Hunted (Riley Cray) Page 4

  “Okay. I’ll be there in five,” he said before hanging up, leaving me holding the phone and staring up at the ceiling.

  “Man, I am in so much trouble,” I muttered, the tendrils of arousal receding but not withdrawing completely.

  Dislodging Loki from his place draped across my legs, I ducked into the small alcove to splash cold water on my face and run a brush through my hair. Leaning over the sink, I considered my reflection.

  Eyes the color of a wintry sky stared back at me, golden flecks reflecting the light overhead, hinting at the wolf that lurked just beneath the surface. Water tracked down my face, trailing over flushed high-set cheeks to drip from a narrow chin. Apart from the slight flush in my cheeks my skin was the same pale Scandinavian coloring as my grandparents and dad, the dark, curly hair and short stature the only features I’d inherited from my mother. Running wet hands through my hair, I tried to coerce it into some semblance of control, before shrugging and deciding that it wasn’t ever going to cooperate.

  Tucking my jeans into big fluffy socks, I’d gotten one boot on before Holbrook knocked. Hobbling to the door with the other boot in hand, I flipped back the security lock and opened the door wide enough for him to slip into the room, the icy wind chasing him inside. Stopping just inside the door he rubbed his bare hands together vigorously to warm them, the ruddiness of his cheeks making his forest eyes sparkle.

  “Give me a sec,” I said as I limped back to the rumpled bed, perching on the edge to pull on my other boot.

  “No problem,” he replied, his voice colored with amusement.

  Rooting through the duffel bag on the other bed I pulled out my scarf, a pair of gloves and a hideous, but dearly loved, woolen hat complete with ridiculous bobble that my grandmother had knit for me when I was a sophomore in high school. It was one of the last things she had ever made for me.

  “So, what are you in the mood for?” Holbrook asked, his words innocent though the warmth of his accent made them sound lascivious.

  The fierce pulse of need that shot through my gut was so unexpected that I fumbled my gloves, dropping them on the floor. My stomach tightened with hunger as the wolf raised her head, licking her lips hungrily.

  You, naked and sweating beneath me.

  I bent to retrieve them, hiding my blush behind the fall of my hair, all too aware of his presence. His gaze was a palpable heat, tracking down my spine to the curve of my ass. Straightening, I whirled around to face him, prepared to catch him staring at my butt, but instead found him inspecting a callous on his thumb.

  “Something deep fried and smothered in gravy,” I croaked, my voice sounding tremulous and husky to my ears.

  “There’s a diner across the parking lot,” he offered, his face the picture of virtue though the minute twitch of his lips belied his innocence. “That work?”

  Not trusting myself, or the wolf, to say anything that didn’t include the words “fuck me” and “now,” I just nodded and hummed in agreement.

  Donning my jacket and scarf, I buried my nose in the soft folds that smelled of wood smoke and home. Tugging the wooly hat on, pulling it down over my ears, I looked up to see him regarding me with laughter shining in his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nice hat.”

  I was about to stick my tongue out at him when he removed a black shape from under his arm and plopped a cowboy hat on his head, adjusting it until it sat just right.

  “Ditto,” I fired back with a smirk, voice muffled by the layers of my scarf.

  “Why, thank you ma’am,” he said, disarming me with the brilliance and sincerity of his straight white smile.

  God, that smile could break hearts and drop panties in a millisecond, I thought with a wistful sigh, confused by the desire to trust him implicitly.

  I’d spent so much time hiding away from the ugliness of the world that I’d almost forgotten that not everyone was only interested in the parts they could hurt and exploit. I was dazzled by the pure honesty of his smile and how it made his eyes sparkle with warmth and openness.

  “Ready?” he asked, unaware of the way that he enchanted me.

  Nodding, I snatched the room key from the night stand and shoved my hands in my jacket pockets, ready to brave the cold.

  The diner was only a quick jaunt across the parking lot, but the blowing snow and mine field of pot holes made it treacherous and slow going. By the time we reached the front door of the diner we both bore a thick layer of heavy, wet snow and bright red noses. Ducking under Holbrook’s arm as he held the door open, I stamped the snow from my boots, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to warm my toes.

  Removing his hat, Holbrook gave it a shake to dislodge the snow that had settled on the brim, before putting it back on, making a show of tipping the brim while winking at me. Chuckling, I rolled my eyes at him, tugging off my hat and stuffing it into a pocket.

  As the chime of the bell above the door died away I puzzled over something in the sound of it, like something half remembered from a dream, twisting a knot of fear in my stomach. Before I could delve too deep into the source of my discomfort a middle aged woman in a faded, but recently pressed, uniform pushing her way through the swinging door from the kitchen. The scent of her bleach bottle hair wafted to me across the diner, and I fought against the urge to wrinkle my nose at the astringent smell, busying myself instead with tugging off my gloves and scarf.

  The rubber soles of her utilitarian shoes squeaked on the ancient tiled floor as she shuffled towards us, her sluggish gait speaking of long hours on her feet. A worn down pencil was pushed through the tangle of her hair where it was gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Just the two of you?” she asked, her voice warm despite the tiredness in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders.

  “Please,” Holbrook answered, flashing his brilliant smile at the waitress.

  Taking two menus from beside the antiquated cash register she led us to one of the booths beside the large windows. “Will this be okay?”

  “Perfect, thank you,” my well-mannered companion replied, and with a tilt of his chin gestured for me to slide into the booth first, leaving the seat facing the door open for him.

  Sliding onto the creaking vinyl I tried to ignore the tension that settled between my shoulders, dancing over my skin like icy fingers along with the feeling that someone was watching me. Scouring the diner and parking lot outside for someone looking at us, I didn’t see anyone except for our waitress and the diner’s lone customer who sat several tables away, deeply immersed in shoveling steak and eggs into his mouth. Gritting my teeth against the unnerving sensation, I gave my head a small shake to dislodge the feeling, attributing the cold tremors in my gut to the chill emanating from the window beside us.

  I thought about taking off my jacket, but as another shiver rippled through me, I settled instead for just unzipping it and shaking off the last few flakes of snow that hadn’t melted.

  “Can I get you folks some coffee? Tea?”

  “Coffee for me,” I said, rubbing my cold hands together.

  “Iced tea please, ma'am,” Holbrook answered with a smile as he shrugged out of his jacket to reveal a red plaid shirt unbuttoned over a pristine white t-shirt and dark blue jeans that hugged his hips in a rather intriguing way. I wondered if I'd find the pointed toes of cowboy boots peeking out from beneath the hem of his jeans if I looked down. Sneaking a glance around the edge of the table my suspicions were confirmed.

  Crap on a cracker! I've got a bona fide Marlboro man on my hands, I thought, hiding my snort of amusement behind a cough.

  “Aren’t you a little underdressed?” I asked, eyeing his boots and resisting the urge to examine just how well his jeans fit.

  Giving me a slow wink he replied in a stage whisper, “I’m undercover.”

  Snorting at his response as he slid into the booth across from me, my amusement dimmed somewhat when I noticed the barely visible bulge under his left arm. When I concentrated a
nd drew in a deep breath I caught the scent of metal and gun oil beneath the woody smell of his cologne and the rich, sugary notes that were just him.

  “You ready to order, or do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?” our waitress asked, plucking the pencil from her hair and pulling a small spiral notebook from the pocket of her apron.

  “A couple minutes would be great...” Holbrook said, leaning forward to read the nametag pinned to her uniform. “Betty.”

  “I'll be back with your drinks in a minute,” she said, tucking the pencil back into the cloud of her hair. “Can I get you a refill, Jim?” she called out to the only other patron in the diner, a middle-aged man with thinning grey hair escaping from beneath a Denver Broncos baseball cap.

  “How's your room?” Holbrook asked, drawing my attention back to him.

  “It’s umm...” I floundered, not wanting to insult him and let him know that I thought it was a total shit hole.

  “Bit of a dump, right?” he asked with a chuckle, removing his hat and setting it next to him on the seat before opening his menu. I watched as he trailed his fingers through his short hair, smoothing out the indents left by his hat, and couldn’t help wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

  “Something like that,” I responded distractedly, my fingers twitching with the desire to touch him.

  Thankfully Betty saved me from having to come up with any other witty repartee as she shuffled back to our table with our drinks. The steaming cup of coffee that she set down in front of me was a God send, and I eagerly wrapped my fingers around the hot mug.

  “You folks ready to order?” she asked, once again retrieving the stubby pencil from her hair and pulling her notebook from the pocket of her apron.

  “Umm...” I stalled, flipping over the menu, ignoring the way it stuck to my fingers and smelled of imitation maple syrup, and picked the first thing my eyes landed on. “I’ll have the French dip with fries.”

  “Chicken fried steak, eggs over easy, sour dough toast,” Holbrook said quickly, efficiently.

  I wonder if he fucks the same way, my mind piped up, the suddenness of the thought making me choke.

  Flushing all the way to the roots of my hair I prayed for the ground at my feet to open up and swallow me whole, saving me from further embarrassment.

  Way to go, Genius! my inner voice cheered with no small amount of sarcasm. Somewhere deep inside the wolf was rolling her eyes at me and huffing in frustration at my lackluster seduction tactics.

  Don Juan, I am not.

  “Anything else?” Betty asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me as if she could sense the depravity of my thoughts.

  Trying not to choke on my tongue I just shook my head, blushing even more at Holbrook’s questioning look.

  Someone just shoot me now.

  “I’ll put your orders in,” she said slowly, still looking at me with suspicion as I slid down in my seat.

  Watching Betty amble away, I let out an embarrassed huff and busied myself with doctoring the cheap diner coffee into something drinkable.

  “So, whose Wheaties did you piss in?” I asked after a while, breaking the silence while stirring creamer into my coffee.

  “What do you mean?” Holbrook responded, dumping an ungodly amount of sweetener into his tea.

  “Well, I figure you had to have seriously pissed someone off to end up on babysitting detail,” I mused, wrapping my hands around my cup, relishing the warmth seeping into my fingers, before taking a sip.

  Some old pain flickered across his face, there one moment and smothered the next by his brilliant smile.

  “Nah, it's nothing like that. Just low man on the totem pole I guess,” he said with a shrug.

  While his easy smile made him seem relaxed enough, there was something withdrawn in his eyes that said I had hit upon a sore point. Not wanting to alienate the only agreeable human company I'd had in months, if not years, I let the subject go.

  Silence descended on the table and I turned my attention to neatly stacking the empty creamers one inside the other, doing anything I could think of to keep my hands busy and firmly planted on my side of the table, rather than tearing Holbrook’s clothes off and ravaging him on the spot. My thoughts were running away with me, and I could feel my cheeks darkening with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

  “You okay?” Holbrook asked, rousing me from a particularly sordid daydream of me riding him while he wore his hat and boots.

  Hi ho, Silver!

  “Yeah, why?” I said, amazed that my mouth was capable of doing anything besides drooling.

  “You look a little...flushed,” he replied, his expression full of professional concern while the curve at the corner of his mouth made me wonder if I’d been making lewd gestures with my hands of exactly what I wanted to do to him.

  “Must just be from the cold.”

  “Uh huh,” he mused with a smile. I hated that his smile was so damned sexy. It seemed so unfair somehow.

  At that moment Betty came over and set down our food, once again saving me from myself. She was quickly being elevated to Sainthood in my mind.

  She is getting the biggest tip ever! I thought as I tried in vain to ignore Holbrook smiling at me from across the table, and instead concentrated on drowning my fries in ketchup.

  Popping a fry into my mouth I risked a glance at my companion and couldn’t keep the longing off my face as he lifted a fork laden with chicken fried steak and thick sausage gravy towards his mouth. It was a tossup as to which one I craved the most – his food or his lips. Catching my look he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and after rolling his eyes at me set it down. I watched confused for a moment as he reached across the table to grasp the edge of my plate, pulling it towards him.

  “Hey!” I started to protest, falling silent a second later when he pushed his own plate towards me. “Thanks,” I murmured as I lifted the fork and took the first bite of warm gravy with just the right mix of pepper and sausage.

  I hummed aloud in bliss as I chewed. It wasn’t as good as my grandmother’s sausage gravy had been, but it came damned close. Holbrook didn’t say anything, just nodded, smiled, and took a bite of his sandwich.

  I was relieved when the rest of our dinner conversation was limited to whether the food was okay and how bad we thought the snow might get. Nice safe topics that didn’t include anyone getting eaten or naked.

  * * *

  The tightening of Holbrook’s shoulders let me know something was amiss before I caught the ashtray and sour sweat smell of Johnson approaching our table. Thick flakes of snow dusted his shoulders and clung to his slicked back hair, melting into the white strands. His face was flushed from his quick jaunt across the parking lot, but he seemed oblivious to the cold, his eyes narrowed with tension and something else that sent tendrils of dread curling through my middle.

  “We have a problem,” he said, his voice tight as bright blue eyes settled on me with anger and a hint of what looked to be disgust.

  “But I just ordered pie,” I said¬, my gaze lingering on the approaching slice of apple pie, the big dollop of vanilla ice cream on top just starting to melt into the crumbly pastry.

  “So?”

  “What do you mean?” I began to protest, falling silent at the minute warning shake of Holbrook’s head in the corner of my eye. “Never mind,” I sighed, gathering up my scarf, and digging a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of my pocket.

  My longing for pie was soon forgotten once we got back to my motel room. In fact, I doubted I’d ever want to eat again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I SAT ON the edge of the bed in the motel room, the food from the diner sitting as a greasy, leaden weight in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the fuzzy, off-color picture on the small TV screen. I’d turned the volume down after the first few minutes of the report, unable to listen to the gruesome details recited in the cheery voice of the young, pretty news anchorwoman. Besides, the images flashing across the screen pretty mu
ch spoke for themselves.

  Samson had escaped from prison just over forty-eight hours ago, leaving three guards dead and another two in critical condition. The doctors thought one of them might pull through, but it didn’t look like the other would live more than another day. And now, two more bodies had been found close to the Colorado border in New Mexico.

  For the last few minutes a dour-faced reporter had been talking about the latest victims, the garish neon sign of a gas station making the blonde wisps of his hair gleam green and yellow. Something about the out of focus background niggled at a half forgotten memory in the back of my mind, but the more I tried to reach for it the more it seemed to slip away, sinking into the darkness.

  Johnson and Holbrook stood huddled next to the door, their heads bowed close together as they talked in hushed tones, not that my wolf hearing wouldn’t be able to pick up what they were saying if I wanted to. They were arguing about whether or not we should move on to another location, and had been for the last ten minutes.

  As I watched the camera pan back to the polished blonde anchorwoman, an expression of professional and detached empathy plastered across her perfectly applied makeup, I suddenly felt each and every second of the last several hours. It was as though the grime covering my body was sporting its own layer of dirt and sweat.

  “I’m taking a shower,” I declared to no one in particular as I rose from the bed and fished a pair of sweat pants and a faded Denver Art Museum t-shirt out of my bag. “Let me know if you guys decide to hit the road again.”

  Snagging my toiletry bag from the counter I ducked into the bathroom before either of the agents were able to respond, and shut the door behind me with a sharp click. For a moment I thought about locking the door, but what was the point? I was getting the distinct impression that Johnson didn’t even like me, so I didn’t think it was likely that he wanted to get a peek at me in the shower. And if Holbrook wanted a look, well, I’d gladly let him do that. And more.