Chapter Two #2
Room twelve sat at the far end, with the truck parked directly in front of it and the office on the other side of the lot. I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and reached inside to turn on the light before I let Crystal cross the threshold.
The lamp beside the bed clicked on and filled the space with dull amber.
One queen bed. Brown coverlet. Scratched nightstand.
A square table with two chairs near the window.
A dresser with a scarred top and a television bolted to it.
The window unit shoved cool air through the stale motel air with a rattle that sounded like loose coins in a dryer.
The curtains were thick enough to block the parking lot but old enough that light bled around the edges.
I checked the bathroom first.
Crystal stopped just inside the door and looked around. “I’ve made mistakes with better decor than this.”
“The decor isn’t in charge of keeping you contained.”
“Neither are you, if we’re being philosophical.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s a shame. You’d look good brooding over a tragic thesis.”
I pushed the small bathroom window up half an inch, then shut it and tested the latch. It held. The glass opened toward a narrow drop behind the motel, where a trash bin sat under a security light and a strip of weeds pressed against the cinderblock.
Crystal appeared in the doorway behind me. “Are you worried I’ll squeeze through that?”
“I’m worried you’ll try.”
“Would that impress you?”
“It’d annoy me.”
“That’s not a no.”
I looked over my shoulder. Her pale hair had slipped forward, half hiding her face. Dust streaked one cheek. Her tank clung to her in places I had no business noticing. She was tired, hungry, and still lit up from the inside with pure, stubborn fight.
“It’s a no,” I said.
“Liar.”
The word came softly.
Not a tease that time.
I stepped past her before the bathroom got too small.
“You can clean up,” I said. “Door stays unlocked. I’ll be right outside. I won’t open it unless you give me a reason.”
“Do I get my hands back?”
“You get enough room to wash your face.”
“That sounds like something printed in a hostage handbook.”
“That sounds like you want to argue instead of wash.”
Crystal held my gaze for a beat. Then she lifted her hands. “This is where you have to come closer, Tolliver.”
My last name in her mouth did something dirty to the air.
I moved in anyway and kept my touch controlled. I adjusted the restraint so she had the reach she needed, nothing more. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers. The pulse at the inside of her wrist beat fast and steady, like she was scared and furious about being scared.
She didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
The bathroom light buzzed overhead. The air smelled like bleach, motel soap, and the faint dusty sweetness of her hair.
“You’re not what the picture said you were,” I said.
Crystal’s eyes narrowed. “Pictures say a lot of things. Usually wrong.”
“Yours said quiet.”
“Maybe I photograph well.”
“It said careful.”
“I was careful. You still caught me.”
I released her wrist and stepped back. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“No,” she said. “I know exactly what you meant.”
She went into the bathroom and pushed the door mostly closed.
I stood on the other side and listened to the sink run.
Not because I wanted to imagine water on her throat, though my mind went there like it had packed a bag.
I listened because there was a window, a towel bar, a trash can, a toilet tank lid, and a woman inside who looked at barriers like they were personal insults.
The sink shut off.
“Do all recovery agents listen at bathroom doors,” she asked, “or is this another upgraded package?”
“All recovery agents listen for escape attempts.”
“I’m washing my face.”
“Congratulations.”
“With motel soap. I might need medical attention.”
“You’ll live.”
“Men love saying that when the beauty industry is under attack.”
I stared at the ceiling and fought a smile.
I didn’t lose that fight often.
The door opened a moment later. Crystal came out with her face damp, hair pushed back from her cheeks, and her mouth bare of dust. That should’ve made her look softer.
It didn’t.
It made every sharp part of her clearer.
She’d scrubbed away the road grime and left the defiance.
Her eyes were light blue under the cheap bathroom glare, not gentle and not pleading.
The flowered ink at her ankle had darkened where water had dripped down her leg.
One strap of her tank had slid low on her shoulder, showing the top curve of the anchor-and-compass piece at her back.
Everything that mattered on paper said Crystal Kemp stood in front of me.
Everything breathing in front of me said paper didn’t know the first damn thing about her.
My phone buzzed once. I checked the screen.
Coordinates confirmed. Vehicle recovery pending.
Good.
I set the phone face down on the table and went to the vending machine outside, after putting her where I could see her through the open doorway and taking the room key with me.
The machine did, in fact, need a kick to the bottom left corner.
I came back with two waters, peanut butter crackers, and a bag of pretzels that had probably entered the machine during a previous presidential administration.
Crystal sat on the edge of the bed, boot heels on the carpet, posture too straight for a woman who hadn’t slept enough.
I tossed the pretzels onto the bed beside her.
She looked at the bag. “Dinner and a show.”
“You want something else, don’t run through the woods at dusk.”
“I’ll update my meal-planning strategy.”
I opened one bottle of water and set it on the nightstand within reach. “Drink.”
“You always bossy with women in motel rooms?”
“No.”
Her gaze flicked to mine.
The answer had come too fast and too honest.
I opened my crackers because doing something with my hands was safer than looking at her. “Most women in motel rooms aren’t wanted by the court.”
“Most?”
I took a cracker from the sleeve. “Eat something.”
“You’re dodging.”
“I’m feeding you.”
“You can multitask.”
“I can. I’m choosing not to.”
Crystal picked up the pretzels with both hands and tore the bag open with her teeth. The motion should not have gone straight through me.
It did.
It had been months since I’d had a woman in any bed I could call mine.
That wasn’t because I lacked options. A man with a truck, a clean shirt, and no ring could find company in most towns if he wanted to make bad decisions and leave before breakfast. I’d done my share of that.
Less lately. Work had a way of sanding the appetite off a man when every highway led to someone else’s worst night.
But this wasn’t a bar. This wasn’t a willing woman smiling from the next stool because she liked the look of my hands.
This was a fugitive sitting on a motel bed, eating stale pretzels like she wanted to bite the world, and I was the man responsible for getting her to daylight without letting her run, seduce, or claw her way through a wall.
I looked at the chair.
The chair looked like it had been built for regret and lower-back damage.
Crystal followed my gaze. “You’re not sleeping there.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You’ll wake up shaped like a question mark.”
“I’ve slept in worse.”
“Was it voluntary, or did another woman make you chase her into the woods first?”
I drank water and leaned back against the dresser. “You ask a lot of questions for someone avoiding mine.”
Her pretzel bag crackled. “Maybe your questions lack charm.”
“Why’d you run?”
The question cut the humor clean out of her face.
Her fingers stopped inside the bag, and her chin angled down half an inch before she lifted it again.
“There it is,” she said.
“It’s a simple question.”
“Simple questions are where men hide traps.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Congratulations. You’re one of us.”
I let the silence hold. Not as a trick. She’d fill it if she wanted to. She’d fight it if she didn’t.
Crystal set the pretzels aside. “I told you. I didn’t do what they said.”
“Who’s they?”
“The people with better paperwork.”
“Names help.”
“Names get people killed.”
Her fingers dug once into the coverlet beside her knee before she made them go flat again.
I crossed my arms. “You’re saying somebody framed you.”
“I’m saying I didn’t steal from anyone.”
“Then why miss court?”
Her laugh came out without humor. “Because courtrooms are famously excellent at stopping bad men before breakfast.”
The back of my neck tightened.
That wasn’t the answer of a woman trying to duck a theft charge because she wanted a head start. That was the answer of a woman who’d learned the official doors didn’t always open fast enough.
“Bad men,” I said.
Her eyes met mine, bright under the lamp, and her chin lifted another fraction. “Don’t start looking useful now.”
“I’m useful.”
“You’re a man with a badge-shaped job and a motel key.”
“I don’t have a badge.”
“Good. One less thing to polish.”
I pushed away from the dresser. “You want me to believe you, give me something I can check.”
“I don’t want you to believe me.”
“Bullshit.”
She stood so fast the pretzel bag tipped onto the coverlet. “You want the truth? I want you to turn this truck around, forget you saw me, and go find someone whose life fits neatly into your forms.”
“That isn’t happening.”
“I know.”
“Then give me the next best thing.”
She stepped toward me, stopping just close enough that the overshirt slipped off one wrist and hung between us. “The next best thing is you getting some sleep so I don’t have to die in a ditch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re tired.”
I looked down at her.
She had to tilt her head back to hold my stare. The position should’ve made her seem smaller. It didn’t. Crystal looked ready to come up swinging even from below me, which only made the picture in my head worse.
That energy under me.
That mouth turned loose for something besides a fight.
Those legs wrapped around my hips instead of braced for escape.
My dick went heavy and hard again, and this time there was no steering wheel to hide behind.
Crystal’s eyes dropped.
Only for a second.