Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (3 page)

E
m remained rooted
at the end of Mr. Steeves’s bed. When she’d been a kid, one of her neighbors had been disfigured in a fire. Seeing him had terrified her. She didn’t like fires and she didn’t like burns. Bracing herself, she slid behind the curtain and drew in a sharp breath. He was gorgeous. His eyelids were singed. His blond hair was burnt around his face. His face was bright red, carnival candy apple red, slightly blistered. The doctor had said light burns, she remembered.

Chiseled. The word sprang into her mind uninvited. It described his jaw perfectly. His cheekbones were high. Even with the blankets over him, his muscular build was obvious. His arm, with the IV feeding into it, was thick and ropy. Her stomach clenched. She had a thing for men’s forearms and this man’s forearm was — What the hell was she thinking? She was on the job here and he was unconscious. He was an American citizen and needed her help. Anyway, someone that good looking either had a wife or a harem of girlfriends.

Placing her hand over his, she spoke his name. No response. She opened the drawer beside his bed and picked up his wallet. It held a few credit cards and his driver’s license. Sandal Steeves. Even the dreaded DMV photo was gorgeous. Lived in San Diego, not far from her place. Date of birth … he was only twenty-seven. Yum. Damn, maybe she should have hung around San Diego after university.

She returned the wallet and picked up his cell. Locked. She unlocked it but was blocked at the password screen. No leads there.

“Hey, babeeee, you showed up!”

She fumbled the phone, dropping it to the nightstand. He was looking right at her with the most piercing gray eyes she’d ever seen. Her heart skipped a beat. “Mr. Steeves how are you —”

“Mister? Mr. Steeves is my father, baby. Lean in here and give ol’ Dal some sugar.”

Holy hell. A gorgeous freak. “Uh, Mr. Steeves, Dal, I’m —”

“You’re the stripper we ordered, right? Where’s Kris - it’s his bachelor party. You should be dancing for him.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “But hey, he’s not here, so —”

She twisted out of his grasp, which wasn’t hard considering how doped up he was. His eyes watered and he was having trouble focusing on her. She stepped outside the curtain and called for a doctor. Steeves was yelling now. Bring on the naked dancing girls, he kept saying. Then he started to sing. There was no medical staff in sight. She stepped back inside, careful to remain out of his reach.

“Mr. Steeves, I’m from the American Embassy. You’ve had an accident.”

“Ah, baby — Wait, what?”

“Yes, you —”

“But I’m right as rain, baby. I’m feeling no pain at all.” His head lolled toward her and he started singing again. He lifted his hand enough to twitch his finger and beckon her near. “I have a secret to tell you,” he sang. “A big secret.”

She leaned in. He laughed. “I met a guy without a neck.”

“Without a neck?” Boy, the morphine had him hallucinating like crazy.

“Yeah,” he reached out and grabbed her arm again. “They tried to cut it off. His head was hanging off his body.”

She looked over her shoulder into the hallway. The man in the next bed was sound asleep. The bed to the right had the curtains tugged closed. Stepping closer, she lowered her voice. “Whose head?”

“The driver’s head, babeeee. The one I pulled out of the truck.” He looked around, his eyes rolling in their sockets like a deranged puppet. “I heard the ambulance drivers say it was probably the cartel… that tried to chop off his head, that is.” He laughed wildly. “Off with his head,” he sang, waving his arm in the air. “Maybe the cartel is related to the Queen of Hearts.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Emily clamped her hand over his mouth. She didn’t know what else to do. She knew there was a fight over territory in Las Flores. Sounds like her doped up charge had stumbled right into the middle of it. She yanked her phone out of her back pocket to check the time. Almost 4:00 a.m. She had to get him out of here if she wanted to keep him alive.

B
ut first she
was going to have to keep him quiet. He brushed her hand away, and started singing again. “Car - TELL. Get it? Car-TELL. Nobody can TELL on the Car-TELL.”

Damn it at this rate he wasn’t just putting them both in danger but the ambulance drivers, too. The doctor hadn’t mentioned anything about this to her, so she was guessing the EMTs had kept quiet.

“Car-TELL,” he sang. She leaned over him and planted her lips on his. He grabbed the back of her head and plunged his tongue into her mouth.

Ewwwww, he was hot but sheesh. At least buy a girl a drink. She pulled her head back and looked into his eyes, willing him to see her past the drugs. “Steeves,” she said quietly, “I need you to shut the fuck up about the cartel, okay?”

“Kiss me again, babeeee and I’ll do anything you want.” He tried to pull her mouth back to his. She jerked her head back and stepped away from the bed, holding her finger over her lips.

“This isn’t a joke,” she hissed. “We need to get out of here, and we need to move fast. Can you walk?” She moved back to his bedside and pushed against his back as he struggled to sit up.

“Oooh.” He reached out to steady himself. “I’m feeling a little woozy.”

“No doubt.” She turned down the morphine drip on the IV and studied the needle in his arm. He was so doped up, he wouldn’t feel a thing she hoped. She reached for the line and yanked it out of his skin.

“Geez, girl —”

“Shhh.” She needed to take a different tact with him. He was a big guy, clearly had some kind of hero complex, dragging that guy out of a burning vehicle. So maybe if he was the savior…

“Look, I need you to get us out of here. We need to get to safety. Think you can do that?”

He looked her up and down, from head to toe and back again. Her whole body tingled as his eyes slid over her hips, lingered on her breasts and settled on her lips. “It would be my pleasure, pretty lady.” He tipped an imaginary hat and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Damn, if she’d thought his arms were toned she hadn’t seen anything yet. His thighs bulged out of his boxers and tapered to strong, muscled calves. Asking this guy if he worked out wouldn’t be a line. She shook her head and dug in the shelf beside the bed for his clothes.

She threw the jeans in his lap and helped him get the t-shirt over his head. His co-ordination sucked. She had to guide his arms into the shirt, tugging the sleeves over his well-defined biceps, rolling the material down over his washboard abs. What kind of first assignment was this?

Knowing he’d never get his jeans on, she knelt to help guide his feet into the legs. He put his hand on her head, fingers kneading her hair. “I thought we were in a hurry, babeee? But hey, I always have time for this.”

She looked at him from her kneeling position, his hand on the back of her head and cocked a brow. Not the behavior she’d expect from a hero. “Seriously? You want to go there right now? I thought you were going to get me out of here alive.”

“Oh, I am sweetheart, but just —”

Before she could help herself, she punched him, hard, in the inner thigh. “Smarten the hell up. Help me get these jeans on you.” He sobered slightly, rolled his eyes and shoved his feet into his pant legs. With her help, he stood. He was wobbly, but they had to take a shot. She passed him his phone and wallet. He couldn’t find his pockets, let alone put them away. She grabbed them from him and stuffed them in her pack.

Poking her head around the curtain she checked the hallway. All clear. “Ready?” she asked him. “We need to go down this hall and out through the waiting room to my car.”

He responded by taking her by the hand and starting down the hall. He wavered. “I’m not feeling so good.”

“Put your arm over my shoulder.” He did, leaning against her, and she looped hers around his waist. They made slow but steady progress down the hall and into the bright lights of the waiting room.

From the Admissions desk, the clerk looked up at them. “Dr. Rodriguez didn’t tell me he’d released this patient.” She heaved her significant frame to a standing position.

“I guess he didn’t bring the paperwork up yet.” She squeezed Dal’s waist and they kept moving toward the double doors, all eyes in the waiting room on them. She watched the seconds sweep by on the wall clock.

“You can’t just leave,” the clerk said, reaching for the phone. Her voice boomed over the loud-speaker, thick with static, paging Dr. Rodriguez to the entrance.

Pushing through the front door, she steered Steeves toward her car. “That’s me over there,” she said. “The white Toyota.”

“My chariot awaits.” He grinned and threw her a wink, his arm heavy around her shoulder as they stumbled the last few meters to the car.

In the doorway, the clerk gestured frantically to the doctor striding across the emergency waiting room.

“
W
e need to hurry
.” Emily unlocked the passenger door and pushed him halfway inside. Scooting to the driver’s side, she slid behind the wheel and turned the key, dropping the car into gear and accelerating away from the curb just as Dr. Rodriguez burst through the doors. He put his hands out, palms up. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could imagine. In the rear-view mirror she saw him shake his head before turning away.

Just color me another crazy gringo, she thought.

Sandal was slumped into the passenger seat, eyes half-closed, right leg wedged against the door panel. He’d pushed the seat back as far as it could go, yet was folded in like a bad origami.

“How are you doing?” She reached over and touched his arm.

“I feel like hell.” He turned his head toward her. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he mumbled. Lids closing, he slipped into unconsciousness.

You and me both, she thought.

* * *

D
aylight teased
the horizon as she sped down the service road leading back to the highway. Going back to San Diego as fast as she could get them there seemed like a good idea, but a couple of hours on the highway in broad daylight didn’t. She had no idea when they’d start looking for her charge and didn’t want to take any chances. Her job, after all, was to get him back alive.

In the distance she spotted a sign for an auto hotel. Too drunk to drive home, she and her friends had once spent the night in one of these no-tell hotels, each room with a carport to hide your car. They offered a lot of anonymity and that was exactly what they needed right now. She veered onto the shoulder and rifled the floor behind the passenger seat, pulling out a baseball cap. She tucked her hair up, and positioned the brim low over her eyes. She tugged a blanket off the backseat and threw it over Sandal, turning his head gently toward the window so his features couldn’t be seen.

The man behind the little check-in window took a cursory look, but since it was his business to mind his own business, it didn’t go further. Whoever might be looking for them might know he was American, but two Americans checking into a no-tell hotel on the highway south of Tijuana in the middle of the night, wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary.

She paid with small American bills, took the key and drove around back to the spot he’d indicated on the chart - easy to find since it was the only one still open - and parked her car into the little garage. Sliding out of the car, she pulled the curtains tight across the opening, closing them off from the world and any prying eyes. She knew if the cartel came looking, the clerk would give them up. She could only hope that wouldn’t happen.

Sliding the key into the lock, she entered the room and was struck with red and gold everything. Red and gold bedspread, red and gold curtains, red and gold carpet, a red and gold easy chair. An enormous flat screen TV sat almost at the foot of the gigantic bed that dominated the room. She flipped on a light and was assaulted again by the rich and gaudy colors in the room. She peeked into the bathroom - spotless. Not that she had time to be choosy this morning.

Returning to the car, she opened the passenger door and gently shook Sandal’s shoulder. He was practically comatose, but she persisted.

“What the —” He peered up at Emily with gray piercing eyes. “Who are you? Where are we?”

“Mr. Steeves,” she said, trying to guide him out of the seat, “I’m Emily Patrick, I work with the American Embassy. Do you remember meeting me at the hospital?”

He lifted one leg out and she helped him up the rest of the way. He was docile as a kitten. “Hospital?” He cocked his head. “You don’t look like a nurse, darlin’. Shouldn’t you have on one of those cute little uniforms? Did Kris put you up to this?”

“Let’s get you inside, Mr. Steeves.” With his arm over her shoulder, she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto it.

“I would have taken you home,” he said, grabbing her arm. “We didn’t have to go to a hotel.” Grinning, he patted the bed beside him and tried to prop himself up on his elbows. “Oh, holy hell … my head feels like it’s going to explode. What did you give me?”

“Mr. Steeves, relax.” She piled the pillows and pushed his shoulder back until his head rested on them. “They gave you a little morphine at the hospital, you’ve been injured.”

“Did Kris put you up to this? Or one of other guys at the fire house?” His eyes rolled around the room. “Where is he? Outside? Is this on camera or what? Let’s do a selfie.”

“You’re a firefighter?” Things clicked into place. It explained a lot. Why he ran into the fire. Why he was so buff he looked like a poster boy for the local gym.

He shot her a sloppy wink. “Selfie,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

She crossed to the bar set up beside the huge-ass TV, opened the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. She filled a glass and took it to Sandal. The pain was starting to peek through the remaining shrouds of morphine, but he was still disoriented and a little loopy. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

He took the glass and raised his head to sip at the water. “No hair of the dog? Were we drinking tequila last night? I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this hung-over … my head is going to blow off my shoulders.”

From what I hear, your head almost did blow off your shoulders. Damn, what a loss that would be … ‘cause it’s a gorgeous head. Aloud she said, “No tequila. Maybe you should sleep and I’ll explain this to you a little later?”

He patted the bed. “Only if you come in here with me.”

“Mr. Steeves, I’m not …”

“Look, honey, you’re not dressed up like a nurse, in fact, I can’t see an inch of skin anywhere on you, so I don’t get it. But I’m pretty sure, if you’re still here, that Kris must have paid you to stick around for a while. So climb on up here with me. No funny business, just … I just want to hold you.”

Like she hadn’t heard that one before. She giggled, then snorted.

“You snort when you laugh.” His eyes roamed her body head to toe. “That’s adorable. Come here, baby, I won’t lay a hand on you. Promise. As long as you promise to tell Kris we had a roaring good time and I took full advantage of whatever he paid you for.”

She shook her head, laughing gently. He was beautiful. She eyed the crook in his arm between his bicep and chest and couldn’t help thinking about how her head would feel snuggled in there. Just a couple of hours of sleep, then she would call Jack and figure out what to do next. She’d done the best she could under the circumstances. He was safe. She could relax for a little bit.

She flicked her hand at him and he moved over to make room for her. He reached up to remove her hat; his eyes flickered with appreciation as her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She drew in a breath. It seemed so long since anyone had looked at her that way. She stretched out, lying on her side, her back to him. “Don’t mess with me,” she warned. “We’re just sleeping.”

“Just sleeping,” he mumbled, snaking a large hand around her waist. In seconds, he was snoring softly. The warmth and nearness of him was disconcerting. She was acutely aware of his large hand on her abdomen. She placed her hand over his. Closing her eyes, her body chattered with exhaustion and she felt herself drifting mercifully into sleep. It had been a hell of a first day on the job.