into high relief. “Yeah, this’ll work great. Which bed do you want, Sugar Lips?”

She flinched and took a step back, her skin crawling. His smile slipped a few notches.

“Come on. This place is perfect. No one will look for us here. Considering my family’s money, they’ll expect me to check into a fancy hotel, not some dive.” Strolling past her, he stuck his head in the bathroom. “There’s even a bathtub. I’ll flip you for it.”

He held out a quarter and cocked an eyebrow. She managed to unglue her feet, cross the room and peer into the tiny bathroom. A healthy assortment of chips dotted an avocado-green bathtub. Rust stains circled the drain—not what she had in mind when envisioning a hot bath.

“You’re going to fit in there how?” She glanced at Greg. Barely an inch separated them. Startled to find him so close, her mouth dried.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I suppose it’ll have to be a shower, then.”

His voice lowered, husky and intense. Awareness rippled through her. He stepped back and pressed a towel into her arms while he maneuvered her into the tiny room. She blinked at the glaring fluorescent lightbulb, her nose twitching at the bathroom’s musty smell.

He gave a mocking bow. “Ladies first.”

Ally stuck her tongue out at the closed door. The childish gesture made her grin as she started the water and took off her clothes, feeling lighter than she had all day.

She eased into the hot water and squeezed the contents of the microscopic “complimentary” shampoo/conditioner into her hand, thinking about Greg. Pictured him leaning against the doorframe in his condo, minus the towel. Imagined licking all his golden skin. Groaning, she rinsed and climbed out of the worn bathtub.

She contemplated the clothes carefully draped over the sink as she dried off. No way could she sleep in those. Talk about sacrilege. Lips pursed, she looked from the clothes to the door to the solitary towel in her hands. Cursing tiny towels to hell and back, she maneuvered the scrap of fabric to cover her important bits.

Ally gathered her clothes, took a deep breath, sent up a quick prayer and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. The cooler air raised goose bumps. She peeked around the corner. Greg lounged on the far bed, his eyes glued to a couple of sportscasters arguing on TV. White- knuckling the towel, borrowed clothes pressed to her chest, she sidled around the corner toward the empty bed. She gingerly peeled back the coverlet, while trying to keep the towel in place.

“Nice outfit.”

Her head snapped up. Deep-blue eyes leisurely surveyed her. Heat flashed across her skin and she dove for the sheets. Covered in scratchy cotton, she dropped the wet towel over the side, then carefully arranged the dress on a spare pillow. Ally grimaced and tossed the coverlet to the bottom of the bed. Top sheet securely tucked under her chin, she didn’t dare look at Greg.

“No worries, Princess.” Amusement dripped from his voice. “I doubt anything’s contagious.”

She sniffed. “Have I said a word?”

“Your expression says it all. I know this place sucks, but a trashy motel is heaven compared to being six feet under.”

Her skin prickled. She closed her eyes and saw again the man tumbling from the roller coaster and Officer Smith’s massive bulk herding her into her house. The thud of bullets into Greg’s walls. Big beefy arms tightening around her ribcage. The cold press of a steel barrel against her skin. Burrowing deeper beneath the thin covers, trembling spread along her limbs.

“So you admit this place is trashy.” Despite her attempt at a teasing tone, her voice shook. “What happened to ‘not so bad,’ ‘perfect’ and ‘great’?”

Embarrassed by her lack of control, she rolled away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and still the shaking and dried her tears on the stiff pillowcase.

The bed dipped. Greg’s arm slipped around her waist as he lay down behind her. “It’s okay,” his deep voice whispered across her ear. “You’ve had a rough day. Let it out.”

Deep, wrenching sobs stole the remainder of her self-respect. He held her tight, his heat soaking into her, not even a shiver of revulsion stirring him over her blotchy cheeks or snotty nose.

Drained, sleep dragged at her. She used the last of her energy to wriggle closer, until she could feel him from head to toe along her back. Surrounded by him, soothed, feeling as safe as a diamond in a dark vault, Ally fell asleep.

Golden light filtered through the curtains when she woke the next morning. The sunshine did the dismal room no favors. Memories of sleeping snuggled against Greg brought her fully awake. She shivered, glanced down and groaned. The covers had slipped enough to reveal the pale globe of one entire breast.

A full-body flush warmed her. She yanked the covers up. The sound of the shower running penetrated and she relaxed. If she had an ounce of luck left, he'd gotten into the shower before the blanket slipped.

The water shut off. Her heart leapt into her throat and she went from languid sprawl to sitting up in zero point two seconds, yanking the borrowed dress over her head. She jumped out of bed, feverishly tugged on her panties and smoothed the skirt down. The bathroom door opened. A silent prayer of thanks winged its way heavenward.

Greg glanced at her as he rounded the bottom of the bed. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” She ducked her head, using her hair as a shield between them.

Oh, man. Her hair. She probably looked like a scarecrow. Thick and wavy, it needed no incentive to go wild. Going to bed with wet hair? A guaranteed wild-and-woolly look. Not like she’d had a choice, since this top-notch motel didn’t provide a hair dryer.

She gathered her tangled hair into an impromptu ponytail as she looked around for a rubber band. Movement on the other side of the room caught her eye. She went still, holding her hair in place with one hand and the other going to the wall for support.

Grayish towel dangerously low on his hips, the muscles of Greg’s back rippled as he bent down.

I should look away.

The towel fell.

Her eyes widened and her heart sped up. That has to be the finest butt this side of the Mississippi. In one of those glorious moments when time slowed, he pulled a pair of jeans up muscled legs, pausing for a full heartbeat before dragging them up to cover his butt. She swallowed the excess saliva pooling in her mouth and fought the urge to fan her hot face.

Dragging her gaze up his bare torso, her blush fired up another notch when she met his knowing stare. At this rate, I’m gonna have a sunburn. And that grin.

“I figured fair is fair.” He shrugged, a fluid shift of muscles beneath bronzed skin.

Her hands tingled with the desire to touch and explore.

He’d said something. About…fairness?

She blinked. “What?”

He winked.

Oh, Lord. He’d seen her breast. Ally sank onto the bed with a groan and buried her face in her hands. Of course.

“I don’t know what you’re upset about. I’m the one who had to take a cold shower.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Men like him dated beautiful models and the most sought-after debutantes. He had his choice of women. A chubby, boring claims processor who couldn’t afford designer clothes, highlights or manicures would hold no interest for him.

Even so…she snuck another peak between her fingers. A girl could at least enjoy the view. He pulled a black T-shirt over his head. Another hot flash washed over her. Probably a hormonal imbalance.

Sighing, she stuffed her feet into the gorgeous platform sandals. They would make for a harrowing experience if she had to run for her life. Again. Maybe if she started praying now, she wouldn’t twist her ankle or break a leg.

Luck sure as heck wasn’t going to help her out.

“Ready?”

“I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush in that mysterious black bag of yours?”

“Nope. No worries. It’s a real turn-on when a woman looks like she just crawled out of bed after a night of hot sex. Guys dig it.”

“Well, gee,” she drawled, giving him a wide berth as she headed for the door. “As long as y’all dig it.”

“No need to get snippy.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “We can pick up a hairbrush, if it’s such a big deal.”

Exasperation and arousal made an odd mix. Ally yanked open the door. Brilliant sunshine blinded her. Greg hollered to wait. Bright spots dancing before her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder into the room as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

Right into the arms of a man with a gun. She whimpered. Seriously?

His gun-free arm looped around her waist, pulling her tight against him. Noxious body odor gagged her.

Desperate for fresh air, she turned her head. Greg stood silhouetted in the doorway of their room, the steely glint in his eyes at odds with his relaxed stance.

“This is a career change for you, Weasel.”

“Don’t call me that.” The tremor in the guy’s voice bode ill. The cocky way he pointed the gun at Greg was even worse. Whether his anxiety stemmed from Greg’s attitude, his nerves or fear, she didn’t care to find out. “Just back off and no one gets hurt.”

“Really? Is that what your boss-man said?” Greg cocked his head to the side. “Funny, I heard the orders were to kill Miss Thompson. Makes it a little hard to buy the whole ‘No one will get hurt’ bit.”

Did he have to say it so casually? In sync, she and Stink Boy swallowed audibly. The trembling, the odor, the shaking voice; the guy was a mess. Not a good thing considering the gun in his sweaty hand. Its twin pressed the thin material of her dress over her abdomen, sweating through the fabric and making her skin crawl.

“I’m not gonna let you screw up my first big job, Detective.” His damp hand crept up the front of her dress and cupped her breast. “She don’t seem your type.”

Her skin shriveled. She bit her tongue on a scream and shrank from his hand, bringing her flush up against him. Ally flinched, straightened sharply and held her breath.

Greg’s hands fisted. Stink Boy jerked back, his gun wavering. His hand clenched her breast so tight she yelped.

Greg’s eyes flashed, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I’ll say this one time. Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.”

Stink Boy pinched her nipple and Ally ran out of patience. Anger and fear coalesced in a hard knot and she slammed her elbow into his scrawny ribs. He shrieked like a girl, released her and staggered to the side.

Greg flattened Stink Boy on the hard pavement, stuffed his gun in the back waistband of Greg’s pants and cuffed him.

Ally took a step back.

Yanking the guy to his feet, Greg shook him. Ally was pretty sure Stink Boy’s loose teeth rattled. “You and I are going to have a little chat.”

“No! Wait!” Sweat beaded on his forehead. “All I know is my boss wants her. That’s it. I swear.”

Greg stuck his hand in his pocket. The car lights flashed and the door locks clicked open. He glanced at her.

“Wait in the car. Lock the doors.”

He shoved Stink Boy into the motel room and slammed the door. Silence descended. She stared blindly at the motel room’s pink door. He’d been armed. Likely high on something. And she decided to act like it’s Mission Impossible. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips and stumbled to the car, obediently locking the doors.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. The city seemed to hold an innumerable number of thugs willing to hunt her down. Stink Boy’s palpable nerves and gun had put her on edge, but he hadn’t been the worst. Officer Jones held that dubious honor. So far.

Ally lifted her head as Greg emerged, glancing around as he shut the door firmly. The DO NOT DISTURB sign swung from the doorknob. Maybe she should borrow the sign and hang it around her neck.

She could start a new jewelry trend.

Greg climbed into the car, while tapping on his cell phone, then pressed it to his ear and spit out a succession of rapid-fire instructions. He clicked it off and wrapped his hands around the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the car was charged. Ally stared out the window at the paint peeling off the motel’s grimy exterior, twisting her fingers in the dress. She nibbled on her lower lip, tucked her leg beneath her and untangled her fingers from the fabric. She settled both feet on the floorboards again. Greg still didn’t start the car. He sat staring at her, freaking her out.

“You okay?”

She started when he spoke. The trembling she thought she had under control returned and a few stupid tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Aw, baby.” He gathered her in his arms and held her tight, rubbing her back, murmuring unintelligible reassurances in her hair. In general, it made her feel warm and safe. She closed her eyes, took a deep Greg-scented breath and nestled a little bit closer.

Ally swallowed a sigh of regret when he released her. But, he didn’t move back. He brushed the tears off her cheeks. Her heart clutched. Twice he’d held her while she sobbed out her stress and fear and adrenaline overdose against his chest.

She lowered her gaze and sat back. “Sorry about your shirt.”

The engine rumbled to life. He backed out of the parking space and she glanced at the motel room.

“What were you doing in there, anyway?”

“Uh, handcuffing him to the bed so the locals can pick him up.”

Her eyebrows climbed. His shoulders were hunched and he didn’t meet her eyes. He was rubbing his knuckles, a few of which looked scraped and red.

“Okay.”

His cheekbones darkened with a flush. “Weasel is pretty low on the totem pole. Guess they don’t realize you’re with me.”

“You know his, err, boss?”

“Yeah. These guys define the term ‘underbelly of society’.”

She eyed the tree-lined neighborhood. “So, where are we going? What do we do now? Do you have any leads on who’s after me? I mean us. Whatever. What’s the plan?”

“Whoa. Slow down, Sugar Lips.” He grinned. “First things first. Breakfast. Women get real irritable when they go too long without eating. There’s this little place I know with the best omelets.”

Just what she needed. A reminder about his vast experience with women. And omelets.

Settling deeper in the seat, she crossed her legs and stared at the scenery whipping past. Speed limits obviously didn’t apply to police officers. Must be nice. Not like she’d speed even if she could.

One maddening hour later, they climbed back into the burnt-orange leather-upholstered interior of the Camaro. She had to admit, she felt better after eating. More in control.

“Do I get any hints about where we’re going?”

Greg shot her an amused glance. “I told you—”

“Yes, I know. It’s not something I need to worry about. The big strong police detective will take care of everything. Well, forgive me if I’m not willing to take a back seat when this all revolves around me and something I may or may not know about some mysterious criminal mastermind.”

“Well, that was dramatic,” he drawled in true Surfer Dude fashion.

Ally rolled her eyes. “Keep it up and criminals won’t be the only ones after your blood.”

“Threatening an officer of the law?” He shook his head. “If I weren’t so turned-on right now, I’d read you your rights and handcuff you. Actually, we can try that later. In private.”

Face on fire, she crossed her arms. Turn her on and give her hot flashes to distract her from the fact he wasn’t telling her a flippin’ thing. Great plan. So what if it worked.

He guided the car to the curb, put it into neutral and applied the brake. She blinked. Here? No way. She’d never been to this part of the city. Neither had she suffered any overwhelming desire to.

Garbage littered the sidewalks, ancient cars unmoved in the past decade occupied the gutters and crumbling brick buildings loomed over them all. Sinking her teeth into her lip, she turned to Greg.

“It’ll be okay.” He patted her thigh. “I’m going to have a quick conversation with a man about a horse. Wait here. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

A horse?

He climbed out, ducking down to make eye contact again. “Sit tight.”

The door slammed shut. Always with the orders. She eyed the building squatting on the block amongst the other ramshackle brick structures, an ugly ogre waiting for an innocent victim to stroll close enough to grab.

Four men materialized out of the shadows at Greg’s approach. Ally gnawed on her lip and wished for a cell phone. What if she needed to call 9-1-1? The men stopped a few feet from Greg, speaking in voices too low to carry. Their gazes strayed in her direction. Chewing harder on her lip, she sank in her seat.

The four men backed off and Greg vanished into the gloomy depths of the building.

Five of the longest minutes of her life later, he reappeared. She did a quick scan for injuries, ridiculously relieved when she didn’t spot any. The lopsided grin he shot her belied the tense lines around his eyes. He nodded at the lounging men as he passed, climbed into the car and pulled away from the curb. Several minutes and numerous turns later, he broke the heavy silence.

“It’s not good, Ally.” His use of her given name tightened her nerves more than his tone. Surfer Dude had vanished.

“This guy is so high up in the food chain, no one knows who he is. I don’t know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself messed up in, but it’s big.” He met her eyes. For a split second, his gaze dropped to the spot where her teeth clamped down on her lip before returning to the road. “Normally, I’d be thrilled to have something like this drop in my lap. This could make my career. But your involvement…” He looked away.

Ally didn’t say anything as she watched him, worrying her lip.

He was quiet for a minute. “The guy killed at the amusement park was Michael Smith. Do you—”

The air left her lungs in a rush. Michael Smith. Her friend. Coworker. Dead. Her head spun.

Greg’s lips thinned and he pulled to the side of the road.

“Michael was the man who fell off the ride? I mean…” She waved a limp hand, unable to say the words. To make the entire situation more real. Beyond Michael’s death, one thought loomed large. “Is it strange we were both at the park on the same day, on the same ride, at the same time?”

“It’s a very convenient coincidence.”

“Especially since I hate roller coasters. The odds of me going on one were extremely slim.”

“So why did you? Why were you even at the park?”

“Because!” She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated with herself and the situation. “Everyone at work is always going somewhere and doing something. They return on Monday gushing about a new restaurant, some hip downtown dance club, a weekend get-a-way, the amusement park… My contribution is always, ‘I read a good book.’ Or I could mention my hot ‘date,’” she made air quotes with fingers, “with my therapist. Wouldn’t that impress everyone!”

“Therapist?”

“Yeah.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve seen one for the past two years.”

“Dare I ask why you were seeing a shrink?”

Ally shrugged, studying a microscopic smudge on the windshield. “A few years ago, a drunk driver killed my family. My mom, dad, grandma and little brother were coming home from the Olympics.” Despite the grief weighing down her soul, a small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “My brother had just won the gold medal in snowboarding.”

Greg snapped his fingers, startling her. “Nicholas Thompson. I heard about that. The gold medal, the accident…”

“The surviving sister, too terrified of flying to accompany her family, therefore missing out on sharing Nick’s greatest moment.”

“And missing out on dying.”

Her shoulders hunched and she wrapped her arms around her ribcage. Survivor’s guilt. For the most part conquered, but sometimes the ugliness crept up and blindsided her. “Actually, I was driving. I picked them up from the airport.” Enough about her life. “I don’t get why anyone would…Michael is…was a sweet guy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. It doesn’t make sense.”

He frowned at her but let the subject change stand, to her relief. “Maybe he was involved in something, and whoever had him killed thinks he told you about it. Were you two dating?”

His voice sounded odd. She glanced at him. His hands were tight around the steering wheel and the skin around his eyes and mouth was tight.

Huh. “No, we weren’t dating. We were just friends.”

He nodded, shoulders relaxing.

Too bizarre.

“What about any mutual friends, then? Someone he could have offended.”

“Michael and I worked together. We didn’t socialize outside of that. I don’t know anything about his personal life.”

Greg steered the car back into traffic. Several blocks later, he pulled into a parking spot outside a police station.

“What are we doing here?”

“I need to see if they’ve gotten anything out of the guy we brought in yesterday or if Weasel became chatty.”

She trailed along behind him, like a forlorn puppy, into the stuffy interior of the building. Scuffed and scarred floors, gray walls, and old desks set a mundane backdrop for the bustling activity. Uniformed officers and men in uninspired suits mingled with tattooed women and grungy males with bitter eyes.

Greg ushered her past the front security and down a hall while she gaped at the scene. She swallowed a sigh of disappointment when he led her into a sedate room, minus the criminal element. He pointed her toward a desk with his favorite order, “Stay put.”

Glaring mutinously, she sat and refused to dwell on his broad back. Nor did she notice the easy way he wove through the desks before disappearing down the hallway.

She crossed her legs, brushed lint off her dress and looked around. All heads faced her. Conversation ceased. Ally swallowed thickly, tummy tightening painfully.

She pasted on a smile, doing her best to ignore the onset of nausea.

The man seated at the desk nearest her had his eyes glued to her bare legs. Despite the admiration on his handsome face, she longed for a pair of blue jeans. She shifted her legs to the side and kept him in her peripheral vision. His gaze made its way to her face.

Appreciation warmed his baby-blues. “Why’s a fine-looking woman like you hanging out with Marsing? You have way too much class for him.”

She reluctantly faced him. Under normal circumstances, she’d appreciate his attention. Well-dressed in a mocha suit and red power tie, his smile a flash of white in his tan face, emphasizing a dimpled chin and strong cheekbones, surrounded by neatly cropped golden curls. Today? Detective Goldilocks’ over-the-top flattery fell flat.

Her smile stretched tight. “Thanks.”

“So,” he leaned back in his squeaky chair, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, “You’re ol’ Marsing’s flavor of the month.”

She flinched. Her lack of experience in handling overt rudeness sucked. Eyeing his badge and gun, she opted for placid agreement. “Apparently.”