Читать книгу Agent Bride - Beverly Long - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Under normal conditions, having a beautiful woman beg him to take her to a hotel was not an invitation that he needed to give much consideration to.

Hell, yes.

And if all went well, a half hour after they’d checked in, neither one of them would even remember it was snowing.

But there was nothing normal about this. The woman had been lying in the snow in a wedding dress. As he’d approached, he’d seen a slight movement in her arms and legs and had reached out to check for a pulse. She’d responded like a mad dog, throwing a punch and kicking her leg. Her movements had been uncoordinated, as if hypothermia was setting in.

While he had no formal medical training, every SEAL had the basics. He’d quickly sorted through the options. Moving someone before a full assessment was always a risk. But her extremities all seemed to be in working order, maybe a little jerky, a little awkward. He’d identified the cold as his biggest challenge, decided there was no time to waste and flipped her over to her back.

Then, even though her arm and leg hadn’t connected with anything vital, he’d been knocked back and just a little breathless.

She had a stunningly beautiful face. Dark hair. Very dark eyes, almost black. Rich, almond skin that hinted at an ethnicity that was more exotic than his own common German-Irish mix. Maybe from one of the Pacific Islands.

When she’d screamed, he’d gathered his lust-spiked wits and moved into action. He didn’t think she’d been there long. Dressed as she was, it would have taken less than twenty minutes in these conditions—twenty-degree temps with a thirty-mile-an-hour wind—for her to be in real serious trouble.

He hadn’t been confident that she could walk, so he’d carried her to the car. Once inside the vehicle, he’d been processing what to do next when he’d seen the marks around her wrists that looked suspiciously as if she’d been tied up.

It was possible that it had been consensual. What people did behind bedroom doors was nobody’s business. But he’d spent the better part of the past decade in countries where men routinely mistreated women and he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. But when he’d asked, she’d stared at her wrists, as if it was the first time that she’d seen them, seen the damage.

Then he’d seen the small trickle of blood on the side of her face. He’d been very concerned when he’d felt the lump on her head, which he suspected she’d gotten from connecting with the fence post, and had been relieved when he’d seen that the cut itself was just a slice that would heal quickly.

He’d pushed aside his concern over her possible mistreatment and dealt with the immediate need of getting her out of her wet clothes.

When he’d pulled the T-shirt over her head and lowered her dress, he’d done a quick inspection of the rest of her to assess for injuries. Had caught a glimpse of pretty breasts and smooth skin but no other significant bruises or red marks.

The wedding dress had been wet and heavy and, quite frankly, had knocked him off his stride.

And oddly enough, it had seemed to have a similar effect on her. She’d ripped the pins out of her veil as if she was attacking a nest of snakes with a garden hoe. Her wet dark hair, free of constraints, had fallen around her shoulders.

How had a bride ended up in the snowdrift? Where the hell was her husband?

When he’d picked her up, he’d made a visual inspection of the surrounding area. No footprints besides the ones he’d left. No sign of a vehicle, with the exception of the wide tire tracks on the road, but he was fairly confident that the truck hadn’t stopped. There was no sign of heavy exhaust in the fresh snow that would have been there if a big truck had idled for any amount of time.

Was it possible that she’d fallen out of the truck while it was moving? That someone had pushed her out?

None of it made sense and she wasn’t helping. She’d lied about her name. He was pretty sure about that. Had tried to let her know that he knew in a nice way by calling her Stormy instead. When she’d asked his name, he could have reciprocated and lied. He had a half-dozen different aliases that he’d gone by in the past years. Instead, he’d offered up the truth.

It might have been a mistake but he’d felt the need that one of them should be honest. Why it was important, he wasn’t sure. They were ships passing in a storm. He was offering a helping hand until she could reach out to someone else.

Which she didn’t seem inclined to do. He’d expected her to look upon his cell phone as an unexpected lifeline but there didn’t seem to be anybody she was interested in calling.

Odd. To say the least.

There were probably a couple choices. He could keep driving toward Ravesville and take her to the old house. But given that he didn’t know her story, he wasn’t inclined to want to do that. It was too great of a risk that he might be bringing trouble to his family, to Chase especially, and he was done with that.

He had enough guilt already.

He could disregard her instructions that she didn’t need either a hospital or the police and drop her off at whichever he encountered first.

Or he could turn around, take her back to the Interstate, find the hotel that the waitress had said was just miles down the road and send her on her way.

That was probably the best option. Now that he’d gotten a closer look at her, he could see the fatigue that shadowed her eyes. He supposed it was a busy time leading up to a wedding.

Had she gotten cold feet? Was there a groom pacing the aisle in some church, at a loss to understand where his bride might be?

But it was a Tuesday. Cal didn’t know much about weddings but he was fairly confident that they were usually on a Saturday. Maybe she was simply unconventional. Maybe she and/or the groom worked on the weekends. Maybe they got a better price on the reception if the event was on a weekday. Could be a hundred explanations.

She did not, however, look interested in offering up any of them. She was staring straight ahead, her arms wrapped around herself.

In all likelihood, he’d saved her life. It would be nice to know her name but not necessary. He wasn’t the type to brag or dwell on past accomplishments and this, quite frankly, wasn’t the first time he’d saved an unknown person’s life. That was what SEALs did best. Save the good guys. Kill the bad guys.

He was going with the assumption that she was on the side of right and that he wasn’t assisting the wrong person. That was what his gut told him and he’d learned to listen to it.

“Buckle your seat belt,” he said. He checked his mirrors, slowed down and then made a narrow U-turn on the snow-covered highway.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice small.

“Back to the Interstate. There’s a hotel a couple miles east. I’ll drop you off there.”

He turned on the radio. Maybe he’d try to get some information on the weather after all. It seemed as if the storm was picking up in intensity. It dawned on him that he hadn’t cared as much when he’d only had himself to worry about. Now he was responsible for her.

It should have felt suffocating to a man who’d recently deliberately shed all his formal responsibilities. At least irritating that he’d been sucked back in so quickly.

But oddly enough, it felt okay.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

She said nothing for a long minute. Over the sound of the radio, he could hear the tires working hard to grab pavement.

Finally she turned to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I owe you.”

* * *

IT WAS TRUE. She owed this man her life. But as soon as she could, she was getting away from him. He was young, maybe not even thirty, but his hazel eyes seemed to hold knowledge beyond that. He had short dark brown hair in a buzz cut and his skin was very tanned.

The only time he’d really pushed for information had been when he’d asked her name. She’d had to tell him something. And he’d called her on the fact that he didn’t think it was legitimate. Yet he was still willing to help her.

She wished she could accept that it was as simple as one human being extending a kindness to another. But something told her that she should trust no one. No one.

He was a good driver. His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. She’d have been a nervous wreck.

She didn’t like to drive in bad weather.

Didn’t know how she knew this. Just knew it.

In less than five minutes, they were on the Interstate that he’d mentioned. She saw a sign. St. Louis, 194 miles.

St. Louis. She let that dance around in her head for a minute. “Joe Medwick. Ducky Medwick,” she corrected.

He turned to stare at her. “What?”

“St. Louis Cardinals. He holds the record for most runs batted in during a single season. Late 1930s.”

“Thirty-seven,” he said, “1937.” He paused, then added, “How the hell did you know that?”

She’d surprised him. Oddly enough, that made her want to smile. Nothing else that had happened up to this point had seemed to faze him but he looked absolutely flabbergasted that she knew baseball. “Sports trivia is not reserved for the male species,” she said.

“Right,” he said. He was silent for a long minute. “Motel should be just up the road.” He paused again. “Have you eaten lately?”

She didn’t feel hungry. “A little while ago,” she said.

He nodded and kept driving. The SUV churned through the snow on the road, its tires slipping occasionally as they encountered patches of ice. They stayed on the road, however, which was more than she could say for the three cars they passed that were in the ditch.

It took them fifteen minutes to get to the hotel. He pulled into the lot and she stared at the building, trying to catch some feel for whether she’d ever been here before. She didn’t think so.

It was a two-story wood building, painted mostly red with some white trim, with each room having an exterior door. She counted them. Eight up, eight down, with a small office at the front of the building. The parking lot was full of cars and had already been plowed at least once. There was a big white sign with blue lettering and a red border. The Daly American Inn. There was a flagpole and a flag near the front door. She wondered if someone had braved the elements that morning or perhaps they simply never took it down.

She stared at the flag, watched it flap in the wind, partially obscured by the flying snow. Something fluttered in her chest. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.

“Problem?” he asked.

She shook her head. What could she say? Yes, plural but none that I can talk about.

He took the space in front of the office. She gripped the door handle tight. “Like I said, I don’t have any money on me.”

He shrugged. “We’ll worry about that once we know if they have a room. I’ll go check.”

It sounded as if he was willing to pay for it. Thank goodness. She would send him a check. Right away. She paid her debts. At least she thought she did.

He got out of the vehicle and snow blew in. It was really getting cold.

She watched him walk into the office. His dark down jacket came only to his waist. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and with his narrow hips and nice long legs, he was totally rocking the look.

It felt a little ridiculous that given the circumstances she had even noticed. But it was also oddly comforting, as if her subconscious was letting her know that everyday pleasures, even those as basic as admiring a sexy stride and a fine rear end, were not beyond her grasp.

The office was well lit and she could see a young man behind the desk. He was staring down at his cell phone, punching buttons. He looked up, evidently listening to whatever Cal was saying, and shook his head.

Her heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much hope she’d had pinned on getting a room, having a place to rest. If that wasn’t possible, she had no idea what she was going to do. Maybe they would at least let her sit in the office until...

Until what?

That was the great unknown.

She saw Cal reach into his pocket. Push something across the counter. Take the plastic key that the young man offered.

Hallelujah, it looked as if it was going to be okay.

When Cal returned to the vehicle, he handed her the plastic key. “You got the last room,” he said.

“I was worried. I saw the clerk shaking his head.”

“Just didn’t understand what I was asking for.”

It was perfect. She could sleep. For as long as it took. Then wake up and be able to deal with everything.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “I want to keep track.”

“Rooms are eighty-nine bucks a night. You’re in number fourteen. Second floor, two doors from the end.”

“Perfect.”

“How’s the head?” he asked.

“Still hurts,” she said honestly.

“Nauseous?” he asked.

She actually felt better than she had a half hour earlier. “No.”

“Your pupils look normal,” he said. “Which hopefully means that you don’t have a concussion. But I’m still worried about that. You’re sure that you’re going to be able to call someone to help you?”

“Absolutely,” she lied.

He drove the SUV to the corner of the building where her room was located and put the car in Park. He reached into the backseat and pulled out another pair of thick white socks. “Your feet are going to get wet walking in. Take these so you have something dry to change into.”

He was a really nice guy. “Can I have your address?” she asked. “To mail you a check. For the hotel, and these,” she said, waving at the clothes he’d given her.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Pay it forward someday.”

That was a nice idea. “Well,” she said. It was crazy but she didn’t like the idea of getting out of the car. She felt as if something bad was about to happen. But this man had done enough for her. There was nothing to be gained from stalling.

“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?

* * *

CAL’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.