WINDOW OF TIME (3 page)

Ken wasn’t paying attention to her when she reached behind her back and discreetly took out the .38 police special revolver from its holster in her waistband. She hid the small weapon by her thigh and headed toward the staircase as she scanned the lobby. She looked between the tall potted plants, the large Romanesque-type pillars, and the over-stuffed leather furniture—places where two dangerous and armed foreign agents could hide to ambush her. There were only a few people in the lobby.

But if one of the men-in-gray had found her key card, wouldn’t they have used the key to search her room already? But then why would they have asked for her? It didn’t make sense. This “game” was never personal. Everyone just did his job. As she reached the bottom step, she heard a rich voice directly behind her.

“Lucille James?”

She turned around, swinging her gun up to the chest of the firefighter with the dark brown eyes—eyes that went wide staring down at the barrel of her weapon. She immediately dropped it to her side when she recognized him.

“It’s you,” Lucy said, trying to catch her breath. She looked around to see if anyone else had seen her brandish the gun. Glancing over at Ken, she was glad to see him busy leering at another woman standing at his counter.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the firefighter said.

Lucy shook her head. “You didn’t.” That was her first lie to him. His dark brows slid up his forehead.

“I’d hate to think you greet everyone this way.”

Lucy holstered her gun and read the name silk-screened to his uniform t-shirt. “Only those who sneak up on me, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Johnny,” he said. “My name is Johnny.”

She scanned the lobby behind him to make sure he wasn’t followed. “How did you find me?” He reached behind his back, tugging at something in his belt. Lucy grabbed her gun again, swinging it out in time to aim at—her handbag. It wasn’t a gun. Where was her head? “Don’t …” she began, exhausted, “ever do that again.” She quickly holstered her weapon before she created an incident.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah,” he said with a lowered voice. “I’m sorry,
Agent
James.”

He’d found her ID and her hotel’s key card. It hadn’t been the foreign agents after all. But how far did he search her bag? As she reached to take it, he asked a startling question.

“Did that man in the gray suit come after you for the envelope of money you were carrying?”

He’d seen the agent? No! He couldn’t have. Lucy reflexively stepped away from him, trying to put distance between them. Her heel caught the bottom step, tripping her. She fell backward onto the thickly carpeted stairs. Something must’ve happened after she left.

“Oh, crap,” he said, catching a flailing arm as she fell. “I’m sorry. I thought …” He let her go and sat down beside her, rubbing his hand around the back of his neck.

“How?” Lucy asked. How did he know about the agents? Had they approached him after she got away? Did they threaten him? Her anxiety level rose as she looked around the lobby once more in case the agents had followed him.

He picked up the bag he’d dropped and handed it to her. “I looked through your wallet to find your name and I saw the envelope.” Johnny leaned in closer, softening his voice. “I’ve never seen ten thousand in cash in one place before.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Lucy whispered, taking her small bag from him. After opening the zippered top, she dug out the envelope, receipt, wallet, and keycard, and set them down next to her hip. The tiny-hinged compartment popped open when she slid a small button sideways, revealing her hidden package. Relief pushed aside the anxiousness as she took out the little plastic canister and grasped it in the palm of her hand. It hadn’t been lost. She was still in the game.

“There were two big men dressed exactly alike in the gray suits,” Johnny said, his voice barely audible enough for her to hear.

“What?” Lucy’s gaze popped up to the solemn man’s face.

“I only saw one shoot us, but it never really happened—”

The hotel’s staircase spun in a sharp half-circle around Lucy. The paintings on the walls left colorful swirling trails that disappeared into sudden blackness.

~*~

A dull ache behind her eyes woke Lucy up. She lifted her hand, touched a wet cloth covering her forehead, and stared at the ceiling. She tried hard to remember how she’d gotten back to her room and what she had been doing before she went to bed.

“Here, drink this.”

Johnny’s gentle voice startled her, but it instantly brought back her memory. She tossed aside the cloth and found him sitting in a chair beside the bed holding a plastic cup filled with water, she assumed. Lucy slowly sat up, taking in the appearance of her room. On the dresser sat her handbag and holstered gun, along with her belt. The small plastic film canister sat in front of the holster. She wriggled her bare toes. He’d taken off her ankle boots and socks. She felt her jeans. The button was undone, and the zipper backed open slightly. Angry, Lucy jumped her stare up to his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny said softly. “We’re taught to loosen the clothing of fainting victims for better blood circulation, but that’s as far as I went, I promise.” Holding out the glass, he said, “I think you’re dehydrated. You better drink as much of this as you can.”

It took a few deep breaths to quell her temper. She needed to believe that he had helped her and not hurt her while she was unconscious. With shaky fingers, she took the glass from his hand. It wasn’t water. It looked like something he had dipped out of the toilet, and it tasted as bad.

“Lemon-lime sports drink cut with water.” Johnny ran his hand along her forehead and then down onto her cheek. “You don’t have a fever, so I don’t think it’s any more serious than dehydration. Have you fainted before?”

“No,” Lucy said quickly. Another lie.

“Never?” He lifted her torn sleeve and found her wound.

“How did I get up here?” Lucy sipped the nasty tasting liquid and watched the fireman disappear into the bathroom. When he came out again, he had another wet cloth in his hands.

“I carried you.” He sat down on the bed next to Lucy’s knee and gently dabbed at the dried blood around her cut. “I wish I had my medical bag up here.” Frowning, he added, “I keep one behind the seat of my truck, but I didn’t want to leave you.”

He didn’t want to leave me?
Lucy gazed into the face of the stranger who chose to help her and saw gentleness in the eyes she once thought were plain brown. In the glow of the table lamp, they were rich with tiny flecks of green and gold, making them shimmer with the warmth of melted chocolate and fringed with long dark lashes any woman would envy. His dark hair was cut short but long enough she could run her fingers through it—if she wanted to.
There was strength in his square jaw, a jaw that set a perfect canvas for his sensually heart-shaped mouth, with a full bottom lip—a lip ideal for—

“Are you okay?”

Lucy sat up straight when she realized she’d been staring at him, for how long she didn’t know. “Sure.” She placed the glass to her mouth and quickly drank down the rest of the toilet water.

“How’s your head?” Johnny asked, taking the empty glass from her hand.

Rubbing her temple, Lucy thought about how she should answer. Should she tell him the first thing that popped into her head, a lie of
it’s fine, thanks?
Or maybe … She watched him walk across the room and pour some more of the lemon-lime swill into her cup and fill it up the rest of the way with some bottled water. His question didn’t sound rhetorical, but sincere.

“Why?” Lucy asked sharply, causing her head more pain in the process. He turned toward her as if she had thrown a pillow at him instead of a question. “Why do you care so much how I feel?” He moved over to the chair again and gave her the drink.

Johnny leaned onto his knees with his elbows, folding his hands tightly together. He kept his gaze down. His chest filled with air twice before he spoke. “Something happened back on that staircase in City Hall. I touched you … and …”

Lucy set the cup down on the nightstand and swung her legs off the bed, placing her bare feet on the floor next to his big boots. He’d clenched his hands so hard his knuckles were turning white. “What happened to you after I left?”

Johnny’s brows pinched together. He released his grip and took Lucy’s arm until her palm faced upward. His frown deepened as he stroked several bruises shaped distinctively like finger marks on the inside of her forearm.

“It’s not your fault,” Lucy said, watching his worried face. “Did anything happen after I got away? To you or any one else?” She removed her arm from his gentle exam and rubbed her temple. “How do you know about the shooting?”

“I saw it happen.” Johnny lifted his eyes and held her gaze. “But it really didn’t happen at all. I … imagined it. Yet you seem to know about it.”

Lucy felt nauseatingly dizzy again. It was impossible. She’d been dealing with her curse since she’d been old enough to crawl, but always alone. Practically no one knew what she went through, not really anyway, and they certainly had never experienced it along with her. She felt his strong hands tighten around her shoulders, keeping her upright.

“I think you need some food,” Johnny said. “You’ll feel better.”

“I need a shower,” Lucy muttered. “I need to clear my head and think.”

“Not if you’re going to fall down.” He kept his hands on her arms but let up on the pressure. “We need to talk …”

“I know we do,” Lucy said curtly, raising her voice. “But I’m grungy and smelly.” She stood up, testing her balance before moving toward the dresser. “We’d stand a better chance of getting a table at a restaurant if I didn’t stink.”

“A restaurant? I don’t think you should go out. Let me order room service.” Johnny stood up but stayed within arm’s reach.

She shook her head. “I’ve had the hotel’s food. It pretty much sucks.” Opening her dresser, she said, “I think my stomach can handle a little egg flower soup, and I know just the place to find some.” She always kept her belongings in the drawers at whatever place she stayed. It made her feel like it was more of a home than just a temporary flop. “I’ll try not to take too long.” After she found a pretty shirt in the closet, she grabbed a clean pair of jeans and headed for the bathroom. “But I have to warn you, I’m going to wash my hair, and it takes a while to blow it dry.”

“Lucille—”

“Lucy!” She stopped short and blew out a sharp breath. “Call me Lucy.”

“Okay, Lucy, leave the door open a little.”

She shook her head, but his dark brows pinched together, and his face clouded over. “Look,” she said, compromising when he looked so worried, “I’ll leave it unlocked.”

“No, a locked door isn’t the problem.”

“It isn’t?”

Johnny sat on the foot of the bed and motioned to the bathroom. “I can kick a door down in two seconds. I just don’t know if I could hear you if you passed out with the door closed all the way.”

Considering her headache still hadn’t abated, and her stomach felt queasy, Lucy didn’t think leaving the door ajar would hurt anything. He looked sincere enough, and it made sense. If he had wanted to hurt her, he’d had plenty of time to do it while she was unconscious. She nodded before stepping into the bathroom, leaving the door open an inch. An unsecured bathroom was the least of her worries.

Lying about her life had always been the easiest way to get through to the next morning. It kept her safe—reasonably so, anyway. She wondered if she could be putting her life in danger believing a total stranger so easily. Her training told her not to trust him—but her gut told her something different. Tonight, Lucy’s instinct won out.

The heady scent of lavender drifted out of the bathroom in the steam lofting from Lucy’s hot shower. Johnny lay back on the bed, wove his fingers behind his head, and listened to the thrumming of the water hitting the tiles. He imagined the process of her washing her long hair. When his mind started to wander through the rest of her shower, too, he walked his thoughts out of the bathroom and back into reality.

Downstairs, Johnny had been staring into her sweaty face when he started telling her about the shooting, but before he could ask her anything, the rosy color drained from her skin. He’d shocked her into unconsciousness and caught her as she slumped against him.

Johnny had to help her in order to get the answers he needed—answers he could only get from her …

“Hey!”

“Huh?” Johnny jerked awake at the sound of Lucy’s voice. She was standing by the foot of the bed, nudging his knee with hers, and watching him with a smile on her face.

“You sure do sleep deeply. I’ve been walking around you for the past twenty minutes.”

Sitting up, Johnny stretched his back and let his gaze drift up from her black boots, her form-fitting faded blue jeans, and finally to her silky, cream-colored long-sleeved blouse. He noticed that her holster was gone from the dresser. She must have seen him looking. She swept her long hair over her shoulder with one hand and lifted her shirt with the other hand, turning her back toward him. The top of the wooden grip was all he could see of her gun above the low-rise beltline.