14. Juliette
Chapter 14
Juliette
J uliette closed the motel room door and leaned the back of her head against it. The room felt more homey tonight… peaceful in a way it hadn’t in months past. Even the police scanner, with its steady blinking lights, the low hum of crackling voices, was somehow soothing.
Juliette sighed and flipped the lock, tossing the thought aside the same way she was kicking off her sneakers. She couldn’t stay here, and she knew it. Her night with the detective would make things more complicated, more dangerous—too risky. But for now, every inch of her skin was warm with the memory of his mouth.
They’d watched the sunset bleed across the sky from the hood of the car, him sitting behind her, gently stroking her arms, planting chaste kisses along her throat and shoulder until she’d asked him to drive her home. The longer she’d stayed, the more her brain tried to convince her that her future was here—with him. And she’d already made far too many mistakes.
Juliette slipped Jason’s cell from her back pocket.
Every cop she’d ever known would have asked for that damn phone, but Ronan hadn’t—she hadn’t offered. And she definitely hadn’t told him who her ex was.
But she had told him about her scar. That had been an egregious error. If Daniel ever found out… her mother would die far sooner than she should. Or worse. He could always do worse than death.
Her scar prickled—angry. So fucking stupid.
That was precisely the reason she needed to leave the city—why she’d told him he needed to go home tonight instead of watching the motel or, riskier, staying in her room. She’d already let her guard down too much.
Earlier today, she’d been pondering the notion that Ronan was a dirty cop. Then she’d gone to the morgue. She’d spilled her secrets anyway… because he told her she was pretty.
Beautiful , he’d said. Beautiful .
Her chest clenched. It was only a matter of time before she let her real name slip. And the second she did, she was fucked. She had faked her own death. She’d tried to frame a man for murder, lit his house on fire. And she was wanted for worse—for things she couldn’t even think about. No detective could ignore all of that, and under the current circumstances, her past crimes would look even more damning.
In the crime-fighting business, they’d call that “a pattern of behavior.” She was a deviant. The justice system believed that she belonged in jail.
Ronan would too.
Juliette glanced down at the dark cell phone, then climbed onto the bed, stretching up to slide it beneath a ceiling tile. Maybe she should just give it to Ronan. It was no good to her, and he clearly knew that she had it—keeping it just made her look more guilty.
At least if she turned it in, she could say she picked it up in a state of shock. It wouldn’t explain away her being in the morgue—Ronan clearly knew why she’d been there. But she also didn’t think he’d tell anyone else.
But why exactly was he protecting her? That was the part that didn’t make sense. She didn’t think it was about sex—she was the one who’d come onto him… twice. And if he had real feelings for her, he’d have spoken to her before he found her standing over Jason’s corpse.
Juliette carefully replaced the ceiling tile and stepped off the bed. Even without the cell, Ronan would soon have access to all the information on it. All the numbers Jason had called. One way or another, the case would soon be over. And she’d be gone. Tonight’s sunset might be the last time she ever felt safe.
Her eyes burned, but the hairs on her neck were prickling, and it took her a moment to figure out why—headlights? Juliette frowned and stepped to the window. She paused with her fingers on the rough plaid curtain, then peeled it back just enough to peek beyond the panes.
A yellow Taurus sat near the front of the lot. It had been there yesterday, too, a car seat in the back—she’d seen the mother bundling her toddler into the motel. But the dark car in the back of the lot was new. As she watched, the headlights flicked off.
She smiled. Was Ronan standing guard outside her motel room again? She’d give his freaky ass another show. But… no, she’d watched him leave. And why were all the hairs along her spine standing on end? Usually, when she saw Ronan, she felt calm, safe even, but?—
That’s not him. The realization smashed into her guts like a wrecking ball. That definitely wasn’t his car. Yes, it was dark blue, but the vehicle shape was wrong—the headlights weren’t right either. Maybe a Buick, and… a super old one at that.
Juliette’s heart squeezed, ribs tightening around her lungs. Maybe they were waiting for someone. Maybe they’d leave. Maybe this had nothing to do with her. Why the hell did I tell Ronan to go home?
Seconds ticked by as if time was made of molasses. Her blood was too hot, the tips of her ears burning. She glanced at the bedside clock. Five minutes passed. Ten.
No one went out to meet the car. The driver did not exit, the barest hint of streetlight shining off his glasses, bulky rings glinting when he shot his arm out the window. Smoking, as if he planned to stay awhile.
Juliette backed away from the window on leaden feet. What should she do? The phone in the motel room was broken, and Jason’s was useless without the passcode. And even if she had a phone, what if she was wrong? What if Ronan thought she was crazy?
No, that wasn’t what she was worried about… what if she was right ?
Juliette slipped her sneakers on and tied them. She snatched her switchblade from the bedside drawer. Then she made her way across the room and through the door at the back.
The bathrooms in each room were located on the far side of the building, which meant there was a second way out. That was always a requirement when she was scoping out places to stay. You never knew when you might need an escape hatch.
The shower curtain was held up by a spring-loaded tension rod—a lesser weapon than the blade, but she’d rather not get too close if she could help it. And she couldn’t just run away. She needed to know for sure—needed to know whether he was actually here for her.
The window latch squeaked. But the glass slid aside easily.
Juliette hauled herself through and dropped down into the dark shadows behind the building.
Thorns tore at her ankles, snagging her shoelaces as she ducked beneath each window along the back side of the motel, the curtain rod clutched in her fist. She turned left at the corner, another full row of bathroom windows leading to the end of the U-shaped building. When she emerged on the far side, she’d be steps from the shadowed woods that ran behind the parking lot. He might not see her before it was too late.
That was what she was counting on.
The end of the motel approached. Juliette peered around the corner. The man in the car was barely visible, but she could see his glasses reflecting the streetlight’s glare—still facing her room.
Juliette rushed from the motel and into the trees, picking her way over dewberry and thicket, head ducked low. The man did not move as she approached. Rust coated his rear wheel. The back bumper was held on with duct tape. How had she thought for even a second that this was Ronan?
Because it was pitch black here. And… she’d wanted it to be Ronan and not some sleazeball hiding in the dark.
Juliette ducked behind the taillights. Smoke wafted from the open window, one arm flicking out to ash a cigarette. He had a compass tattooed on his wrist, the directions replaced by shapes: a star for north, a diamond for east, three triangles for south, waves inside a circle for the west.
Now, Juliette. Go now.
Juliette leaped from the shadows and jammed one side of the curtain rod into his throat— what if he shoots you? But it was too late for second-guessing.
The man’s eyes widened. He dropped his cigarette to the asphalt, hands up—stunned. “What the fuck! Get away from me, you crazy bitch!” His neck was bright pink, scraped by the rusty rod.
Juliette pressed the curtain rod harder against his Adam’s apple. He wasn’t her ex—Daniel rarely did his own stalking—but was he here on Daniel’s orders?
“Are you following me?” she demanded, twisting the metal.
He shook his head in a stunted jerky motion and raised one hand to this throat, but his movements were lethargic, wary. He was clearly worried she’d ram the rusty metal into his neck, damage his trachea. Maybe kill him.
“Are you kidding?” he croaked.
No weapons in his lap. None on the seat. The console was wide open, revealing a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and a family-sized sack of Starburst.
She loosened her grip, pulling the rod from the open window, but she kept it at the ready, held against the top of the window frame. “Why are you sitting back here?”
“Who are you, the fucking meter maid?” When she just stared, the curtain rod poised for action, he sighed.
“I’m… jonesing,” the man said. “Okay? I was supposed to meet someone here, get a fix. But this ain’t worth it. I can drive downtown.”
He kept his left hand raised in supplication and reached out to crank the ignition with his right. She didn’t stop him. Juliette stood in the shadows, staring after the car as it bumped over the curb, clanking like it had dropped something vital, then squealed onto the main road.
She scanned the lot, then the trees, the metal rod still clutched in her fist. All was quiet. Not a single motel curtain twitched—no one had seen her assault a man in the back of the lot. And now that the supposed threat had vanished, it felt as if she’d imagined the whole ordeal.
Was she crazy?
Or was she right?
The problem was, she couldn’t tell. She’d never been able to tell until it was too late.
No one could make a woman feel insane like Daniel fucking Graves.