Silent Masquerade. Molly Rice
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like I’ve come to strip you of your virginity. Here, I bought this earlier, thought we could extend the evening a little with a nightcap.” She moved past him, set the bag down on the desk and pulled out the wine.
He should have been impressed that she’d made such a gesture. Instead, an image of Cara and the stranger came into his mind, followed by an image of himself drunk and Cara and the man bending over his helpless form.
His mind went into overdrive. She was taking glasses from the tray on the desk, putting ice into them, and her back was to him.
Swiftly he pulled his belt from the loops of his pants and banded it around Cara’s upper body, imprisoning her arms at her sides. The element of surprise kept her silent long enough for him to gag her with a washcloth. A moment later, he had her in the desk chair and was using his tie to secure her ankles to the chair legs.
She attempted to speak, but the gag stifled the sound, and Bill kept working methodically, ignoring her pleas.
She must have been a plant, he told himself. Al- varetti’s people must have somehow located him and sent her to make sure. The guy in the elevator was probably her contact.
Bill’s hands trembled as he made one last knot. He hadn’t even been on the run a week, and already they’d found him. Alvaretti’s posse would probably be showing up next. He wondered how much time he had.
He got to his feet and looked down at the girl. Her eyes were wide, dark with pleading. He forced himself to look away. “Sorry, darlin’, but better you than me.”
He was packed and out the door in minutes, grabbing Cara’s room key off the desk, where she’d set it down when she started to fix the drinks. There’d be something in her things to show him who she really was, who her contact was, what their plans for him were. Something to show him what his next move should be.
He made a rapid, efficient sweep of her room...and found nothing.
Nothing but a journal. He opened it to the last entry, planning to read back as far as he needed to find out the truth. He read the letter to her mother.
He sank to the bed as he read of Cara’s dilemma. Of the way her mother’s fiancé kept coming on to her, of how she loved her mother and couldn’t bear to see her hurt. He read that she’d threatened to tell her mother the truth about Harvard and that he had warned her that he would say she was lying, speaking out of jealousy, that she was the one who wanted him. Cara’s mother would believe her fiancé, because she was so enamored of him and since she was already angry that Cara didn’t seem to approve of their upcoming nuptials.
He felt numb as he replaced her notebook in the small gym bag, noticing how pitifully few things she’d taken away with her. He was going to have to go back and untie her, explain why he’d gone nuts like that.
But he couldn’t really tell her everything. She might be exactly what she appeared to be—a kind of heroine who would sacrifice her own life to spare her mother’s pride—but he couldn’t confide in her. For one thing, it would only put her at risk to know the truth. If Alvaretti’s people connected him to her and began to question her, she’d be less of a threat if she knew nothing.
Maybe he’d do better to just move on, leave her where she was. The maid would find her in the morning. It wasn’t like she was in danger. She’d be a little uncomfortable for a few hours, but that was all.
He slipped down the hall, staying in the shadows, and eased out the back door. Once outside, he headed for the saloon across from the motel, going around back, where the parking lot was located. He’d find a truck, get in back, and hitch a ride without the driver knowing he had a passenger.
There were no trucks back there, but it was early yet. By midnight the place would be jumping, and there were bound to be a couple of truckers among the revelers.
He huddled near the Dumpster behind the bar, trying to keep warm.
He must have dozed off. Male voices startled him into awareness. He smelled the unmistakable fragrance of marijuana smoke and heard one of the men inhale deeply and then exhale raggedly. “Don’t hog it all,” one of the men said harshly.
Bill was afraid this was going to turn into a long, drawn-out affair, but after a little conversation and a lot of smoke he finally heard the screeching sound of a metal door opening. For a moment, the noise in the bar could be plainly heard in the dark, otherwise silent night. And then the door clanged shut, and Bill knew he was alone again.
He was about to climb into the back of a semi when a vision of Cara snaked through his mind. Had he tied her too tight? He hefted one leg up onto the floor of the trailer, then hesitated. What if she got thirsty with that terry-cloth rag in her mouth? He hoisted his body up and turned to make sure no one had observed him getting into the truck. By morning she’d be really cramped from sitting in that chair all night. He stood up and started to slide the door shut.
He could see her face as clearly as if it were there in the darkened truck with him, the eyes so frightened they’d become dark as night.
* * *
BILL’S HEART thumped wildly as he tore across the street and ran through the lobby of the motel, not caring what others would think of his mad dash. He didn’t know how he was going to explain his behavior to her, or what he’d do if she threatened to call the cops, which she had every right to do. He had to chance it. He just couldn’t leave her tied up like that.
He didn’t wait for the elevator, but took the stairs two at a time.
He felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath his feet as he came to a panting halt in front of the open doorway to his empty room.
The chair where she should have been held captive had been replaced at the desk, and as his eyes scanned the room, he saw that his belt and necktie were neatly placed across the pillows on his bed.
Still disbelieving, he cautiously made his way into the room and crept over to the bathroom. Nothing. The room was neat as a pin, with no evidence of his earlier crime. The girl was gone, along with every sign that she’d been there. Even the two glasses she’d filled with ice were replaced on the tray on the desk, and the bottle of wine was gone.
He made the trip down to her room far more sedately than he’d reentered the motel. When he came to her door, he wiped his brow with the back of his arm before knocking.
He was prepared for anger, prepared for righteous indignation and outrage. He was even prepared for the cops to be lying in wait for him.
“Come in,” a pleasant voice called out. “It’s open.”
He stood in the doorway and looked across the room to where she was seated at a table in front of the window, a floor lamp casting a soft glow across her hair and face.
She had a plastic glass of wine lifted to her lips. A crossword-puzzle book lay open in front of her.
“Hi, Bill,” she said calmly.
“I...I...”
“You’re just in time. Do you know a six-letter word for dangerous?” She picked up a pencil and held it poised over the puzzle page, an expectant look on her face.
“I’m...sorry.”
She shook her head, and her silky hair flowed around her chin. “That’s only five letters.”
He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sorry, Cara. Honest to God, I’m really so sorry.”
“Well, let’s see,” Cara said, meeting his pleading eyes with a steady look, “you attack me in your room as I’m attempting to pour us a glass of wine, and then you tie me to a chair and gag me, and then you go off and leave me there with no way to call for help. Did I miss anything?”
He didn’t—couldn’t—reply.
“No? Okay. Well, I guess that’s everything. And now you say you’re sorry. I’m sure you are. And indeed you should be,” she said, in that