Hidden Fire, Kobo (31 page)

"How many keys?" the kid asked.

"One's fine," Randy said. "We'll
be checking out in the morning."

"Got breakfast in the lobby six to
nine." He handed Randy a metal door key on a red diamond-shaped plastic
holder with 26 printed in black. "Round back on the left."

Randy took the key. "Thanks."

The kid shuffled back to his lair. Randy
moved his truck to a slot in front of the room and pulled the two small
suitcases from the backseat. After he'd told Sarah his plan, he'd gone home to
pack and make arrangements for Wendy, his neighbor's daughter, to care for
Starsky and Hutch. Poor cats probably thought he'd abandoned them, although Wendy
undoubtedly lavished more attention on them than he did with his crazy
schedule.

"You paid by credit card,"
Sarah said. "Used your own name. Won't they be able to track you down?"

He unlocked the motel room door and held
it open for Sarah. She slid around him and flipped on the light. One queen bed
covered with a plaid spread dominated the small room. He set the cases on the
floor next to a small round table under the window. "I'm not hiding. I was
ordered to take vacation time. Nobody said where I could or couldn't go."
He took her in his arms. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Hey, I want to find out what's
going on. More than you, probably. It might be your job, but it's my
life
."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not in trouble for leaving Pine Hills?"

He chuckled. "That 'don't leave town'
makes for good television, but you're not under arrest. They have no authority
to make you stay. And your lawyer can get in touch with you."

"It feels kind of funny, though.
Leaving everything up to him."

"Trust me. Most of time, we get the information
we need to make a case because a suspect won't keep his mouth shut when a
lawyer tells him to."

She drew the drapes across the window. "I
thought I was a Person of Interest, not a suspect."

"True enough. But saying the wrong
thing can move you into the other category."

"What about that aiding and abetting
thing?" There was a hint of levity in her tone, but he sensed she was
concerned about his decision to pick up and go. He wished he could tell her
everything, but he'd have to settle for putting her at ease with near-truths
for now.

"Nope. That would be you poking
around or trying to hide and me helping. All I did was invite you to join me on
a little trip down the coast. See the redwoods, walk on the beach."

"I keep thinking this is a bad
dream." She gave a deep sigh, one that grabbed him around the heart. Then
she took her suitcase to the alcove that served as a closet, set it on the
stand and opened it. "But it's not. This is reality and I'm dealing with
it. Okay if I take first crack at the bathroom?"

"Be my guest." She disappeared
with her zippered toiletry pouch. He surveyed the room. Not too bad, he
thought. As a matter of fact, the whole room had a homey touch. Photographs of
the local landscapes on the walls, along with some framed newspaper articles of
events in the town's history instead of generic artwork. The expected coffee
maker, but ceramic mugs with mountain scenes on them instead of foam cups. Not
the cookie-cutter sterility of the chains. Past its prime perhaps, but clean.

He sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing
to test the mattress. He shifted his weight back and forth. The headboard
clunked against the wall. Ever the optimist, he got up and pulled the bed back a
few inches. Wouldn't want to wake the neighbors.

Toeing off his shoes, he gave a quick
check of his phone but neither the chief nor Kovak had left a message. Sarah
emerged from the bathroom. "All yours," she said. He snapped the
phone shut.

He stayed where he was, watching as she
undressed. She stood in profile, not facing him, but not hiding, either. First
her sneakers, which she placed neatly on the floor under the suitcase stand.
Then her socks, one stuffed inside each shoe. Seemingly unaware of his
presence, she unbuttoned her jeans, then lowered the zipper. That rasp of metal
had to be one of the top ten most erotic sounds on the planet. He stiffened in
his jeans and lowered his own zipper to ease the building pressure. Her jeans
slid over her bottom, down her thighs and she stepped out of them, holding them
by the waistband. She shook them out, folded them and draped them over one of
the hangers.

Bikini panties. Nylon. Beige. They
repeated the journey of her jeans, but ended up folded and tucked into her
suitcase. She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and lifted
it over her head. Okay, he wasn't tired anymore.

Her bra matched her panties. She folded
her sweatshirt and stood on tiptoe to place it on the shelf above the closet
bar, defining the muscles of her calves and lifting her breasts.

He yanked off his socks, kicked off his
jeans and reached over his head to pull his shirt off. When he came out from
under, she wore—an oversize cotton t-shirt? That was
not
what he'd
envisioned. He blinked and looked again. Yep. Navy-blue cotton. Long-sleeved,
down almost to her knees. Damn, she still looked as sexy as hell, especially
with the way her headlights were on high beams.

She turned and smiled. "I said it's your
turn."

"Yeah. On my way." He got up
and followed his erection toward the bathroom.

"Randy?"

He stopped.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Her eyes twinkled. He folded her into his
arms and kissed her, hard and deep. Her mouth was cool against his tongue and
she tasted like toothpaste.

She returned his kiss, then pulled away. "Well,
that's not what I meant, but … not bad."

"What did you mean?" he asked.

She pointed at his suitcase. "Your
toothbrush."

Later, they lay side by side, her head in
the crook of his collarbone, her nightshirt and his briefs lost somewhere in
the sheets.

"What are you doing?" Sarah
asked. "And don't tell me you're on vacation."

"I
am
on vacation," he
said. "And I thought we could use some quality time together." He
stroked the rim of her ear. "How am I doing so far?"

"In that department, fine."

He felt her tense. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Great. If there's one thing a woman
didn't
mean when she said "nothing" it was
nothing.

"Let's get some sleep," she
said. "I have a feeling it'll be another long day tomorrow." She
turned her back to him, curling onto her side. He stared into the blackness.
Every now and then, headlights from the highway shone through the gap in the
curtains, casting shimmers across the far wall, then disappearing so everything
was dark once again. Like the case. Clues would appear, but like the lights
outside, they'd fade into nothingness, never permitting a clear picture.

* * * * *

In the lobby the next morning, Sarah
helped herself to a second cup of coffee from the urn, then returned to a wing
chair. Between sips, she inhaled the rich aroma and gazed out the window
overlooking the motel courtyard. A light mist blurred the view of the
hedge-lined footpath. Randy's cell phone had blasted her awake shortly after
six and the adrenaline jolt had put an end to getting back to sleep. She'd
showered, dressed and repacked, but he was still on the phone, so she left him
to his cop stuff.

She'd fallen back into that comfortable
companionship with him yesterday once she'd put the police questioning behind
her. He'd been supportive, not demanding. But something was going on and he
still wouldn't talk about it. Or couldn't. They both knew this wasn't a getaway
vacation. She might even have something useful to add, if he'd let her in. They
might make a decent team.

"Would you like some muffins, Miss?
Fresh baked."

Sarah snapped out of her reverie and
stared into the plump, cheerful face of a salt-and-pepper-haired woman
extending a tray piled with assorted muffins with one hand, a stack of paper
napkins with the other. She wore black knit slacks, a white blouse and a red
and white checked apron. "Blueberry, apple, and bran," the woman
said.

"They smell delicious," Sarah
said. She helped herself to a blueberry one.

"Don't be shy, Miss. Take some for
the road." Her eyes disappeared into crinkles when she smiled. There was
enough resemblance to the kid who'd waited on them last night for Sarah to see
this was a family business. She thought about That Special Something, the way
she and David had considered it a part of their lives, not just a job.

"Thanks." She took an apple
muffin and wrapped it in a napkin, setting it aside on the table beside her
chair. The woman bustled off, offering her goods to the other couple in the
room.

The front door opened, admitting a damp
morning breeze. Randy followed, his long legs carrying him to her side. He
brushed water droplets from his shirt. "Let's go," he said, his lips
flattened into a grim line. "It's starting to rain. Truck's loaded."

"But you should eat something,"
she protested. "All you had for dinner last night was soup." She
motioned toward the table where their hostess was setting the muffins next to
the coffee urn. "The muffins are heavenly."

The woman turned. "You give me ten
seconds and I'll have a bag for you," she said.

Randy's jaw clenched. "That won't be
necessary. We have to be going."

"That will be wonderful," Sarah
said to the woman. "Won't it,
dear
?"

Randy blinked. "Yes. Thank you."

"There was no need to be rude,"
Sarah said. "That sweet woman must get up before dawn to bake. She's
treating us like guests, not customers. It wouldn't hurt to show a little
appreciation."

It was more like thirty seconds, but the
woman came back, all smiles and motherly clucking. "Here's a couple of
to-go cups, too. Coffee for the road."

Sarah took the proffered paper sack,
which was warm in her hands, and the two foam cups. She smiled at Randy. "Why
don't you check us out,
dear
, and I'll fix your coffee."

While he was at the counter, Sarah added
a liberal amount of what appeared to be real cream to Randy's cup. When they
got back to Pine Hills, she was going to insist he see a doctor.

She snapped the lids on the cups and
brought everything to him. "I've already had two cups of coffee," she
said. "I'm going to the ladies' room before we start driving."

"Meet you out front," he said,
scrawling his signature on the credit card receipt.

The contrary part of her nature surfaced
and she took her sweet time in the bathroom, fixing her hair, checking her
makeup. She wasn't someone who he could order around like a suspect. Or a
Person of Interest.

She screwed down her lipstick, capped it
and dropped it in her makeup pouch. On her way through the lobby, she paused at
the brochure rack. Maybe she could get together with the other Pine Hills
merchants and put together a flyer. This was a major route through Oregon and
there were enough shops in Pine Hills to entice people to stop if they'd
advertise. She perused the offerings, selecting several she thought might serve
as examples.

Clutching the brochures against her
chest, she left the motel in search of Randy. The parking lot was small, but
far from full, yet his truck wasn't there. She swore she'd heard him say "out
front". She was about to head to where they'd parked for the night when
she saw the black F-150 round the side of the motel.

He stopped alongside the motel entrance.
Not unexpected, he was on the phone. She climbed in, tossed her purse onto the
backseat, slipped the brochures in the door pocket and fastened her seatbelt. "Ready
whenever you are."

"In ten, then," he said into
the phone and closed it. He sipped some coffee, put the cup in a holder and
swung the truck out of the parking lot and down the highway. Ten minutes later
he was pulling into a coffee shop parking lot.

"Why are we stopping?" she
asked. Maybe he needed a pit stop. No, he reached for his briefcase.

"Breakfast."

"What about the muffins?" She
could still smell their spicy aroma.

"I need some protein. I'm a big guy.
We can save them for a snack later."

With a shrug, she unfastened her seatbelt
and retrieved her purse.

Inside, they waited at the hostess stand.
"I'm meeting some friends," Randy said. "They're here already."

Friends? What was going on? Curiosity
overpowered her irritation at being left out of yet another one of Randy's
loops. She looked through the restaurant for a familiar face.

Randy's hand at her back said he knew
where to look. She let him guide her to a small private room at the back of the
restaurant, dominated by a group of tables pushed together in the center. As
they entered, Kovak and Chief Laughlin rose from seats on opposite sides of the
table, close to the windows. Chief Laughlin was impeccably dressed, his suit
jacked draped neatly over the back of his chair. Kovak was more casual, in
black denims and a long-sleeved polo. Kovak held a chair for her, next to his.
The table was strewn with papers and each man had a laptop. A thermal coffee
carafe sat in the center of it all.