Chapter 11
Eleven
Iwake. But not like I have for years. Not suddenly, my senses instantly alert. No, I wake up slowly. Calm.
My arm is draped over Naomi's waist, her back pressed against my chest. I turn and look at her. She smells heavenly and looks even better, her face serene.
I shift slightly in the bed and realize I'm rock hard, embarrassingly so, like some goddamn teenager who's never touched a woman before. Hell, it’s been long enough that maybe there’s no difference.
Of course, the difference is sleeping peacefully next to me.
I slowly pull my arm away, trying to create distance between us without disturbing her. The last thing I need is for her to wake up and feel my body betraying how much I want her. The mattress creaks slightly as I shift my weight away.
Guilt washes over me. Not just because of my physical reaction, but because of how right this feels. I don't deserve that feeling. I haven't earned it. Men like me don't get to wake up next to a woman as beautiful as Naomi and feel anything but the weight of what we've done.
While I’m disciplined enough to pull my body away from hers, I’m not strong enough to tear my eyes from her face.
I can barely breathe, she’s so pretty.
I promised I would help her. I don’t think she understands just how far I’ll go to do that.
I don’t think I understand it either.
Suddenly, Naomi jolts upright beside me. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts, her eyes wild as they dart around the unfamiliar room. I can practically hear her heart hammering in her chest.
I react with practiced nonchalance, as if I haven't been watching her sleep like some lovestruck horndog. I shift my weight casually, making the bed creak just enough to draw her attention.
"Hey, you’re okay." I keep my voice low, steady, and place my hand on her shoulder.
She turns toward me, recognition slowly replacing the panic in her eyes.
"I..." She swallows hard. "Where are we?"
I hold out a hand, not touching her but offering the gesture. "It's okay. Motel, remember? You’re safe."
Her shoulders relax incrementally as reality settles back in. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, pushing it away from her face.
"What time is it?" she asks, voice still rough with sleep.
I glance toward the window where a faint grayish light begins to seep around the edges of the curtains. "Sun's threatening to take a peek, but not quite yet."
She nods, drawing her knees up to her chest under the thin blanket. The vulnerability in the gesture makes something twist inside me.
"I'm going to get some coffee," I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "You want some?"
She shakes her head. “Not yet.” A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "But I'll let you have some.”
I reach for my cowboy hat and set it on my head with exaggerated formality. I tip the brim toward her, playing along. "Mighty kind, ma'am."
Her smile widens before it falters. “I’m sorry about last night.” She can’t look at me now.
“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for.”
She shakes her head slowly, her look far away. “I know I questioned whether I could trust you. But I do.” I nod, not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything. She looks up at me. “But I never said thank you.”
I shake my head. “You did.”
Her eyes are open and earnest, and if I’m not careful, I’ll fall into them and never resurface again. “No. Not just for saving me. I said no one believed me. No one would listen. But you did. And you do. Thank you.” Her eyes lock on mine, intense, pure. Open. Yeah, I could happily drown in them.
My throat works, but I can tell my voice won’t. I simply give her a half grin and tip my hat to her. She smiles and lies back down.
I leave quietly, feeling steadier as soon as the cool morning air hits. It’s too quiet and too raw in there. My trip to the main office feels like a tactical retreat instead of just a simple coffee run.
She was just thanking me for helping her. Nothing more. All the wrong feelings are on my side of the ledger, not hers.
The office is dark when I approach, a handwritten sign in the window stating “Be right back." I try the door anyway and find it unlocked. The front desk is not staffed, as expected. I head straight for the coffee station in the corner. The pot sits empty, the machine cold.
Screw it. I'm not waiting. If I’m going to figure out our next move—if I’m going to gain control over myself and all the feelings swirling around that small motel room and inside this broken heart—I’m going to need caffeine.
I locate the coffee grounds in a cabinet beneath, measure them into the filter, and fill the reservoir with water. As I reach to switch the machine on, headlights sweep across the window, illuminating the small office in harsh white light.
A county sheriff's vehicle pulls into the lot and parks near the office. Just a morning patrol, or are they looking for something more? My pulse doesn't quicken—only Naomi seems to do that to me—but my mind accelerates, calculating angles and exits.
I count two deputies exiting the vehicles. It could be a random stop.
But could be is too thin to stand on.
I have maybe thirty seconds before they walk in. I make a decision. I unplug the machine, grip the cord with my teeth, and strip back about half an inch of the plastic coating. Exposed copper wire gleams in the dim light.
I grab a paper towel from the dispenser, wrap it around the exposed wire, and stuff it under the drip tray. Then I plug the machine back in and exit out the back.
I sprint when I’m behind the building and turn the corner on the other side, opposite from where the deputies parked.
As I round the corner, I slow to a casual walk.
My heart is so efficient I’m not breathing hard.
I peek around the corner and see the deputies sauntering toward the main office, then read the note saying no one is there.
I enter our motel room briskly, shutting the door quietly behind me. Naomi is sitting on the edge of the bed.
"We gotta go," I tell her, my voice low and urgent.
She's on her feet instantly, alert. "What is it?"
"Sheriff's deputies. They didn't come in guns blazing, so I'm not sure they're after us, but let's not test it."
We're already mostly packed to move since I was ready for this exact scenario. Naomi grabs her bag while I grab mine. Neither of us speaks as we work. It should be strange how well we move around each other, but it isn't.
We stand by the door, ready to make our exit. Naomi reaches for the handle, but I catch her wrist. "Wait."
Outside, I hear raised voices, the crackle of a radio, then shouting.
"Now," I say, ripping open the door.
Smoke billows from the main office about twenty yards away. The two deputies are frantically trying to contain the blaze, but I’m guessing that not only is there no attendant but there’s also no fire extinguisher.
We throw our bags into the truck bed, and I jump behind the wheel. I duck my large frame as low as I can. Naomi tucks her body on top of mine.
Now my heart races.
I will my attention back to the commotion by the office. I'm watching the deputies, waiting for the right moment when they're fully distracted. They're gesturing wildly now, talking into their radios, but their eyes are looking all over the complex.
"Hold on," Naomi says.
She slides away from my lap, and I have a pang of stupid, immature disappointment. "What are you doing?" I ask as she slinks down and out of the passenger seat.
Before I can stop her, she's ducking low, running along the bottom floor of rooms, and pounding on each door before racing back to the truck. She jumps in beside me, breathing hard.
Within moments, the doors along the motel start opening.
Bleary-eyed people emerge, taking in the scene of deputies, smoke, and fire.
Their reactions are immediate and predictable.
Some bolt for their vehicles, while others grab their belongings and run.
A couple argues loudly, drawing more attention.
The deputies are completely overwhelmed now, trying to manage both the fire and the sudden exodus of panicked guests.
"Drive," she says.
I slip the truck into drive and ease out of the parking lot, merging smoothly into the morning traffic.
I ease out onto the highway, watching the rearview mirror until the motel and its chaos disappear from view.
"How did you know to do that?"
Naomi shrugs as if it was nothing, but there's definitely some pride in those pretty eyes.
"I looked at that motel and figured that while it's unlikely another couple is on the run from nefarious government forces trying to reveal a dark secret that the government is trying to hide…
" She locks eyes with me, clearly as pleased with herself as I am with her.
"We weren't the only ones on the run from the law. "
"Well done, darlin’." I can't help but smile. Every minute I spend with her, she just gets more impressive. More attractive. Not just beautiful, but quick thinking, resourceful, brave. The kind of partner I would have wanted back in my operational days. The kind of woman I never thought I'd meet.
The kind I don't deserve.
But here she is, sitting beside me, trusting me with her life. And I'm trusting her with mine. It's been less than forty-eight hours since she first held a gun to my head, and now I can't imagine her not being here.
I glance at her profile as she watches the road ahead. The morning light catches in her hair, not lighting it up like when she was blonde, but still turning it golden at the edges.
An idea strikes me suddenly.
I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"I think we need to get married.”