Читать книгу Threat of Exposure - Lynette Eason - Страница 11

In the hotel office, Brock studied the man behind the counter and wondered vaguely what his story was. He’d been wiping down the counter with a rag when they’d walked in. His nametag read, STEVE.

A white scar cut a path from his forehead, down his right cheek to his chin. Prison tats decorated his fingers and his eyes had a hard glint to them. Gisella’s tense shoulders said she had her guard up, too.

Brock didn’t like the fact that Steve’s eyes had lingered a little long on Gisella’s pretty face, but Brock had to give the man credit. He hadn’t looked at her in any way that could be considered disrespectful. He simply handed over her credit card and room key and said, “Thank you. Glad you’re here.”

Gisella gave him a friendly nod.

Steve said, “There’s two of us who run the front desk. We alternate shifts and cover for each other so you never know who’ll be up front. We only have one maid working right now. We’re not a big-city hotel, so if you need something I’ll do my best to get it to you, but don’t expect to get it right away.” He spoke in a flat monotone as though he didn’t want them there, but couldn’t afford to turn them away.

Brock nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Gisella said to Brock, “I’m going to step outside and make a phone call while you’re finishing up.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

While he repeated the process Gisella had just completed, Brock considered the twinge of jealousy he’d felt at the hotel clerk’s obvious admiration of Gisella and told himself to get real.

He’d only known the woman a few hours. How could he be jealous? That he was made him a little nervous. Brock signed the credit card slip and thanked the man. Steve nodded and returned to his cleaning without another word.

Brock stepped outside to find Gisella already sitting in the passenger seat with her door shut. He decided he liked seeing her there. Beside him, she tugged at the heart with occasional glimpses of her vulnerability. He admired her tough-as-nails attitude about her job.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, he looked at her. “Too cold to stand outside for very long, huh?”

She laughed and agreed.

“You get your call made?”

Gisella frowned. “He didn’t answer.”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“And that worries you?”

She shrugged. “No. He and my mom are probably out with their friends from church. He’s left a couple messages on my phone so I thought I’d try him back. No big deal.” She gave him a wry smile. “Trust me, he’ll call again.”

Brock drove about halfway down the building and parked in the almost empty lot, not in front of a room. “Our rooms are four doors up.”

Respect gleamed at him. “I never park in front of my door, either. Why advertise what room you’re in?”

He laughed. “Exactly. I try to make sure I don’t park in front of anyone else’s room either. Wouldn’t want an innocent person to get hurt because someone was looking for me.”

“You think someone’s going to come looking for us?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. This town isn’t exactly May-berry. The sheriff and our rough-looking desk clerk didn’t seem thrilled that we’re here and from what you’ve told me, a lot of people have died because of this case. If anyone here has connections with the Lions, then they’re aware we’re here and that we’re asking questions. Why take chances?”

“I agree.” She smiled and climbed from the car.

Brock watched Gisella haul her overnight bag from the car. “You need some help?”

She shot him a wry look. “I think I can handle it, thanks.”

Inserting the key into the lock, she slipped into her room.

Brock shook his head. Stubborn. And very pretty. What was her boss thinking, sending her into this situation? In spite of the fact that Gisella was confident in her abilities to take care of herself, Brock’s gut clenched as he thought about his former partner, Paul Gomez, and his experience. Paul had had a pretty female partner, too, once upon a time. Tina Lorenzo. Paul had fallen in love with her and she’d been killed.

Brock had been paired up with the man after the tragedy. Paul had lasted three months before quitting law enforcement altogether to see if he could find himself at the bottom of a bottle.

Poor Paul. He’d been planning on asking Tina to marry him the weekend that she was killed. Had even bought the ring and shown it around the station that day. Tina had been working an undercover assignment, one she and Paul had argued about. He hadn’t wanted her to take it. She’d insisted.

Brock blew out a sigh. Was he going to have to babysit the Ranger?

Maybe not if her saving his hide tonight hadn’t been a fluke. He still wasn’t sure how Lenny had gotten the drop on him. But he had. And Brock felt embarrassed that Gisella had witnessed it.

On the other hand, it gave him an idea of who she was. And Brock wasn’t against females in law enforcement. Not at all. He knew there were some good women cops. Had even worked with a few. But this whole situation was a different ballgame as far as he was concerned. The Lions had all kinds of connections. High-ranking ones, apparently. They didn’t hesitate to permanently remove anyone who got in their way. And mistakes were always fatal. What if Giselle’s bulldog determination to catch her boss’s killer caused her to be careless? Make a mistake? She could get them both killed.

And the powers that be in the Ranger department had sent a lone woman down here to investigate. What were they thinking?

Of course he was with her, but still…

Just as he was about to step back inside his own hotel room, Gisella appeared in the doorway next to his. “You all set?” he asked.

She looked up to meet his eyes and his blood pumped a little faster. She had beautiful big brown eyes. Eyes that made a man want to act like a brainless sap and get lost in them. He blinked.

“You bet.” She gave him a funny smile. “You?”

He nodded then said, “But sleep with your gun close by. These locks are pitiful.”

She bent to examine hers. “Actually, it’s not that bad.”

He grunted his disagreement. Gisella shook her head in amusement then said with understanding, “But I know what you mean. My locks at home are much better.” She gave him another soft smile that made his heart do things it hadn’t done in a long time. He gulped and ordered himself not to be attracted to her.

It didn’t work.

And that sent fear skittering through him. Memories of his fiancée’s betrayal flashed across his mind, but this time they didn’t seem to hold as much punch.

And it was easy to see Gisella wasn’t anything like the woman who’d left him for another man. A man with a safe job who would be home every night and wouldn’t be gone for months at a time. He’d done his best to keep in touch, doing small things to remind her that he was thinking of her—like having the florist deliver a rose to her once a week.

But it hadn’t been enough and she’d moved on.

He nearly smiled at the irony of it. Gisella would understand his job, what going undercover entailed. And she understood that because she lived it.

And yet, Brock refused to consider falling for someone he worked with, someone in as dangerous a profession as he was. Thinking about the possible results of loving someone who could be killed in the blink of an eye made him shudder. He simply knew too much about things that could go wrong, how easy it was to slip up, trust the wrong person.

Ignoring his thumping heart that didn’t seem to care what Gisella did for a living, he tuned back into her words. “In the morning we can start out by asking around about those other initials from the book. See if there’s anyone around here with the initials JZ, RP or QV.”

“Sounds good to me. See you in the morning.” He stepped into his room and shut the door.

Slowly, Gisella closed her door, absently thinking that someone needed to oil the squeaky hinges—then decided she was thankful for the built-in alarm system. She leaned against the metal door for a moment, pausing to stare at the ceiling.

Breathing out a sigh, she placed a hand over her pounding heart. “What in the world is going on, Lord? He’s just an attractive man. I work around a lot of attractive men and I don’t even notice them much other than to give them credit for doing a good job. What’s different about Brock Martin?”

Not getting an immediate answer, she finally took in the details of the room. It smelled clean. Simple and sparse and not much to it; nevertheless, the bed looked comfortable.

Part of her itched to take a dive into a pool and do several laps to work off the stress of the day. Something she did at home on a regular basis.

Not holding out much hope, she walked to the phone and dialed the front desk. When the man answered, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have an indoor pool, would you?”

“Yes, we do. Right here beside the office.” He told her how to get to it and she hung up, surprise zipping through her. Who would have thought?

She placed her laptop on the small round table by the window and turned it on.

Weariness tugged at her and she glanced at the clock. 11:46. Morning would come early. But work beckoned. So did the swim.

Choices.

She thought about Brock’s comment about choices in life and smiled. Sometimes you chose what you had to do, not what you wanted to do.

The swim would have to wait.

Gisella picked up her cell phone and punched in Levi McDonnell’s number.

He answered on the third ring. “McDonnell.”

“Hey, it’s Gisella.”

“Yeah, I recognized the number. What’s up?”

“Sorry to call so late. I wanted to ask for a quick update.”

“It’s been kind of quiet. There haven’t been any new threats against the Alamo celebration coming up, but we don’t know if that’s good or bad. Have they stopped sending threats because they realize they’ve made their point? Or have the threats stopped because of something else? We just don’t know.”

She blew out a sigh. “Right. Anything else?”

“Nope.” His voice softened. “Get some rest, Gisella, you’re going to need it. We’re getting closer to getting these people, I can feel it.”

“I sure hope so, Levi.”

“Talk to you soon.”

They hung up and Gisella decided Levi was right; she needed to get some rest.

But first, she was going to get her swim in.

Grabbing her towel and the one-piece black bathing suit she never left home without, she slipped into her heavy coat, hat and gloves.

Should she tell Brock what she was doing?

Maybe.

Then again, he already had his doubts about her ability to be here on this case by herself. If he thought she felt the need to report in to him to take a swim, he really would think she was in over her head.

Gisella scoffed. She’d been doing just fine all alone. She didn’t need him as a keeper. She ignored the small voice that said perhaps it was just common courtesy to let him know where she was going and assured herself that she was only going to be a few minutes. Besides, it was late. She didn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping.

She was quite confident in her ability to take care of herself—and she didn’t plan on staying long.

Opening the door, she made her way down the sidewalk and headed toward the office, keeping an eye out for the pool sign.

As she walked, out of habit, she scanned the area, taking full advantage of the meager lighting the hotel offered. With surprise she noted how neat everything was. The trimmed bushes, the overpowering smell of freshly-spread mulch. She paused. Who laid mulch in January?

Interesting.

The silence tickled her ears.

Nothing moved in the darkness.

A room door clicked shut somewhere behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder.

Nothing.

Her stomach twisted as she took in the quiet night. At home, she tended to enjoy the darkness, the quiet peacefulness that came with the setting sun.

Here, she felt exposed in the openness, wishing she had some kind of cover to hide behind. Hugging the building, she hurried along. She wondered if she should have brought her weapon with her. But she’d left it in the room, not wanting to leave it lying out of reach while she was in the pool.

Now, she was thinking that leaving it behind might not have been a good idea.

Sudden laughter spilled from the balcony above and she felt her muscles relax. Slightly. The two college guys had the door to their room open allowing bits and pieces of conversation to drift down to her. Absently, she thought they must be crazy to have the door open on a cold night like tonight, but to each his own, she supposed.

The feeling of being watched lingered and she shivered. Looking around netted her nothing new.

Taking the sidewalk in front of the office building, she saw the sign indicating the pool facility. A concrete structure, it had small horizontal windows running along the length at the very top. The double glass doors that led to the interior were tinted and—she tried one—unlocked.

Slipping inside, she saw she was the only one there. She supposed those who had come to swim had done so earlier in the day.

There weren’t that many people in the small hotel. She and Brock had done their homework on the ride over from the restaurant. The other occupants consisted of a family of three who had one room at the end of the building, an elderly couple in the room above hers and a couple of college kids passing through Boot Hill on their way to a family funeral. And that was it. Which suited her just fine.

Gisella found the changing room. Chlorine assaulted her nose and a tingle of anticipation crept up her spine. At home, she had an inground heated pool that she used at every opportunity.

If she was home, that was daily. If she was on a case, she found the nearest pool to work off the stress. If she couldn’t swim, she’d go for a run, but she preferred the peaceful feel of the water.

With one foot, she tested the temperature.

Perfect. Who would have thought this small-town hotel would have an adequate pool like this?

Gisella walked to the deep end and looked down. More meager lighting, she thought ruefully. There were underwater lights, but they didn’t do much more than offer a faint glow. She didn’t care. With a push of her feet, she plunged into the warm depths.

With each stroke she felt the stress of the day slide from her. Her strong arms ate up the distance and soon she flipped and pushed off from the other end.

Brock Martin. DEA. A bit on the rough side. A risk-taker.

A good-looking man that made her heart do things it hadn’t done in a really long time. Not since Andre. A mistake she’d promised herself she wouldn’t repeat. He’d been a hard worker, a fellow Highway Patrol.

And he’d hated that her goal was to become a Ranger. He’d felt threatened by her skills and her determination to achieve her goals. So, he’d left her. But not before Gisella had learned a lesson. Steer clear of men whose egos couldn’t handle a woman in her position. And don’t be sucked in by a pretty face.

Brock definitely fell into the pretty-face category.

But was there more to him than his looks?

She had a feeling she would be finding that out during the course of the investigation.

Lord, keep us safe. Help us find Greg’s murderer and stop more innocent people from dying.

As she swam, she prayed. A habit she’d started in her teen years before her brother, José, had died. After his death, she’d been mad at God for a long time, but found swimming and praying helped. Soon, she’d made her peace with God, but not with the drugs that killed José.

His death had made her what she was today.

Finally, she tired and decided to call it quits.

Just as she reached the side to pull herself out, she felt something encircle her wrist.