Agent Bride. Beverly Long
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But he started feeding in his dollar bills.
Stormy had seemed a little reluctant to get out of the car. And he’d had the craziest urge to want to keep talking to her. Maybe they could have traded baseball trivia. She’d surprised him with that one. Her eyes had lit up and he’d gotten a glimpse of what her face would look like without fatigue and cold clouding it.
He’d felt an attraction to her. And that, ultimately, had been what had kept him from chatting it up in the car. She was either someone’s fiancée or someone’s wife. Off-limits.
Just two years ago, he’d had to pick up the pieces when his best friend on the team had gotten a Dear Leo letter. Leo’s wife had met someone and had filed divorce papers. Leo had gone a little crazy and Cal had been seriously worried that the man was going to make a mistake that could take the whole team down.
He didn’t ever want to be in the middle of something like that. So he’d said goodbye to Stormy and accepted that how she came to be in that snowdrift, in her wedding gown, was going to be one of life’s unanswered mysteries. When he’d checked in, he’d verified that there were phones in the room. Hopefully, by now she’d made her calls and help was either on the way or, at the very least, relieved to hear that she was okay.
He had just pressed the last button when the door opened. Two men, both wearing long black coats and dark pants, came in. The taller man had an ugly scar, running from the corner of his eye to halfway down his cheek.
Both men gave Cal a cursory look but focused on the desk clerk. “We are looking for our cousin,” the taller one said. His tone was low, almost guttural, and he’d turned his back to Cal. But Cal, who had always had excellent hearing, didn’t have any trouble making out the words. The guy had a slight accent, clipping the end of his words, rolling his r’s just a little. Maybe Russian.
The man held out his smartphone so that the clerk could see something on the screen.
“Pretty bride,” the clerk said.
“Yes, very beautiful,” the tall man said. “Have you seen her?”
Cal casually reached into his pocket and fed in another dollar. Took his time considering his choices.
“Nope,” said the clerk. “I’d have remembered her if she’d checked in,” he added with the exuberance of a horny young male.
The two men looked at each other. They were frustrated. Trying to hide it but not doing a great job.
“It is very important that we find her,” said the shorter one. “She would have arrived within the last hour.”
The desk clerk nodded. “Sorry I can’t help. I’m the only one here. If she’d have rented a room, I’d know it. There are a couple motels down the road another ten or fifteen miles. You may want to try there.”
The two men nodded and walked out the door. The shorter one had a stiff left leg, swinging it from the hip, rather than bending it at the knee. Cal grabbed his purchases and stepped back into the main office. Glanced out the window. They were driving a black Mercedes. They pulled out, headed east.
Cal held up his bag of chips. “My favorite,” he said. “Should get me through the night.”
The clerk shrugged and picked up his phone.
Cal pulled up the collar of his coat, opened the door and walked back to his vehicle. Once inside, he started it and flipped on the wipers to clear the windshield of snow.
Pretty bride.
Very beautiful.
Arrived within the last hour.
One only had to be smarter than the average bear to figure out that they were talking about Stormy, or whatever her real name was. And they seemed pretty determined to find her. Cal figured they’d be back for a second check once they got up the road a ways and nobody had seen her.
Really wasn’t his problem.
He glanced in his mirror and sedately pulled out of the lot.
She took a shower and stood under the hot spray for a long time. She stared at her wrists, rubbed them with the washcloth, noting that they were tender. Bruised.
She shampooed her hair, carefully rubbing the bump and the open cut. It stung a little but she figured that was a good thing. Even though it was just a small cut, it was probably a good idea to get it cleaned out.
Not that getting an infection was her biggest problem.
She got out of the shower, dried off and used the small bottle of lotion provided by the hotel. She rubbed Mango Magic on her legs, her arms, her hands. She thought her knuckles were chapped from her time in the snow but realized that they were skinned up and several of her nails had broken off, leaving a jagged edge behind.
She had a very vague recollection of grasping something with her hands, slipping off, grasping again. Hanging on.
She could feel her anxiety mounting and she told herself to breathe deep, to not try to force it. She towel-dried her hair, wishing she had a comb. At least the hotel had provided a blow-dryer. She used it, running her fingers through her hair, jerking when one of her jagged nails caught a strand and pulled.
She used her finger along with some soap to brush her teeth. Then she rinsed and rinsed, feeling as if had been days since her teeth had been clean.
She opened the bathroom and was very grateful that she had a towel wrapped around her because Cal Hollister was sitting on her bed, back propped against the headboard, arms behind his head.
He was chewing on a stick of red licorice.
What the hell? “Get off my bed,” she said, working hard to keep her tone even. She would not let him see that she was scared to death.
“No.” He reached down to the end of the bed, where she’d left his T-shirt, sweatpants and her underwear. He scooped them up and tossed them in her direction.
She reached automatically and almost lost her towel in the process.
“Get dressed,” he said.
She stepped back inside the bathroom and slammed the door. Looked for a lock but there wasn’t one. Of all the nerve. He may have saved her life but who did he think he was coming here, surprising her, putting her at a disadvantage? She yanked on her clothes, grateful that she’d put the strapless bra in the pile, along with her panties. Once she was finished, she looked around the small room for a weapon. Saw the only thing that might work. A minute later, she walked out, her hands together, casually cupped at her belly button.
She crossed in front of him, sat in the chair near the door. His duffel bag was on the floor, near her feet. From this angle she could see that he had an assortment of candy bars and chips on the bed next to him. “Going for a sugar high?” she asked.
“Always.” He tossed her a Hershey’s candy bar. She let it fall in her lap.
“Got these from the vending machine in the office,” he said.
She waited. Where was this going?
“While I was there, two men came in. Squirrelly-looking guys. Lots of black hair and gold jewelry. One guy has a big scar on his face. Other one had a bad knee.”
He was watching her. “Okay,” she said.
“They showed the desk clerk a picture of someone on their phone. Someone, according to the clerk, who was a pretty bride.”
She could feel her stomach clench. “What did the clerk say?”
“Said he didn’t have anybody here that resembled the woman.”
She felt some of the pressure lift off her chest. “They left?”