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Heavy-Set struggled to his feet. He pulled at Lanky’s arms, dragging his dead weight to the truck and barely missing shutting the door on his leg as it flopped uselessly out of the cab. They screeched out of the parking lot as if their taillights were on fire.
I turned to Mr. Sutherland with as much poise as I could muster and demanded, “What the hell? Why were you following me? What are you even doing out of the room?”
“I wanted to keep an eye on you. I wanted to make sure I could trust you.”
“So I’m untrustworthy because I deviated from your precious schedule?” I demanded. “What, you thought I was going to meet a co-conspirator at a diner, so we could plan the kidnapping of the most anal-retentive, fastidious vampire since Freud? You have more issues than National Geographic.”
Yes, Freud was a vampire, which, when you thought about it, made sense. It was the only plausible explanation for his theories’ maintaining academic credence for so long.
“I can’t see anything coming when I’m with you,” he bit out, his voice frustrated and gravelly. The cords of his neck stood out as he loomed over me. His hands rose as if he was going to grasp my arms.
I stood, teetering on the edge of a choice. Let him touch me, give in to the strange skittering thrill his voice sent up my spine, or move and maintain my sanity.
I grunted, backing away. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted back.
“Fine!” I huffed, turning on my heel toward the motel. I’d had enough of this crap for one night. What gave him the right to follow me? Spy on me? Let him call Iris. Let him tell her why I had to save his butt from redneck bystanders. Heck, she might hire me full-time. At the moment, I just wanted to shower and get some sleep before we had to get back on the road.
Mr. Sutherland kept pace with me, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure we weren’t being followed. “How exactly did you manage to overpower a man twice your size, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I stopped, tilting my head toward him. “Iris didn’t tell you about my background, did she?”
“Your CV did not include mentions of your amateur cage-fighting career, no,” he said as I unlocked my room door.
“Can you keep a secret?” I asked, giving a sly little grin as I leaned closer.
His lips quirked, and for the first time, I saw what his face looked like without that mocking veneer. His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners, twinkling at me in mischievous pleasure. “I’m a vampire. Of course, I can.”
“So can I.” With a sharp smile, I slammed the door in his face.
Motel showers were always a crapshoot. The temperature always seemed to hover between “weakly warm” and “human lobster.” And there was always the chance that you could find new friends with more legs than you, scuttling out from under the shower curtain. I really hated that. But the Pine Heights showers seemed bug-free, if lacking water pressure.
The rush of smacking someone around had finally ebbed, and I was drained of all energy. I had to lean against the wall to wash off the road dirt with a washcloth that could have doubled as sandpaper. I slipped into boxers and a wife-beater, enjoying the chance to go braless after more than eighteen hours of being lifted and separated. I towel-dried my thick hair, humming the melody to a Lady Gaga song and reveling in the thought of sleep.
After digging lip balm and a paperback—my nighttime essentials—out of my shoulder bag, I tossed the towel aside. I coated my lips in Burt’s Bees balm and found my place in my Catch-22. I’d only read two paragraphs before the door connecting our adjoining rooms rattled under thunderous, rapid knocks from the other side. Forgetting my braless state, I opened the door to find Mr. Sutherland wearing emerald-green monogrammed silk pajamas and a stricken expression.
Had I fallen asleep and woken up in a Rock Hudson movie?
He glanced down, eyes widening at my skimpy sleepwear. I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”
He grimaced, far more Tony Randall than Rock. “My wallet is missing.”
A DAY WITHOUT A SWORN AFFIDAVIT IS LIKE A DAY WITHOUT SUNSHINE
3
I laughed. There was no other choice. I could have sworn that Mr. Sutherland had just broken into my room wearing full-on Hefner PJs to tell me his wallet had been stolen. His wallet, which contained the credit card we were using to book hotel rooms and buy my meals, was missing. That was the height of fricking hilarity as far as I was concerned.
“Why are you laughing?” he demanded.
“Y-you’re wearing pajamas.” I giggled. “You’re not even going to sleep. You went to the trouble of packing pajamas, and you don’t—”
He glowered down at me. I realized that I was bent at the waist, hee-hawing like a fool, giving an agitated vampire a full down-to-the-navel view of my cleavage. I sobered and straightened, giving him an apologetic little smile.
“You’re sure it’s not in your room somewhere?” I asked carefully, wiping my eyes. “Or maybe in the car?”
“Do you think I would have knocked if I had not already turned my room upside-down looking for it?” he asked sarcastically.
