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“Hey! Let go of me!”
“Quiet.”
“No, I will not be quiet.”
We turn the corner to find Aric pinned against Marcelle, where the two of them make out just outside of what I’m guessing is their room.
Two doors down from Carly’s.
Slapping a hand over her mouth, I yank her back to me and flatten myself to the wall, out of Aric’s sight. As she wriggles against me, I try to ignore the rubbing of her ass against my groin, or the fact that shutting her up is more of a turn on than I care to admit.
At the beep of a card reader, I peer around the corner, and seeing the two stumbling inside their room, I release the feisty little animal in my grip.
“Don’t you ever--”
I press my hand over her mouth again. “We’re leaving. Now. Grab your things.”
Finally catching on, her rebellious glint softens to something more serious. “What’s going on?”
“Those bad men I told you about? One of them is here.”
“The guy from the card game?”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t know. He had his head tipped back and some girl’s hand stuffed down his pants at the time. Didn’t see her face, but I sure as hell saw his. I suppose he could’ve caught a glimpse through all of that.”
“C’mon.” With more force than I intend, I drag her back down the hallway and wait for her to fish for the room card. Once inside, I draw the gun at my hip and perform a quick sweep.
“Pack up. I’m taking you somewhere else.”
“You just paid four hundred dollars for the room. And another fifty for the macarons that are on their way up.”
“I paid fifty dollars for macarons?”
“They’re French. What do you expect? And I love them. You told me to get what I wanted.”
“I don’t give a damn about the money right now. Grab your things.”
“Where are you going to take me now?”
“I don’t know yet.”
20
Céleste
Cool air conditioning fans over my legs, while I sit in the passenger seat of Thierry’s truck, parked in the lot of the third hotel we’ve tried this evening. Apparently, the upcoming carnival, along with some convention going on, has every hotel and motel booked for miles--excluding the most expensive one, of course. And I apparently can’t go back there.
Through the office window, the clerk bows and shakes her head, her eye contact throughout the entire exchange between them scarce, as if she’s afraid to tell him there’s no vacancy. Everyone seems to fear this man, for some reason. Earlier, I watched what looked to be a maintenance guy coming out of the second motel where we stopped, giving Thierry a wide berth as he strode up to the lobby. What is it about him they fear so much?
He emerges from the motel office, rubbing a hand down his face. Clearly frustrated, but in the very short time I’ve come to know the man, his emotions hardly bubble to the surface much. They remain deep and disturbingly calm.
Still waters run deep, Russ always said about those personality types. A warning, at the time, that I didn’t quite understand, but now it makes perfect sense.
The driver’s door swings open, and he climbs in beside me, slamming the door. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he leans back in his seat.
“Look, you tried. Just drop me off at my truck. I’ll camp outside of the car repair shop … or wherever it is ... for a couple nights.”
