Chapter 4 #2
She fumbled and pressed the keycard against the lock.
The little bar flashed to green, and Emerson shoved open the door.
Darkness greeted her. She didn’t remember turning off the light, but she must have done it before they’d gone to the police station with Misty and Timothy.
Emerson kicked the door shut. She didn’t immediately turn on the lights.
Instead, she stood with her back pressed against the door, with her heart racing far too fast in her chest, and she let the darkness surround her. Comfort her.
It was so easy to hide in the dark.
“Emerson…” She heard Gray’s voice quite clearly. After all, the door was paper-thin.
But she didn’t respond to him.
Was he going to knock? Demand that they talk? Was he going to tell her how sorry he was about her father? Was Gray going to look at her with more pity when she needed him to stare at her with that wild desire? A desire that had made her feel so incredibly alive and wanted ?
He didn’t knock.
Didn’t do anything but walk away. When she strained, Emerson could pick up the soft pad of his steps.
He was leaving her. Check. That was exactly what she’d asked for.
They needed space. She needed it. Emerson waited until she heard the creak of his door opening, and then her hand reached out, and she hit the light switch.
Illumination immediately flooded overhead, shining down on her and the room.
Chaos.
Emerson’s eyes widened.
Furniture had been overturned. Her suitcase had been ripped open and the contents scattered across the room. Her clothes appeared to have been torn—or slashed—into pieces.
And, big, dripping red letters hung over the bed, letters that formed?—
You’ll die.
Letters that promised her death.
Emerson stopped breathing. Her eyes snapped closed.
Don’t be a delusion. Don’t be. I can’t—I can’t be like him. Her greatest fear, right there, surrounding her, but maybe, maybe when she opened her eyes, things would be normal again.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath expelled.
You’ll die.
The chaos and destruction remained.
He could have handled the scene differently.
Could have done a thousand different things instead of just gazing at Emerson like the cold-blooded bastard that he was.
The woman had poured out her heart to him, and, in turn, he’d reacted by gaping at her.
Had he really buried his emotions down so deep that he didn’t know how to respond fucking sympathetically to someone? To her?
But by the time Gray had realized that he’d frozen, it had been too late. He’d tried to reach out to her, but Emerson had pulled back. Shut down. No, shut him out.
And letting her go had seemed the kindest choice.
Especially since he’d already screwed up colossally with her earlier.
Should never have gone into her room. Should never have kissed her.
Should never have gotten so close to fucking her.
Why the hell had he told her how he really felt?
He should have kept his need to himself.
So what if he’d seen the same lust in her eyes, if he’d caught her watching him with her hungry stare as she nibbled on her plump, lower lip?
Yes, he’d understood that she was attracted to him. But he could have kept his own damn mouth shut. Ignored the attraction.
He had not.
The last twenty-four hours had been a real cluster of a situation for him. If Trevor the Jerkoff hadn’t interrupted Gray and Emerson…
I would have taken her, and there would have been no going back. Not for either of them.
He pressed his keycard to the lock. The light flashed green. With his jaw clenched, he pushed open the door, flipped on the lights and?—
What. The. Hell?
Battle-ready tension poured through Gray because his room had been completely trashed. The mattress had been dumped on the floor. The sheets ripped away. His suitcases had been emptied, his suit bags opened and…
“Oh, the fuck, no,” he breathed as he shot forward. But, the fuck, yes, some punk with a death wish had slashed his five-hundred-dollar suits. A punk who would pay.
Gray yanked out his gun as he spun and surveyed the scene. Anger pumped in his blood. Red letters had been spray-painted on the wall. Letters that dripped and distorted but were still clear enough to understand.
Leave. One word. Just that. Leave.
The welcome wagon had clearly come to greet him in Briar, Tennessee. He would have preferred a gift basket and not slashed suits and a destroyed room but?—
Emerson.
He was already running toward the connecting door. Gray doubted he’d been the only one to get an unwelcome visitor. The perp wasn’t in his room any longer, and Gray had a sudden, stark fear that Emerson had walked into her motel room just to find some bastard waiting on her.
“Emerson!” Gray shouted her name. He grabbed for the connecting door on his side. Opened it. But her door was still locked. Screw that. He didn’t hesitate. Just lifted his foot and kicked in the door that barred her room. It flew forward even as he burst into Emerson’s motel room. “Emerson!”
A fast glance took in everything.
The trashed bed.
The clothes that had been ripped and thrown around the room.
The painted threat on the wall over her bed. You’ll die.
And…Emerson. Frozen near the motel’s front door, with her back pressed to the wood. But her gaze whipped toward him. Her breath shuddered out. “Gray?”
“Did you search the room?” He was already doing it even as he asked the question.
Peering into the closet. Looking under the bed.
Checking the tiny bathroom. “The bastard is gone.” Fury bled in every word.
“The fuck you’ll die. Can’t believe some angry prick left that message for you. ” He bounded toward her.
She seemed rooted to the spot.
Worry rose to twine with his rage. “Emerson?” His right hand retained its grip on the gun, but his left reached for her. Touched her shoulder.
She flinched. “I-I don’t have delusions.”
What? He glanced over his shoulder. “No, baby.” His stare returned to her. “This isn’t a delusion. Some creep broke into your room and mine. They are both trashed.”
She shook her head and seemed to snap to attention. “Right. Both. ” Another shake of her head. Her gaze sharpened. Darted to his gun. Then back to his face. “You’re okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. ” He nearly roared with his fury. “The prick slashed my suits.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. Not the suits.”
She could not be mocking him. Not then. “Emerson…”
“Did you call me…baby…earlier?”
Damn. He might have. “No idea.” Yes, he had.
Definitely. “We need to make sure we weren’t robbed.
My laptop was in the room’s safe. Didn’t even check to see if it was still there.
” Because he’d hauled ass to her. “Search to see if anything of yours was taken.” He whirled away from her.
Glared at the wreckage. “Do you know how many fingerprints are in motel rooms? No way will a crime scene team find anything useful.” And there sure as hell hadn’t been any cameras outside their rooms. The only camera he’d seen had been in the small check-in office.
That office that would be his next stop.
He hurried back to his room. Opened the safe. Good. The laptop was still there. Not that seeing it did anything to lessen his fury.
“Nothing was taken.”
His head jerked toward the connecting doorway. Emerson stood there. Beautiful, fragile Emerson in her high heels and with her dark hair falling softly around her face and smudges of exhaustion beneath her gorgeous, sapphire eyes.
She hadn’t slept all night. Neither had he. And this piss-poor motel was not providing any security. He should have done better with her. He’d just—hell, he’d thought they’d be in and out of Briar, Tennessee. Not like he’d planned for a long haul.
I should have taken better care of my partner. This won’t happen again.
Because that was what Emerson was. Partner. Not a lover. He could not, would not cross that line. It was too dangerous. Not because of her. Because of him. Because as he’d learned when he finally tasted her, his control did not hold when he had Emerson in his arms.
“Gray?”
“You’re not fucking dying,” he snarled.
“Good to know.” Her gaze dipped to his bed. Over it. To the message painted there. “Guessing someone isn’t keen to have us in town, huh?”
“Probably one of Trevor’s buddies. Word must have spread about his arrest.” And Gray had left Emerson’s room when Trevor came knocking. So he’d shined a bright signal on their location. But, still… “I’m talking to the desk clerk.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Sure, she was. Damn straight. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
In moments, he and Emerson were entering the small check-in office. The bell overhead jingled when they entered, and he couldn’t help but tense.
Fucking bells jingling make me nervous now. Because of another case. The first he’d worked with Emerson.
“You again?” The young clerk grimaced at him. “Thought you were all settled with a late checkout.” She blew a big bubble. Popped it. Sucked it back in her mouth.
A game show played from the TV on the wall. One of those twenty-four-hour game show channels.
He ignored the TV. He had tucked his gun into the back waistband of his pants. No sense terrifying the woman working the desk. “Our rooms are trashed.”
She grimaced. Raised her dark brows even as she twirled a lock of very blond hair. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the status for all the rooms here. Sorry. Not like it’s the Ritz. You get what you pay for, you know?”
“They aren’t trash. They are trashed ,” he emphasized. “They are?—”
“Someone broke into our rooms,” Emerson cut in to say. “Destroyed our belongings. Spray-painted our walls.”
The clerk stopped chewing her gum. Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“No, I joke about stuff like this for shits and giggles,” Gray snapped.
“Gray,” Emerson tried to soothe.
He put his hands down on the counter because he was not in the mood to be soothed.
He was in the mood to kick ass. My suits are destroyed.
Worse, someone had been in Emerson’s room.
Someone had threatened her. With his eyes locked on the clerk, he questioned, “Did you see anyone near our rooms while we were gone to the police station?”
The clerk—her name tag identified her as Sherry—shook her head. “But I wasn’t exactly watching your doors, you know?”
She seemed to say “you know” a great deal.
“Supposed to stay in here,” Sherry added. “Answer the phone and stuff.”
“You have any other cameras around here that might have caught sight of an intruder?” Gray pushed.
Again, Sherry shook her head. But she asked, seemingly curious, “What was painted on your walls?”
“Oh, the usual. ‘You’ll die,’” Gray quoted. “‘Leave.’ Typical, fun greetings from a small town.”
Sherry resumed her gum chewing. Slower now. “Does this mean you don’t want that late checkout?”
He growled.
Emerson’s fingers skated up his arm. “Who is in room four?”
What? Gray’s head swung toward her. He found her staring straight at Sherry.
“When Trevor was out there screaming for Misty,” Emerson explained, as if she could hear the question he hadn’t voiced, “I saw the lights turn off in room four. They went off in room three, too.”
Gray nodded. “People trying to hide from trouble. Acting like they’re asleep or not there so they don’t have to get involved.”
Emerson’s head dipped in agreement. “Only the people in room three came out when the cops arrived. They gave statements. No one ever answered the door in room four. I noticed that the lights were still off when we passed the room moments ago.”
“Well, it is late,” Sherry mused. “Or, you know, early, depending on how you look at it.”
Behind them, someone solved the big puzzle on the game show. There was thunderous applause from the TV.
Gray ignored the applause because Emerson had just made him very, very curious. “Who is in room four?”
Sherry tapped on her computer. “I’m not just supposed to tell you guest names…but, seeing as you’re a Fed…”
A Fed without a warrant, but sure, whatever.
Sherry’s dark brows snapped together. “No one.” She looked up. “No one is checked into room four.” Her lips pursed. “You must have made a mistake. Lights were probably always off.”
No, they had not been. He’d seen the lights.
So had Emerson. “If no one is in the room,” he said, keeping all emotion from his voice even as rage still twisted within him.
Someone broke into Emerson’s motel room.
Someone trashed her room. Mine. “If no one is inside, then there is no reason you can’t unlock the door to room four and let us in. ”
“Well…” A pop of a bubble. “Sure, why not?”
Why not, indeed?
She led them to the room. Unlocked the door and swung it open. “You can see for yourselves,” Sherry declared as she poked her hand inside and flipped on the lights. “No one has been—” But her words stopped.
Because someone had been inside. A can of red spray paint sat in the middle of the bed. Something that had been deliberately left behind. As if…
As if you wanted us to know that you were here.
Gray pulled his gaze off the spray can and glanced at Emerson. She stood behind him, but was peering into the room, and he knew she’d seen the spray paint, too.
Leave. His message.
And, for her…
You’ll die.
The hell she would.
“That’s weird,” Sherry noted, voice catching a little bit. “The spray paint isn’t supposed to be here, you know?”
“I know,” he returned grimly.