Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (13 page)

She licked her lips, the warm taste of Keith’s mouth still tingling on her tongue. “Okay. Just for a little while.”

Through the sliver of moonlight that slipped through the crack in the curtains, Grace watched Keith sleep beside her. He looked almost boyishly sweet. A deceptive lie, she knew, but she couldn’t help thinking it just the same.

She blew out a breath. Daylight would come upon them soon and she knew she was in for another difficult day. She should go to her own bed and get some sleep.

She rose on her elbow to leave Keith’s bed, but unfamiliar noises assailed her. Outside, the wind rhythmically shushed through the glass pane of the window, dust scraped across the pavement, and the hotel creaked ominously.

Doubt bombarded her. What if they didn’t find Ryker? What if they found him...just not alive?

She shut her eyes tight, but it was no use. The noises grew and grew until the scraping sounds invaded the room, the familiarity of Keith’s soft snores her only comfort.

She drew her knees to her chest. The other bed looked larger than life and far too lonely. She’d never get any sleep in it.

Lips pressed together, she lowered herself next to Keith and laid her head on the empty pillow. What if he woke up horrified at the thought of her lying next to him?

God, she should be the horrified one, contemplating sharing a bed with the man she’d spent the last fourteen years abhorring. He was the villain in her tragic story; the person who’d stripped the core of her family from her.

And the only one who could make the tangible difference between fear and comfort.

She shifted on the bed and bumped his injured arm with hers. Her muscles tensed. She froze, clamped her lips together and waited for him to wake up and kick her out of bed. Instead, he rolled closer to her, flooding her with his warmth and strength. She tilted her head so it rested on her shoulder and sank gratefully against his body.

Oh. My. Lord.

She was sleeping with the enemy.

Chapter Eight

“This is the place.”

Grace pulled their newly acquired Ford Bronco into an empty space at the front of the building and killed the engine. She and Keith had abandoned the Jeep first thing this morning before making the two and a half hour drive to the small town of Page, Arizona.

She kept her eyes on the bright blue SecureStor sign, unable to look at Keith. Not after the way she’d awoken sprawled across him this morning.

Heat scalded her face, remembering the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. She’d expected him to do something—make a comment, kiss her senseless—but he’d simply given her a heavy-lidded inscrutable look, rolled from under her and out of bed to make preparations for the day ahead. She, however, couldn’t shake the embarrassment of the awkward moment.

“You have the cardkey?”

She flinched at Keith’s words, the first he’d spoken to her this morning, and hesitated. “Of course.” She turned her face to him, noting the strained shadows under his eyes. He’d refused the ibuprofen she’d set out for him. She wanted to kiss the tightness in his mouth away.

Her stomach flip-flopped. She swallowed hard. “How’s the arm?”

“What’s the unit number?”

So, he didn’t want her concern? Fine.

“It doesn’t have one.” She yanked the Bronco keys out of the ignition and put her hand on the door. “I’ll check at the office.”

“Good.” He unlatched his door.

“Let me do this alone. Please.” Grace hoped the management would prove more cooperative if she approached them by herself.

Keith narrowed his eyes, but miraculously stayed put.

She jumped out of the Bronco and strode to the entrance. Her chest tightened further with every step. This could be a dead end. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up.

And, yet, she couldn’t afford to give up hope either.

The bell above the door jingled when she pushed it open and crossed the threshold. She wrestled the cardkey from her pocket, heart revving, and stepped to the counter.

“May I help you?” The older woman at the desk raised a pencil-thin brow over her excessively made up eyes.

Grace slid the thin plastic rectangle across the dull white Formica. “Um...yes. My husband left this key for me. I was hoping you could tell me which unit it belongs to.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t give out that information. It’s against our policy. You’ll need to call your husband.”

“Yes, I understand that. But I haven’t been able to get a hold of him and I really need to grab some things from storage.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re just going to have to wait until you speak with him. There’s nothing I can do.” The woman turned her back on Grace, opened a file cabinet and busied herself with a bundle of papers.

Tears stung Grace’s eyes. She forced them back but couldn’t stop her heart from plummeting to her stomach.

Stop it. Don’t give up. You need this information. Fight for it.

Grace pulled Ryker’s picture from her pocket.
I’ll find you, baby.
“Excuse me?”

The clerk turned, frowning. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me...do you recognize this boy?”

Grace thrust the picture at the pinched-face receptionist, whose squinted eyes scrutinized the photo.

“As a matter of fact...He was in here day before—no it was yesterday—with Bob. He’d lost his key and needed a duplicate.”

“With...Bob?” Who the hell was Bob? “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Bob’s a regular. Has been for the past several years.”

She frowned. Several…years? “Can you describe him?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Tall. Short, short dark hair—almost black. Deep brown eyes. Very quick with a smile, kind of a lopsided one. I never forget a face, and Bob Moffitt’s a real looker if you ask me.”

She’d just described Mark to a T.
Mark and Ryker had stopped here yesterday!
Adrenaline spiked and buoyed her heart.
Oh, my God. Yesterday.
Her hands shook as she thrust the cardkey in the receptionist’s direction. “Could you check and see if this is registered to...um, Bob?”

The woman let out a long-suffering sigh. “Here. Let me see.” She plucked it out of Grace’s hand and tapped out a series of keys on her computer. Then she shot Grace a look full of suspicion. “What are you doing with Bob’s key? I’m going to have to confiscate this unless you have some proof that you’re authorized to have this.”

“Do you remember anything else about the boy with...Bob?” The foreign name made her stomach churn.

Mark Stevens. Bob Moffitt. How many other names were there?

She put the picture in front of the woman again, and shot a quick glance at the nameplate on the edge of the counter. “Margery. The boy, my son, his name is Ryker...did he look...healthy?” Her throat fisted at the thought of him sick, hungry, on the run. “His asthma. Did he look like he was, um, having trouble breathing?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that, honey. I gave him a lollipop and you should have seen him.” She waved in Grace’s direction. “He was bouncing off the cushions of those chairs.”

A sugar high
.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach. She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. She’d give anything to see Ryker in the throes of a sugar high right now, bouncing restlessly around the room with his charismatic bold grin.

But she’d take the second-hand image that filled her head for now.

“Did you say the boy’s name was Ryker?” Margery leaned forward with a glimmer in her eye.

Her throat squeezed. “Yes.”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember Bob calling the boy Ryker. It’s an unusual name.”

Grace sucked in a deep breath. Mark and Ryker really had come here yesterday. They’d stood in this exact spot. Her baby had sat on the same striped chair tucked into the corner.

She was close. So close to bringing Ryker home.

If the spark in Margery’s eyes and the softening of her sour expression was any indication, the lady was minutes from giving Grace the number to the storage unit.

She just had to close the deal.

Clenching her fist, she summoned all her anger, fear, and frustration and funneled them into a convincing lie.

“Damn him!” She slapped her hand on the countertop. “This is the second time he’s done this to me. Just taken Ryker and then up and disappeared. I have full custody, you know.” She nodded at Margery, noting how the woman had abandoned all pretense of organizing her files. “Bob may have taken everything else in the divorce, but not Ryker. No. He’s mine. And I’m sick and tired of Bob trying to take him, too.”

Margery’s eyes widened. “E—everything?”

“Oh, yeah. The house. The car—”

“The boat?” Margery’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter to lean closer to Grace.

Boat? What Bo—? She waved her hand in dismissal. “The boat too. And he hasn’t paid me a dime. No Alimony. No child support.”

“The rat,” Margery breathed. “I had no idea. Poor thing. Did he leave you for a younger woman?” Margery clucked. “It’s always a younger woman, honey.”

Grace shook her head. “Nothing like that. It doesn’t matter. Good riddance, I say. I just want my Ryker back.” Her voice wavered.

Lord, how she wished this entire mess was as simple as a custody battle. Why had Mark kept so much from her? She deserved to know the danger of his secrets. The cost of not knowing might still prove too great.

“As long as you’re here, though,” Margery said, “You might as well clean him out. I did the same to my ex when he decided to run off with some bimbo young enough to be his daughter.” She tapped the counter. “It was the most satisfying day of my life.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t...”

“He owes you.”

“Well...” Grace tugged on her lip. “Which unit did you say was his?”

“Unit?” Margery grinned. “Honey, he doesn’t have one of those dinky units. He rents the entire building in the back. Turn right out the door and take the first aisle all the way down. You can’t miss it. I think he took the Enigma, but from the amount of insurance Bob’s put on that place, I image there’s still lots of goodies for the taking.”

Grace pocketed her son’s picture and snatched the cardkey off the counter. She’d done it. She’d pulled it off. “Thank you so much, Margery.”

“Oh. My pleasure, honey. My pleasure. Good luck to you.”

His arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, but the dull, constant pain reminded Keith why he was here. He shifted his stance, resting his hip on the hood of the Bronco. Not for the first time since he’d broken out of rehab, he wondered about the men in his A-team. Duck, Trigger, Mort, Pigpen, Ski—and those were just some of the ones that survived the explosion. An ache knifed through his arm and he swallowed, dialing it back to a manageable steady pulse. How had they all dealt with the bullshit that was no doubt slinging their way? They couldn’t believe the allegations lobbed against him. Couldn’t believe he’d risk their lives by setting real charges instead of blanks, could they? Even drunk off his ass he wouldn’t mistake the two.

And as soon as they found Mark, he’d prove it.

Grace stepped outside and lifted a hand to him. He’d watched her through the glass as she tenaciously went after the clerk inside. Oh, he couldn’t hear her, but her body language told him all he needed to know.

She fought for those she loved. He’d never known a woman so determined, so strong. Dedicated to her son in a way he couldn’t begin to grasp, yet admired all the same.

She intrigued him.

A brief smile touched her lips and put a glow on her cheeks.

Enticed him.

The light wind stirred her golden brown hair about her face. She smoothed it behind her ears. This morning it had been tousled about her head.

Oh, hell. That’s one place he shouldn’t go.

But went there he did, remembering her leg across his, her hand fisted in his t-shirt, her head on his shoulder. Even fully clothed, he’d felt her heat. Smelled that cinnamon and vanilla scent that should not have been sexy, yet, somehow on her, the combination caused his insides to tighten and fanned his lust from a small spark to a raging inferno.

To spare her an awkward explanation, he’d pretended like it was no big deal and promptly took a cold shower. But the tension still lingered and he wanted to act on it.

“You okay?” She tipped her head. “You’re not feeling feverish are you?”

He ran his gaze across her high cheekbones, those full, sensuous lips, then back up to her eyes that deepened with concern. “Maybe you should check.”

Her brow furrowed. “Um. Okay.”

She stepped forward and lifted her hand, her fingers grazing his forehead and sending a shot of pure desire through him.

He jumped off the Bronco’s hood and wrenched his head away. “What did you find out?”

She dropped her hand and deepened her frown. “Mark—or maybe I should say
Bob
,” she clarified with a grimace, “has rented an entire building here for the last few years.”