Highways & Hostages (10 page)

Stella looked thoughtful. “That doesn’t sound so illegal.” She paused. “Unless by ‘acquire’ you mean steal?”

“I don’t steal anything,” Finn spat, before remembering his adventure at von Rothschild’s mansion. “Well, not usually.”

“So just what are these art pieces? And where do you get them from?”

“My boss procures artifacts primarily from Mexico, and Central and Latin America. Artwork, jewelry, ceremonial objects, etcetera.”

“Oh my God, do you rob graves?”

“No!” Finn was flustered. His clients didn’t ask questions as long as they had the proper paperwork, and neither did he. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. All I do is meet the person who found the item, take it from them, and take it to my boss. I don’t ask questions.”

Stella crossed her arms. “Well, maybe you should start.”

“Look, I make good money—
great
money—and I can provide for my grandma. It’s just that my account is a little tied up right now. As long as I don’t have to kill or maim anyone, I’m good. So let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Fine,” Stella snapped. Her gazed returned to the window. The two continued down I-10 in silence.

Phoebe opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to rehydrate her contacts. She remembered leaving the park and coming back to Will’s place, which was kind of amazing. They sat on the balcony, smoked some weed, and talked about…well, she couldn’t remember what it was they talked about. But she knew it was deep and profound, because that was the kind of guy Will was. Where was he, anyway?

She sat up with a yawn and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. Crumbs fell from her chest to the floor. She didn’t mean to spend the night, but she was super sleepy after smoking the joint and must have dozed off on the couch after tearing through a bag of chips.
Shit, Stella’s going to be pissed
.

Phoebe glanced around the living room, full of high-polished metal and glass, for her small patent leather purse. The condo had been totally spotless when she and Billy arrived, but now it was strewn with sticky ice cream bowls, dirty plates, and a pizza box containing a lone slice. She couldn’t remember eating anything besides the chips, but she and Will must have had some serious munchies.

Phoebe spotted her purse on the kitchen island and stood up. She shivered as a breeze blew through the slightly open balcony door. She padded over to it, the stone floor leeching the warmth from her bare feet, and slid it closed. Then she went to her purse and rifled through it. Where was her cell? Stella was seriously going to kill her…and probably lock her in the trailer until it was time for her to go back to Ohio at the end of the summer.

Phoebe went back to the couch and started pushing around the cushions. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used her phone. She looked up as Will walked into the room and let out a loud belch. Phoebe was sure she could smell it all the way across the room. It reeked.

Will’s hair stuck up all over the place like he’d put his finger in an electrical socket, and his eyes were bloodshot. There were some questionable stains on his undershirt, and she was pretty sure his boxers were on inside out. What happened to the gorgeous, cool, fun guy from last night? It was
definitely
time to go.

“Have you seen my phone?” she asked. “I really need to get out of here. My sister is going to kill me.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Will scratched his chest. “Nope. Haven’t seen any phone.” He crossed the room and opened the fridge.

“Well, could you help me look? I really have to go.” Phoebe dropped to her knees and peered under the couch, then stuck her hand underneath. Nothing. “Screw it. I’ll get a new phone.”

She sat back on her heels and found Will watching her; the fridge was still wide open in front of him.

“Look, how about we eat some breakfast, and then I’ll help you look for the phone, okay?” Will said. Phoebe still couldn’t identify the look on his face, but it made her want to turn and run.

“It’s really okay. I’ll get a new one,” she said quickly. She got back down on her hands and knees next to the couch. “Ugh, where are my shoes?”

“You looking for these?” Will’s voice was extremely close. Phoebe jerked her head up. He was standing just behind the couch, holding her boots up, and smiling in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. She imagined that was the way lions smiled before chasing down some poor giraffe and ripping it to shreds. She needed to get out of here. Now.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked. A concerned frown replaced the predatory smile. Phoebe didn’t believe he was sincere for a moment. “Didn’t we have a good time last night at the festival? Smoking on the balcony? Why do you have to go so soon?”

“I’m seventeen!” she blurted out. “You could get in serious trouble!”

Will dropped her boots and started to advance around the corner of the couch. “I haven’t touched you or done anything ungentlemanly at all.”

Phoebe stuck her hand out. “Stay right there!”

Why, oh, why hadn’t her parents warned her that stranger danger could come wrapped up in a totally hot, scruffy package that drove a motorcycle? Fuck the shoes. Phoebe ran around the opposite side of the couch, the one closest to the kitchen island, and grabbed her purse. She raced for the door to the condo, but just before she reached the lock, Will grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. He put his face next to hers.

“I can’t let you do that,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh God, your breath smells AWFUL,” Phoebe complained.

Will hoisted her up and threw her onto the couch. “I won’t let you screw this up for me,” he growled. The predatory gleam was back in his eye. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way; it doesn’t make any difference to me, I’ll have fun no matter what. But I’m pretty sure I’ll have
more
fun if we go for the hard way.”

As Will towered above her with a sneer on his face, hatred welled up in Phoebe.
Nobody
messed with Phoebe Carstens and got away without a scratch. She hadn’t landed in Saturday detention every week for playing nice.

“Hard way, huh?” she asked, and launched a swift kick to his groin.

“Can we stop for the day?” Stella whined. She stretched her neck from side to side. Her body was folded into a pretzel, her wedding binder balanced on her lap. “I’m tired.”

“
You’re
tired? I’ve been doing all of the driving! You’ve been napping, opening that damn binder, and then closing it again. What is it, anyway?”

“Nothing.” Stella dropped it by her feet. There was no way she was telling Finn that it contained all of her wedding plans. He was insufferable enough as it was; she could just imagine the ammunition the binder would provide. She uncurled herself, opened the Beetle’s glove compartment, and rummaged around.

“What are you doing over there?” Finn asked, furrowing his brows. He risked a glance at the passenger side of the car.

Stella ignored him and pulled out a cassette, which she popped into the Beetle’s tape deck.

“Are you kidding me? The one thing on this car that works is a cassette player? I didn’t even know they still made tapes!” Finn said. Strains of Madonna’s “Open Your Heart” filled the car. “Oh, hell no.” He reached over and pressed the eject button.

“You can’t do that!” Stella pushed the tape back in.

Finn whacked the eject button again. “I just did. I’m driving; my prerogative,” he said with a satisfied smile.

“
My
car;
my
prerogative,” Stella said, pushing the cassette in.

“Okay, time to stop for the day,” Finn said, scanning the horizon.

“You are ridiculous! I said that a few minutes ago and you didn’t care. Now that you aren’t getting your way, you want to stop.”

Finn sighed. “Is that the only tape you have? Is there anything else in there?”

Stella rolled her eyes and opened the glove compartment again. “Pat Benatar…Fleetwood Mac…The Beach Boys…”

Finn perked up. “The Beach Boys is great driving music. Put it in!”

“Whoa!” Stella exclaimed, holding up her hands. “Mr. Big Shot Gangster Man has a thing for The Beach Boys?”

Finn flushed but lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “When my Gram, Pop Pop, and I would take road trips, my Pop Pop would play The Beach Boys non-stop. Besides, I’m not a Big Shot Gangster Man.” He turned the volume up and started to hum along under his breath.

Stella studied Finn’s profile; he reminded her of Bert. As much of a hard-ass as he played at being, she knew he was a softie inside.

What the hell?
Stella shook her head. The guy sitting next to her had held her at gunpoint and admitted to kidnapping her sister…and then in the next moment he offered to share his money and told her his sad life story. She kind of felt sorry for him. Did people develop Stockholm syndrome after only twenty-four hours?

By the time the tape finished, the sun had begun to set.

“Okay, according to my GPS, we have about eleven driving hours left. Behold, Las Cruces, New Mexico! I think we’ve made good progress for the day. You hungry?” Finn asked.

Stella nodded. “Hungry and ready for a shower.”

“I think I see a cozy-looking motel up ahead.”

“NO MOTELS.”

Finn’s lips quirked up and Stella grinned in spite of herself. She pointed at a looming billboard for the Las Palmas Boutique Hotel where a happy couple held hands in a tiled courtyard surrounded by brilliant flora. “‘Spanish Colonial charm. Heated pool. Award-winning restaurant,’” Stella read.

Finn wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That sounds like it’s going to cost.”

“Can we at least check it out? It’s only two miles away once we take the next exit. Please? Pretty, pretty please?”

Finn sighed and put on the turn signal. “I’m not making any promises.”

Stella hid her smile.

A few minutes later, Finn pulled into the parking lot for the hotel. He and Stella exited the car. He stretched, then led the way into the hotel’s lobby.

Stella’s eyes widened as she stepped through the automatic sliding doors. Cool fingers of air conditioning caressed her skin, and her pace slowed. Time moved in slow motion as she committed the details of the lobby to memory.

The hotel lobby was just as the billboard described, decorated to the nines with Spanish Colonial luxury. Arched windows, wrought iron sconces on the honey yellow plaster walls, and candelabras scattered around the room provided the only light. The shadows creeping across the wall tapestries, fine oil paintings, and the stone floor made the space feel intimate and inviting. Stella wanted to take off her shoes and feel the thick pile of the gold and cinnamon carpets that covered the stone floor under her toes. She wanted to curl up on one of the heavy carved walnut couches upholstered in scarlet brocade and take a nap in front of the large, dormant stone fireplace. She didn’t care if she had to steal Finn’s gun and use it against him; they were staying here tonight. After last night, he owed her this.

Finn seemed to sense her feelings and sighed in resignation. “Let me see what I can do.” He strolled to the desk at the far end of the lobby, leaving Stella alone in the middle of the room. She navigated around the heavy furniture to get a better look at the oil paintings next to the fireplace.

Finn and the young woman at the desk conversed in low tones, but when Stella heard the woman shriek, “Newlyweds!” She stopped her study of the room’s artwork and immediately joined Finn at the counter. “Excuse me?” she said.

“You must be Mrs. Gilroy! Congratulations!” the short brunette behind the desk squealed. Her nametag read “Rachel,” and she looked no older than eighteen.

Stella tilted her head to the side and glared at Finn. He coughed and nonchalantly used his elbow to nudge a sign on the counter that said, “Ask about our newlywed special!” Stella glanced back at Finn, who was smiling winningly at Rachel. Rachel beamed back, waiting for Stella to respond.

“Yes…thank you,” Stella said. She continued in a halting manner. “Everything has been so crazy. I guess it just hasn’t hit me yet.”

“Mr. Gilroy was just telling me about how you all decided to take a cross-country road trip for your honeymoon. Is that your ring? Can I see it?

Stella hesitated, but held her left hand over the counter for Rachel to inspect. “This is your engagement ring, right? It’s gorgeous! But where’s your wedding band?”

“We’re getting the wedding bands resized,” Finn cut in smoothly. Stella lifted a brow at him. His lies came way too easily; she would
definitely
be keeping an eye on him.

Rachel nodded, content with the answer, and let Stella’s hand go. “Well, congratulations again. Let me call and get a room all set up for you two lovebirds. It might take a few moments; we’re a little short-staffed tonight.”

“That’s fine, Rachel,” Finn said, giving her a gracious smile. “You take all the time you need.” He winked.

“Come on,
dear
,” Stella said through clenched teeth. She smiled at Rachel, and with a stern grip, pulled Finn away from the desk toward the cluster of couches in the middle of the room. When they were far enough out of earshot, she pinched Finn’s upper arm hard. “What do you think you are doing?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice a whisper.

“The Honeymoon Special gets us a suite and a nice meal at the hotel’s restaurant for a steal. We can’t beat it.”

“Of course the word ‘steal’ appealed to you!” Stella muttered.

Finn scowled. “That’s the only way we can afford to stay here. I didn’t exactly factor luxury into the budget for this trip.”

“It doesn’t seem like you factored in a lot of things.”

Finn shrugged.

Stella shook her head and held her palm out. “I need to call Derek.”

Finn looked bewildered. “Why? Because all of a sudden you find yourself already married?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting up.

Stella jabbed him in the abdomen and held her palm out again. “Because I told him I’d call today. He’ll be suspicious if I don’t.”

Finn frowned. “If I can’t use my gun, you can’t use your hands as weapons.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

Finn felt in his jacket pocket and held up the phone. Stella grabbed for it and he pulled it back out of reach. “Can I trust you?”