Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano

11

Nearly three hours later,after securing a rental from the only-half-drunk owner, Shane pulled into the parking lot of what his mother would call a rattrap motel.

If murderers and drug addicts didn't live here, he might be Mr. Rogers. And there was no way in hell he was Mr. Rogers.

Beside him, Faith made a humming noise. “I guess we know why it's only sixty-nine bucks a night.”

He couldn’t let her sleep here. No way. Him? He’d had way worse. Caves, condemned, mice-ridden houses, moldy warehouses, he’d seen it all. Given her CIA experience, maybe she had too, but — no. Not happening.

“There's got to be another place,” he said. “Anything.”

“Not within ten miles. There are three,” she made air quotes, “hotels in this town. The other two were booked. This one had a vacancy and it's only eight minutes from Leslie’s address. But hey, after the day we've had, if you want to schlep another thirty minutes to a Marriott, let's do it.”

When she put it that way, the rattrap suddenly had a certain character to it.

If he had to drive another mile he might put his 9mm under his chin and — pow — end this whole nightmare. In his former life, he’d go days on a combat nap. Now? Mental and physical fatigue had gnawed him to a stub.

Yes, it was confirmed. He’d gone soft.

And that pissed him off, but he knew enough about his own stamina to know if he didn't get some shut-eye, he'd be no use to himself or Faith. And God only knew if Larshot still lived at the address Sully had given them. This could be a giant goose chase.

He eased his foot off the brake and pulled into an open spot in front of the office where a vacancy sign flashed. From inside, he’d be able to see through the plate-glass window if anyone approached the car.

“Stay here,” he told Faith. “I hate leaving you alone, but the less people who see you, the better.” He pointed at the glovebox. “There’s an extra weapon in there if you need it. Lock these doors behind me.”

Faith saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Jesus. Now she was gonna give him shit for bossing her around? He didn't mean to be an overbearing asshole, but if it kept her safe, it'd be worth it.

He exited the vehicle, made sure his T-shirt covered the 9mm holstered at his waist and shut the door, pausing a second until he heard the locks engage.

An older guy in his sixties with slicked-back gray hair and three days’ worth of beard sat behind the desk messing on the computer.

He sized Shane up with dull eyes that had probably seen way too much in this hellhole. “Help you?”

“Yeah. My friend called and reserved two rooms.”

“Sorry. Only got one left.”

Seriously? This guy wanted to jerk him around? Shane cocked his head. “She called an hour ago and reserved two rooms. Or do I need to explain what a reservation is?”

The guy shrugged. “We had a walk-in. I don’t think they’re staying all night. I figured they’d be gone by the time you got here, and I’d clean the room. Sorry, but I gotta take what I can get here.”

A walk-in. If Shane wasn’t so damned tired, he’d laugh. By the looks of this place the walk-in was probably a hooker and her John. Or some guy — or woman — cheating on their spouse and looking for a quickie.

“All the rooms have a pullout couch,” the guy said. “If you take it, I’ll give it to you for forty-nine bucks and when the other one comes available, I’ll clean it.”

Shane glanced outside where Faith sat in the front seat of the rental. The red flashing vacancy sign illuminated her face as she watched him watching her. Her sleeping at his place was one thing. They’d had an entire apartment to separate them even if she did wind up crawling into bed with him and falling asleep. That had been an accident.

This?

Thiswould be three hundred square feet of space.

And the way he was feeling after that smoking hot kiss they’d shared, all churned up and needing some sort of release, it didn't bode well.

Fuck it. They were grown-ass adults. They’d have to control themselves. And they’d save money on the second room.

“Forget the second room. We’re too tired to wait. Can I get fresh sheets for the couch?”

Because God only knew when those linens had been changed last.

After paying cash and receiving fresh sheets along with a plastic key chain with the motel’s name emblazoned in gold, Shane headed back to the car. Faith unlocked the door and he hopped in, handing over the linens.

“Minor hiccup,” he said.

She snorted. “Why does that not shock me?”

“He only had one room left. They had a walk-in.”

Faith snorted. “Lord, they gave our room to a prostitute.”

He gave her the quick rundown on the walk-in situation. “My guess? The random person who got our room isn’t Brutus. If it was, he wouldn’t bother with a room. He’d kill us in the parking lot.” He waved a hand. “Our room has a pullout, we’re good. You take the bed.”

“Because that worked so well for us last night?”

At that he had to smile. He did love her quick wit. “Something like that.”

He drove around the side of the building to room twenty-seven. Above the door the spotlight was burned out. Shit. He did not like that. What were the chances, after hustling through the woods, jumping on a freight train and renting a car, that Brutus had tailed them?

They’d taken every rural road possible checking for headlights behind them. At one point they’d turned down a dirt road that wound up being a driveway.

They’d been careful. Extra careful. But he’d felt that way prior to the Challenger being blown to hell. And dammit if he hadn’t liked that car.

“It's a coincidence.” Faith gestured to the building. “The light. There's no way we were followed.”

Only one way to find out.

He slid the key out of the ignition and grabbed his extra gun from the glove box so he could store it in his backpack. “Let's check out our new digs. Don't expect too much.”

They grabbed their backpacks from the rear seat and moved quickly to the hotel room door. Standing close to the doorframe, but far enough not to appear odd to any onlookers, he unlocked it, pushed it open and stared into complete darkness. Between the lightbulb being blown out and the pitch black in front of him, his temples throbbed.

He shifted sideways, nudging Faith farther out of view before snaking his arm around the doorframe and slapping at the wall. Bingo. He flipped the switch and light flooded the room.

No bad guys.

That he could see.

He drew his weapon and stepped in, waving Faith in behind him as he scanned the room and headed to the bathroom to clear it. One thing they shouldn't do was stand outside drawing all sorts of unwanted attention.

The room had a classic seventies vibe. Brown paneling, shag green carpet, a small closet with no door that made his life easier because it made hiding impossible.

“It's not that bad,” Faith said. “We've both slept in worse, I'm sure.”

“Not by choice. But I like your optimism.”

He stood to the left of the bathroom, giving it a quick peek while she waited, her own weapon in hand just in case. The ancient mirror over the pedestal sink helped his cause, revealing nothing but white tile. Still, he swung in, weapon raised and pointed at the tub.

Empty.

Thank you, Jesus. He might actually get some sleep.

He holstered his weapon, found Faith standing in front of the bed already rummaging through her backpack, pulling out tights, a shirt and leather flip-flops she'd picked up on the way to his place last night.

She tossed the flip-flops on the ugly carpet and made quick work of changing out of her sneakers. “I need a shower. My new sandals will be ruined, but I’m not stepping barefoot on any surface in this place.”

“No problem. Take your time.”

She nodded. “I won’t be long.”

When she passed, his gaze shot straight to that cute little ass of hers. Jeez, the woman fascinated him. He hadn’t yet learned all the details of her being attacked in Venezuela, but he knew she’d kicked the crap out of two men. One of whom had grown up under the tutelage of the most violent, bloodthirsty dictator Shane had ever encountered. And that was saying something.

Faith? Total badass. Which, in his own twisted way, turned him on. He pounded his fist against his forehead. He needed to focus here. Get his mind right.

He stepped over to what he'd loosely call a loveseat and dragged the cushions off, tossing them aside.

The bathroom door swung open again and Faith came out. “Forgot my toothbrush.”

He gripped the mattress frame and pulled. Before the legs even hit the floor his insides curled.

“Dammit.”

Not bothering to unfold the frame — the empty frame — he set it down.

Toothbrush in hand, Faith used it as a pointer. “That's a problem.”

“Ya think?” He waved her off. “Go shower. I’ll call my buddy at the front desk and tell him we’re missing a mattress.”

Faith headed back to the bathroom and Shane dropped on the bed scooping up the phone — something he probably should've disinfected before touching — and hit zero.

“Front desk.”

“Yeah. I just checked in. Room twenty-seven. The pullout? No mattress.”

A short pause ensued. “What do you mean there’s no mattress? Are you sure?”

“Dude, kind of hard to miss something like that. You got another one?”

“Why would I have another one?”

“Uh, because you're missing one?”

“Well yeah, but I didn't know that. Someone stole it. Goddamn lowlifes. Now I'll have to buy another.”

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. So effing tired. “I feel you, but it's not my problem. How am I supposed to sleep on a pullout with no mattress?”

“I'm sorry about that, but it's late. I can't be banging on doors and disturbing guests asking if I can take their couch's mattress. I won't charge you for tonight and I'll fix it in the morning. That work?”

From the bathroom, a whistling noise sounded as the shower came on. No mattress and whistling pipes. Good thing this guy already comped them for the night.

Shane glanced over his shoulder at the supposedly queen-sized bed that was clearly a full. Unless he wanted to sleep on the floor — and who knew the last time that had been cleaned? — he'd have to share the bed with Faith.

He dragged a hand over his face. It was gonna be a long night.

Sometimes a hot showerwas all Faith needed to reset her mind. After all, things could definitely be worse. She could be stuck in that dank basement being gang-raped by violent drug dealers.

Odd how everything was now measured against one experience. All she could hope was that eventually the event, like the other unpleasant ones, would find refuge in some shuttered place in her memory and she’d avoid the constant reminders.

After draping her towel over the shower curtain rod, she gathered her dirty clothes from the floor. They'd have to find a laundromat tomorrow. Traveling light didn’t offer a lot of options for clean clothes.

She swung the door open, letting a burst of steam escape and already thinking about dropping her exhausted body into bed.

Upon exiting the bathroom she found Shane sitting on the bed, staring at the couch.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “No luck on the mattress?”

“Nope.”

She dumped her dirty clothes next to her backpack and joined an obviously miserable Shane. She settled next to him, bumping her shoulder against his.

“If this is the worst thing that happens tonight, we're in really good shape.”

“Believe me, I get that. But, that kiss? The whole ‘to be continued’ thing? We’re both tired. We should sleep. Not,” he rolled his hand, “you know.”

She laughed. “Agreed. Allow me to point out that I assumed we’d be staying in Edingville for the night and that was three hours ago. Now, I need sleep. Besides, we shared a bed last night and managed to control ourselves.”

“Last night was an accident. You fell asleep.”

“What are we, fifteen? Our parents aren't going to yell at us.”

He stood up. “We’re not sharing this bed.”

She laughed. This man. So cute. “I'm wildly impressed that you find me, in my yoga tights and oversized T-shirt, so tempting, but I'm exhausted. Rest assured, that hot body of yours is safe with me.” She grinned up at him. “At least for now.”

“It's not the sex, smartass.”

“The sex we’re not having?”

“Exactly.”

Lord, why did the man have to complicate this when she was so damned tired? “Then what is it, because I'd like to get to sleep and as stubborn as we both are an argument with you could take all night.”

He shook his head, scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know. I guess, all that talk about my family last night has me screwed up.”

“It’s understandable. You miss them. It probably stirs up a lot. Honestly, I don't know how you've separated yourself from your family and your friends for so long.”

“You get used to it.”

Not for a second did she believe he’d gotten used to it. He’d all but admitted it a minute ago. “Yes, but can you do this for the rest of your life? Miss out on all the milestones your family has?”

He blew air through his lips. “I don't know. I don't think that far ahead. That was Bobby MacGregor. Shane Quinn doesn't make plans. Shane takes it day by day.”

Faith’s shoulders flew back. Did he just…

Ohmygod.

“Bobby MacGregor. That's your name?”

He told her his name.

After two years of locking that shit down, of making sure the name Robert Charles MacGregor couldn’t be found in his apartment, his place of business, his car and safe deposit boxes — three of them that he'd spread his personal documents in — he’d just blurted it out.

Compromised himself.

And it was pretty damned easy.

Something about this woman made him take risks. Made him open up in ways he hadn't done since this whole nightmare started.

He wanted her.

And not just sexually.

He liked her. Enjoyed her company more than any woman he’d met in . . . hell . . . he couldn’t remember.

He met her gaze, fought a wave of emotion because, goddamn, he missed having loved ones. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m Bobby. At least I was.”

For a few long seconds, she sat there, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. Which, in reality, he probably had. She, of all people, knew you don’t share your deets.

“You’re still Bobby,” she said. “And thank you. For trusting me with that. It means … a lot.”

A loud bang sounded from the room next door. Shane bolted upright, the blood rush sending him to his feet and reaching for the weapon he’d re-holstered.

The bang sounded again, but it wasn’t exactly a bang. A pound maybe. Something hitting the wall.

Pound, pound, pound.

And then . . . shit. Were they moaning?

Still on the bed, Faith stared at him with wide brown eyes that sparked with humor. Her mouth fell open and she slapped her hand over her it.

“Jesus,” he said, when the pounding started again. “I bet it's the hooker. Apparently, they’re finding paradise.”

More moaning ensued and Faith swiveled around, staring at the wall as if she could miraculously see beyond it.

“John!” a woman shouted. “John, John, John!”

“Holy shit,” Shane said. “Is his name seriously John?”

Faith faced him again, her lips rolled in, stifling a laugh and her eyes? They were the killer. All wide and lit with amusement that made him think of rollercoasters and fun he hadn’t had in too long.

“Maybe she calls them all John,” Faith said. “Maybe, she doesn’t get personal. You know, like when we’re in the field. No emotional ties. No intimate moments. It’s all about the mission. Keeps her focused on the job.”

Shane cracked up. “Are you insane? You’re comparing a hooker to a highly trained government operative?”

“Hey, Leslie Larshot made a career out of it.”

Well, she had him there. “Huh. You might be on to something there.”

A loud cry sounded, then a grunt and…silence.

“I think they’re done,” Faith said.

Again, Shane laughed. “They must've exhausted themselves.”

While they were at it, they’d totally derailed the conversation on this side of the wall. Thank you, Hooker. But there was most definitely an elephant in this room. The one that had him revealing way too much about himself. And wanting things he shouldn’t want.

“Look, Faith.”

She held up a hand. “Your secret is safe with me. I promise you. If we manage to eliminate Brutus, assuming it’s Brutus who followed us, and Alfaro has found me. I'll leave Chicago. Staying puts you Dusty and Trevor in jeopardy and I won't do that.”

If there was an argument, he couldn’t summon it. Had it been only him taking the risk with Faith staying in Chicago, he’d do it. But Dusty and Trevor? No. He wouldn’t compromise them.

He walked toward the bathroom, grabbing his backpack on the way.

Time for a long, cold shower.

“This,” he said, “is why Shane Quinn doesn't plan ahead. I’m hitting the shower. Get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a long day.”