Keep Her Safe Page 10

  God, what would Dina think if she knew!

  “What was I supposed to do, Abe? What would you have done in my position?”

  “The right thing!”

  Jackie whips the pair of shears she’s gripping tight at the ground. The sharp end spears the dirt. “Well, no one’s arguin’ that you’re a better person than most, Abe. You deserve a goddamn medal, just for being born.”

  “I don’t need a medal. What I need to do is find Betsy, and you’ve made sure that’s gonna be next to impossible.” I’ve never hurt a woman and I never will, but dammit, my fingers around Jackie’s neck would feel satisfying right about now, even just for a second.

  “I’m sorry, Abe. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I just didn’t see any other choice.”

  “You mean another choice that would benefit you.” I shake my head. “As far as you and I go? We’re done. Got it?” I spin on my heels, needing to get the hell out of here before I really lose my temper.

  “Try The Lucky Nine,” she calls out, reluctance in her voice.

  “What?”

  “The Lucky Nine. It’s out by the highway. I told you I’d follow her and I did. That’s where she went.”

  “And that’s where you left her. A fifteen-year-old girl.”

  At least Jackie has the decency to look ashamed.

  CHAPTER 12

  Grace

  “You’ll be in rooms 240 and 241. They share an adjoining door,” the bubbly front-desk receptionist says with a smile. I’m sure she smiles at every customer, but I doubt like that. Like she wants to hop over the desk and throw her giggly self at Noah.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s tall and built and, now that I don’t think he’s one of the skeevy guys pumping my mother full of heroin, I can appreciate his angular jaw and his full mouth, and every other detail that makes it hard not to stare at him. He doesn’t fit the preppy-rich-boy image that I accused him of, but he definitely does have the well-put-together thing going for him.

  And if I had to guess, this girl—with her fluttering fake eyelashes and French-tipped nails and skin as smooth and creamy as a porcelain doll—is exactly his type.

  Either oblivious or used to the attention, Noah merely offers her a “thanks” as he slides his credit card into his wallet, his arms naturally flexing with the movement. I didn’t think he was serious about getting me my own room, but I plan on leaving as soon as I have my hands on whatever he has for me anyway.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” the clerk asks, tucking a strand of her silky blonde hair behind her ear.

  My stomach decides that’s the best time to growl, loud enough to echo through the empty lobby.

  Noah grins. “Is there a good pizza place nearby?”

  Front Desk Flirt’s eyes light up as if he’s asked her out to dinner. “Enzo’s. It’s cash-and-pick-up only, but I promise you, it’s so worth it. Here’s their info.” She hands him a flyer.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  He turns to regard me, and grins.

  “What?”

  “I was wondering if you knew how to smile.” His eyes drop to graze my lips. “Looks like you do.”

  I am smiling. And blushing, from the way he’s looking at me. “That’s because your Texas is showing.” He’d dropped more than a few “yes, sirs” and “no, ma’ams” at the hospital, and for the paramedics. Apparently my dad used to say things like that all the time. Mom said it was one of the first things that made her fall in love with him.

  Now I can see why. It’s charming, especially coming out of Noah’s mouth.

  He reaches down to collect his bags, the grin firmly in place. “I’ll try harder to hide my Texas.”

  I bite my tongue before “don’t” slips out and follow him out the door, my eye on that gym bag, which he hasn’t let out of his sight.

  Whatever Jackie Marshall wanted me to have, it must be in there.

  I follow him past the pool that fills the center of the courtyard, with two floors of rooms overlooking it, wishing I had a bathing suit. I can’t remember the last time I swam. I was lucky that I had enough cash to pick up a cheap pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and underwear, along with laundry detergent. Hopefully I can get the smell of smoke out of my work shirt before tomorrow’s shift. I’ll have to swing by the trailer after to see about salvaging clothes. And then . . .

  My stomach tightens with the reality that I have no place to go after tonight.

  “I’m sure the rooms are nothing great, but it’ll be safe and clean. Here, you take this one.” He hands me a key card. “I’m gonna drop my stuff off and run out to grab that pizza. What do you want on it?”

  “Whatever it is you came here to give me.”

  He smiles, but it’s not with the same ease as earlier, in the lobby. “Too bland.”

  “I’m serious.”

  His jaw muscles tighten. “You need to eat.”

  “You’re stalling. Why?”

  He passes his room key over the lock. “So . . . what do you want on it? Mushrooms? Green peppers? Bacon?”

  I glare at him, but I get the feeling that my stubbornness isn’t going to persuade him.

  “Come on, Gracie. Grace.” He pleads gently. The way his deep voice slides softly over my name, the way his blue eyes weigh on me . . .

  The bastard used that to sway me at the hospital, too.

  I sigh. I guess I can wait twenty minutes. “Crispy bacon,” I admit reluctantly.

  “Pepperoni?”

  “Who doesn’t put pepperoni on their pizza?”

  He shrugs. “Crazy people?”

  “Exactly. I’m not crazy. Are you crazy?”

  He shakes his head, and amusement dances over his face again. “I’ll knock on your door when I’m back.” With that, he disappears into his room.

  I sigh at the feel of the fresh, cool air as I step through my door. It’s a newer hotel, decorated in soft whites and grays, with a rich charcoal padded headboard and black-and-white patterned bedding that contrasts with the crisp white sheets. The bathroom is bright, with white subway tiles in the shower and a lemon-yellow curtain.

  Despite everything, an unexpected wave of giddiness washes over me.

  This may be “nothing great” by Noah’s standards, but it’s the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at. Sure, I had friends with normal families, who lived in normal houses, and who invited me for sleepovers. But for tonight, this place is all mine, and I can’t think of anything I need more than a quiet space to try and deal with today’s turn of events.

  Dropping my purse on the dresser, I head for the shower.

  * * *

  A soft knock sounds on the adjoining room door. Twisting the towel around my wet hair and piling it on top of my head, I unlock the deadbolt and open it. The delicious scent of bacon and cheese hits me.

  “She wasn’t lying. This is amazing,” Noah announces between mouthfuls, sucking a glob of tomato sauce off his thumb as he backs up to let me in. His room is an exact replica of mine, only in reverse. He pulls a handful of clothes from his backpack. “I’ll be out in five. Eat as much as you want.”

  I watch him as he heads into the bathroom, sliding the pocket door shut behind him. And then I do a quick scan. The gym bag is nowhere in plain sight, which means he hid it. There aren’t that many places to hide a gym bag in a hotel room.

  Maybe the dresser?

  My hand is inches from the knob when the door slides open and Noah pokes his head out. I smoothly divert for the pizza, tearing a slice free.

  “Forgot to tell you, there’s Coke and beer in the fridge.”

  “ ’kay. Thanks.” He must think I’m twenty-one. Or, more likely, he doesn’t care. He also either thinks I’m not the type to raid his room while he’s thirty feet away in a shower or that I’m not clever enough to find his hiding spot.

  When you’ve grown up scouring your trailer for your mother’s drug stash, you know a thing or two about playing hide-and-seek. Noah’s in for a
rude awakening.

  The shower starts running. I want to be sure that he’s not going to pop back out to catch me red-handed, so I occupy myself with my slice and a can of beer, accepting that I’m both famished and thirsty. I hardly ever drink—watching my mother’s dependence on drugs and alcohol has given me an unpleasant perspective—but I need something to take the edge off.

  A minute later, I get the signal I’m waiting for—the sound of curtain rings dragging over a metal rod.

  I go straight for the dresser, yanking all four drawers open. Empty. Next, I throw open the closet door. Nothing but extra pillows and a small safe that sits open. I move over to the nightstand drawer, even though I already know it’s too small to hold anything but a Bible.

  There’s nothing under the bed, either.

  And nothing tucked behind the curtains.

  “Dammit . . .” I survey the room again. This should be easy, but maybe he’s smarter than I think he is and he left that gym bag in his car. Why else would he trust me in here alone? He’d have to be an idiot to—

  The mattress.

  It’s been shifted down slightly, just enough to see that it’s not lined up with the box spring.

  Adrenaline pulses through my veins as I dive for the headboard, sticking my hand into the unknown. My fingers graze the nylon material and I smile with nervous satisfaction. The mattress is heavy and it takes full-body effort to push it, and then serious tugging on the strap.

  But finally I pull the bag free.

  And unfasten the zipper.

  Whatever anticipation I felt gives way to pure shock. “Oh my God.”

  The bag’s full of money.

  So much fucking money.

  What is Noah doing with all this money?

  I drop down onto the edge of the bed. Is this what Jackie Marshall wanted me to have? A bag full of cash? My hands shake as I fan through wads of it.

  There’s only one explanation that I can come up with for him showing up here with this a week after she died, and for being so evasive about it.

  It’s drug money.

  Was this Dad’s cut from whatever he and Jackie Marshall had going on? Did she feel some twisted sense of duty to pass it on to me? Fourteen years later, after she’s dead and no longer has to answer questions?

  Noah must know my father’s story. And he did say whatever he had to give me might have something to do with my dad.

  How much does Noah know, anyway?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few deep breaths. For the second time today, my temper rears its ugly head, and that’s never good. I don’t think straight when I’m this angry. I do things like wave knives at strangers on my doorstep and antagonize slimy drug dealers. I need to calm down.

  But when I open my eyes and see all that money at my fingertips, my rage only flares hotter. And mixed in with it is a healthy dose of pain and disappointment.

  Somewhere, deep inside, I held the tiniest sliver of hope that my mother isn’t delusional, that the police had it all wrong about my dad.

  I glare at the bathroom door, imagining Noah behind it.

  That coward. This is why he was stalling.

  He was afraid of how I’d react.

  CHAPTER 13

  Noah

  I hold my breath as the stench of smoke intensifies. Hot water and a handful of shampoo will fix that.

  At least Gracie seems more agreeable now than she was earlier. It must have been the shower and food. That always makes me feel better.

  Or maybe she’s finally accepted that I’m not the asshole she thinks I am. I could be stressing myself out about the money for no reason. She’s homeless and, I’m assuming, broke. This money is going to solve her problems. She can rent a decent apartment, get her mom into a rehab program that might actually help her to stay clean.

  Hell, I may get to see another one of those genuine, unrestrained smiles across that pretty face of hers.

  I’m thinking about that when the shower curtain flies open. I turn to find Gracie standing there, the gym bag held open within her shaking hands.

  That pretty face is brimming with shock and rage.

  “Is this what you came to give me?” she hisses, her voice barely audible above the stream of water.

  Shit. “I’ll explain everything.” Of course she snooped. She doesn’t have a trusting bone in her body. And here I thought I hid the bag well, but clearly I’m not smart enough for her. I should have handed her the entire pizza box and sent her back into her room. And I definitely should have locked the bathroom door. Generally if a girl is barging in while I’m in the shower, it’s not to yell at me.

  “I don’t want a dime of this fucking money!” Her teeth are clenched and I can see the muscles working in her jaw. At least she’s not waving her knife this time.

  My hands fall from where they were rubbing shampoo through my hair to a surrendering position. “Just . . . let me explain before you make any decisions.”

  “You lied to me!”

  What? “How did I lie? I didn’t tell you anything!”

  She whips the bag to the floor and then folds her arms over her chest, her voice turning snippy. “Fine. Explain.”

  “Can I have a minute?” I’m far past the point of trying to hide myself, so all I can do is stand there like a fool.

  The rage in her eyes dims the moment they drop from my face. Even with her caramel complexion, I see the flush of color. It’s as if she’s only now realizing that I’m naked. Grabbing a towel from the rack above the toilet, she throws it at me. “Hurry up,” she snaps, spinning on her heels and marching out, leaving the gym bag where it landed.

  “Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, my forehead falling hard against the tile.

  She’s never going to believe me now.

  * * *

  “There’s a lot left.” I hold out the box, my feeble attempt at a peace offering as I pass through the adjoining doorway. At least she left the door to her room open.

  “I’m good, thanks.” Gracie is perched on the edge of her bed, her fingers nimbly weaving her hair into a braid. It’s twice as long wet as it is dry.

  At least she isn’t glaring at me like I pulled the trigger on her father anymore. She won’t even look at me, her focus locked on the wall across from her.

  I tear off two slices for myself and then toss the box on the dresser. After more than a week with no appetite, I suddenly can’t seem to fill this nagging hunger. Maybe my body is finally saying enough is enough. That, and I’ve been offered a distraction from my own problems in the form of Gracie’s.

  I grab a beer, along with a second one because I noticed the can on her nightstand. I still don’t know how old she is but given what she’s been through, telling her she’s too young to have a few drinks would be stupid on my part.

  Setting it on her end table, I opt to take the chair directly across from her instead of sitting on her bed.

  The gym bag full of cash makes a thudding sound as I drop it to the floor by my feet.

  Then I wait quietly for her to say something, because the hell if I know how to approach this, and she’s impossible to read.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” she finally offers, her eyes flickering to me, skittering over my body before snapping back to the wall. Color crawls up her neck. “I have a hard time keeping my temper in check.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t think things through; I jump to conclusions and then I act.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I was angry with you and I just . . . I wasn’t trying to . . .” She’s stumbling over her words.

  I didn’t expect this reaction, and it’s all I can do to press my lips together to hide my smile. I’ll gladly let her barge into my shower and scream at me if it means I get this softer, docile version afterward. “Yeah, I’ve noticed the anger issues.”

  Awkward silence hangs in the room once again, broken momentarily by the crack of my beer can.

  I guess it’s
my turn. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you about that.” I gesture toward the bag. “I found it last night with a note, asking that I give it to you. Here, see for yourself.” I fish the sheet of paper out from my pocket and hand it to her to read.

  She sets her jaw but, after a long pause, I get a small nod of acceptance. “I knew about your mother already,” she admits quietly, taking a sip of her own beer as her penetrating eyes land heavily on me. “That she died. And how she died.”

  Her words stir a sharp pang in my chest. “How?” I ask, clearing my voice against the sudden gruffness that comes whenever the topic lands on my mother’s suicide.

  “On the news.”

  “But you live in Tucson.” Why the hell would my mother’s death get coverage here?

  “My mom has an unhealthy obsession with Texas. Especially anything to do with the Austin Police Department.” She stretches out on her bed with her back against the headboard and her long, shapely legs crossed at the ankles. She looks like she’s getting settled in for a long night of talking. “She says someone there framed my dad. She’ll swear up and down that he would never sell drugs.”

  Exactly what my mother alluded to.

  Dina must know something. But would she have told Gracie?

  I do my best to feign ignorance, and hope that Gracie can’t sense the tension coursing through my limbs. “It would be hard to accept that about someone you loved and trusted.” I hesitate. “Why does she think that he was framed?”

  “Because she’s a crazy, cracked-out woman? I don’t know.” Gracie snaps off the tab on her beer can and tosses it haphazardly toward the trash can in the corner. “But it’s ruined her life. And mine.”

  Either Gracie’s an A-list actress or Dina hasn’t told her anything. “Do you believe he did it?”

  “I didn’t. And then I did.” Her gaze shifts to the bag of money, her throat bobbing with a hard swallow. “And now you’ve shown up here with that, and no explanation. So, I’m thinking that he’s guilty of something.” She seems to consider her next words for a long moment. “My mom talks about Jackie a lot.”