Authors: Marie E. Blossom
He grimaced, trying to get his mind back
on work. He opened the door and put a foot up, about to climb in, when his cell
phone rang. When he eased it out of his pocket, he didn’t recognize the number.
Should he answer? It rang again, buzzing against his palm. Shit. What the hell,
he was already totally distracted. He ran a thumb over the display and put it
to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this John Steele?” a male voice asked.
“Yeah.
Who is this?” John leaned against his truck, ignoring his sister
waving at him from the doorway.
“Look, you’ve got to come and get her.
She’s sick. And she didn’t pay her bill for the last two days.” The man sounded
irritated and hoarse, as though he’d been smoking a lot.
Or
yelling.
John frowned. “Who the hell are you and
what are you talking about?”
“I’ve got a woman in my motel, name of
Lisa
Parkins
.”
John sighed. “I don’t know anyone—”
The man cut him off. “She’s wearing a dog
tag and your name is on it.”
John
froze,
the
muscles in his neck and shoulder suddenly knotted. “Long dark hair? Blue eyes?”
he barked out as his heart gave a thump. The man said she was sick. Shit.
“I don’t know about long, but it’s dark.
She has blue eyes and what looks like an infected cut on her leg. Bruised up,
too, hurt her ankle. If you don’t come get her, I’m going to call 911. And
since she paid for two days with cash and kept looking behind her the whole
time, I get the feeling she wouldn’t want that.”
“No! Don’t call them, I’m on my way.” John
said, already in his truck. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder so
he could buckle up. He paused as he shoved the key in the ignition. “Where are
you?” Shit, his shoulder was knotting up. He ignored the pain. No time to deal
with it now.
“Rainer Motel, out on
78.”
The man hung up.
“John! Where are you going? You didn’t
finish your lunch,” Janet called, walking barefoot down the porch steps.
“No time,
gotta
go, sis,” he said, turning the key and shutting the door. He was frantically
typing the location into his GPS. He had no idea how long it would take to get
there,
dammit
.
“It’s Sunday. Why are you working today?”
Janet came up to his truck. She’d wrapped his sandwich in plastic.
He looked out the open window. “I’m sorry
Janet, something came up.”
She shook her head, shoving the food at
him. “Here, at least take this with you.” She stepped back and folded her arms
over her chest. “I told them not to bother you about Beth’s aunt.”
He stuck the GPS back on the dash and
looked at her. “You knew about the postcards?” Everything in him was urging him
to
hurry, hurry now
, but his oldest sister was looking at him as though
she knew exactly what he was doing and he couldn’t ignore her. She was the one
who’d done the most to put him back together after Afghanistan.
And then again after Matt.
“Yes, of course.” She cocked her head.
“You really liked her.”
He shrugged, ignoring the way the movement
pulled on his bad shoulder, still tight and painful from the muscle spasm he’d
gotten during the phone call. He shouldn’t have stuck the damn cell between his
ear and shoulder.
Stupid.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
She pursed her lips. “You do what you’ve
got to do, but you should think about why a woman you met one day months ago
still means so much to you.”
He stared at her. How the hell did she
know these things? “Yeah,” he said again, at a loss to explain what he was
feeling.
His sister just nodded and stepped back.
“Okay. Love you. Be careful.”
He put his truck in gear, not even trying
to hide what he was feeling from her. “Love you too.”
Three hours later John pulled the truck
into the dusty parking lot of the most dilapidated motel he’d ever seen. It was
just off the interstate, but clearly it wasn’t a popular stop because the sign
was broken and only three of the buildings were in habitable repair.
What the hell was she doing here?
he
thought, worry gnawing at his gut. He got out of the
truck and slammed the door. Jesus. Even the golden hues of twilight couldn’t
make the place look any better. He straightened his spine, wincing at the crack
his upper back made, and went inside.
A man slouched at the counter, desultorily
paging through a worn car magazine. He was middle-aged and balding and his
t-shirt had seen better days. He looked up as John walked over.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here for Lisa.” He nearly stumbled
over the name, remembering at the last minute that she’d used a fake one.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man looked down, flipping a page in his magazine as if John wasn’t standing
right in front of him.
John took a deep breath. Punching the guy
wouldn’t help. He fished out his dog tag. “
This look
familiar?”
The man looked up slowly,
then
sat up straighter when his eyes landed on the sliver of
metal dangling from John’s fingers. “
That thing say
John Steele on it?”
John leaned over the counter, holding it
out. “See for yourself.”
The man stood up for a closer look.
“Yeah.
That’s the one,” he said under his breath. He
straightened up. John stepped back, trying not to cough at the reek of
cigarette smoke that drifted off the man.
“Glad you’re here. She didn’t look so
great this morning.” The man reached under the desk and pulled out a key, an
actual metal key, not a key card. John didn’t know whether to be horrified or
thankful.
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or the
police?” he asked, following the man back outside.
The guy shrugged. “She begged me not to.
I’ve got a soft spot for the ladies.”
John tamped down his anger.
“A soft spot?”
Yeah, more like soft in the head.
The man stopped, obviously sensing his
hostility. “Look, my sister was married to a guy who thought it was fun to
knock her around. I punched him once, and she got mad at
me
, the stupid
twit.
Wouldn’t leave the asshole.
So I know what that
kind of shit looks like, and if a girl who looks like that begs me not to call
the goddamn cops, I don’t.”
John clenched his teeth. “Then why did you
call me? For all you know I was the one who hit her.”
For the first time the man looked away.
“She was hanging onto that tag around her neck like it could save her from the
world.”
John’s heart gave a hard thump. “She was
wearing it?”
The guy flicked a contemptuous glance at
him. “That’s what I said.” He started walking again. “Come on. She’s in number
ten.”
“Why the hell did you get close enough to
her to read the tag?” John was still angry.
If this man had
hurt her…
“For God’s sake, give me a break. I’m the
one who called you, remember? She did something to her ankle, so when she came
in to get a room, she fell. The string holding the tag around her neck broke. I
picked it up for her. That’s all.” He knocked on the door.
The man was either lying or his appearance
hid a sharp mind. John wasn’t sure he cared as he stared at the flaking paint
peeling off the door in front of them. The man knocked louder.
“Lisa? You got a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
Liselle’s
voice sounded weak. John had to fight not to push past the guy and just knock
the door down.
“It’s Gary.
From the
desk.
I’ve got your friend here.”
“My friend?”
Liselle
asked, sounding a little
stronger.
“
Liselle
, it’s
me,” John called out, ignoring the sharp look the guy sent his way when he used
her real name. “I’m coming in.” He turned to Gary when she didn’t reply. “Give
me the key.”
Gary frowned at him,
then
handed it over when John glowered. “I’m going to call the cops if you do
anything stupid.”
“I’m not going to hurt her,” John replied,
growing more pissed as the minutes ticked by. She could be seriously injured
and he had to stand out her talking to this guy. “I would
never
hurt her.”
The man must have seen something in John’s
face because he backed off.
“Fine.
I’ll just wait
here.”
John shoved the key in the door, unlocked
it, and pushed it open. The curtains were drawn and it was dark inside, but he
could make out
Liselle
on the bed. She looked pale
and she had her eyes closed like she hadn’t just been talking through the door
at them.
“Jesus, is she okay?” Gary called.
John hurried to the
bed,
put a hand to her face. She was cool, but pale. He switched on the bedside
light. She had dark circles under her eyes.
“You said she hurt her ankle?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Gary said, inching just inside.
John pushed the covers away from her legs,
recoiling at the sight of the dirty bandage covering her thigh. She had on
shorts and a t-shirt. He inspected her leg, looking for streaks or bruising,
but didn’t find anything. Her ankle looked a little swollen. He touched her
foot. She jerked awake, swinging her leg away from his hand.
“
Shhh
, it’s
okay. It’s me, John,” he said, cupping her knee.
She stared up at him, eyes glassy. “John?”
“Yeah.
Hey, what happened?”
She shook her head, eyes drifting shut.
“Hungry,” she muttered.
Shit. “When was the last time you ate?” he
asked her.
She grimaced.
“Maybe …
yesterday?”
He growled under his breath. “Gary, do you
have something to eat? Canned soup or juice or anything?”
“Do I look like a restaurant to you?” the
guy asked.
John glared at him and the man sighed.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Give me a minute.” He walked out of the room and John turned
back to the bed.
“Hey, can you sit up?” He shoved some
pillows against the headboard and propped her up. “What happened,
Liselle
?”
She shook her head, looking exhausted. “My
dad found me somehow.”
John grunted. “He did this to you?” He
gently touched a yellowing bruise high on her cheekbone.
She nodded. “I had to run. All I had was
my duffle.” She gestured weakly at the bag near the dresser.
“Jesus. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve
helped you.” He took her hand in his. It was cold, even though it was a warm
night.
She shook her head. “Not your problem.” To
John’s frustration, she slid her hand away.
“Here. My wife’s chicken soup,” Gary said,
walking in with a mug.
John looked at the man, and Gary nodded
toward the bed. “See that she gets better,” he said gruffly, then left.
John held the mug to
Liselle’s
lips.
“Drink.
You’re probably dehydrated and hungry.”
She sipped at the soup. When she’d
finished most of it, he let her lie down again. “I’m taking you home with me,”
he said. He wasn’t sure she heard him, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave
her here like this.
Chapter Seven
Liselle
woke slowly, every muscle in her body protesting as she
experimentally moved her arms. She groaned and tried to roll over, then gave
up. She was warm, at least, though her leg hurt. She grimaced, then opened her
eyes and gasped. This wasn’t her motel room! Adrenaline shot through her,
making her wince as she put weight on her bruised arm.
“Hey, take it easy, you’re okay,” a
woman’s voice said.
Liselle
swallowed and let the gentle hand push her back down. She looked
around, calming down marginally when she recognized the space: she was in
John’s bedroom. The windows at the far end of the room were dark, but the room
was brightly lit with two lamps and an overhead lamp. She felt like total crap,
but happily she remembered where she’d heard that particular voice before.
“Janet?” she croaked. “What—” She broke
off, coughing. Her throat was very dry. “How did I get here?”
Janet smiled as she deftly taped down a
fresh bandage on
Liselle’s
thigh. “You’ll have to ask
John. He called me to
come
look at your leg.”
Oh
,
Liselle
thought.
That’s why my thigh hurts. My dad
pushed me into the wooden fence back in Arizona.
She swallowed again,
forcing her sluggish brain to wake up. “John brought me here?”