One Eye Open. Karen Whiddon
an innate caution that came as naturally as breathing, she took stock of her surroundings. The frame building appeared badly maintained, its fading green paint peeling. A few pine trees, bent and sickly, grew near the office. The weight of the snow on their branches made them seem about to topple.
Despite the storm, or perhaps because of it, the parking lot contained five or six other vehicles, all older, all rapidly disappearing under white shrouds of snow. From the iron bars on the office windows, she judged this would not be a safe place for a woman to wander at night, at least a human woman unable to change.
Carson killed the ignition and pocketed the key before turning to face her, his expression flat.
“Let’s go.” He squeezed her shoulder, effectively cutting off her last attempt at refusal. “Give it up. You’re staying with me.”
“I’m your captive?” Both amused and angry, she couldn’t help but wonder at his reaction if she were to change right here, right now. If she were her powerful wolf self, he wouldn’t be able to contain her. No man on earth could hold her then. Even as a human, she was a formidable opponent. Years of martial arts classes had made sure of that.
For now she could only let him think he had won. The force of his glare told her he didn’t appreciate her amusement or her anger.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Brenna, I’m warning you.” Illuminated by the flashing neon hotel light, his gaze was as cold as the night and twice as harsh. “Don’t try to escape. Your brother destroyed my family and ruined my life. I will make him pay. Neither you nor anyone else will be able to stop me.”
Releasing her, he pushed open his door and strode around to her side. Before he reached the door handle, she pushed it open herself and slid to the ground in front of him. Squaring her shoulders in the bulky parka, she lifted her chin and stared him in the face, snow swirling around both of them in a heavy cloud.
“My brother is not the man you’re looking for.”
“Unwavering devotion,” he drawled. “That’s good in a sister.” Pausing, he looked her over once. “That is, if you really are Alex’s sister.”
Her breath came out in a hiss. Narrow-eyed, she glared at him with such ferocity that he took a step back. Then she spun on her heel and marched over to the hotel office, yanking open the dirty glass door. She went inside without waiting to see if he would follow.
A few minutes later, metal key firmly in hand, Carson allowed her to precede him toward their room.
On the ground floor, 119 sat at the very back of the building, as far away from the growl and snarl of the normal freeway traffic as the hotel offered. Though the blizzard muffled sound, she was still glad, as the noise, utterly foreign, made her uncomfortable and restless.
Come to think of it, the utter absence of sound, normally welcome, had her feeling skittish as well. Or maybe she owed her heightened awareness to her companion. With his grim-jawed features, he appeared oblivious to her discomfort as he unlocked the door.
Once inside, he flicked the light switch. A single dim lamp illuminated the well-used room.
Brenna went in. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the foul smell. Though he’d asked for nonsmoking, the stale scent of cigarettes hung in the musty air. Coughing, she looked at the window. Carson shook his head.
“Too cold.” A battered heat/air unit, faded yellow, sat under the window. With the twist of a knob, he turned on the heat. She could only hope the warmth didn’t intensify the nauseating smell.
“I’ve been in worse,” he said. Never having stayed in a motel, Brenna didn’t reply. She waited to see what he would do next.
Two double beds took up nearly all the space in the room. Once he’d pulled the door closed behind him and turned the dead bolt, he had to turn sideways to get past her. Their chests brushed. He jerked away as though she’d given him an electrical shock. She couldn’t help it—a quick chuckle escaped her at his discomfort.
Ignoring her, he moved quickly, turning on every lamp. The cheap clock radio on the nightstand blinked red—2:05 a.m. Then Carson went to the bed nearest the door and yanked back the sour-smelling bedspread.
“Nice and comfy, don’t you think?” His tone mocked both her and their surroundings. The heat overpowered her. The sickening odor made her head spin. Because she didn’t trust herself to speak without giving her true nature away, she went into the tiny bathroom and closed the door with a sharp click.
Chipped turquoise tile decorated the walls and floor. The porcelain sink, though old, appeared clean. She turned the faucet. The tap water felt icy and refreshing. Splashing her face, she drank deeply from her cupped hands. Then she finger-combed her hair, eyeing herself in the distorted mirror. Exhaustion and worry had made faint circles under her brown eyes and carved new hollows in her narrow face. She craved a long hot shower, but she didn’t want to leave Carson alone for too long. If he made a phone call, she wanted to hear every word.
By the time she came out of the bathroom, he had pushed one of the beds snugly up against the front door, effectively blocking them in.
“Yours?”
He nodded.
“Give me a break. What if there’s a fire?”
“Then we’ll move it.”
Unable to resist pointing it out, she said, “There’s always the window.”
“You’d have to go over me to get to it.”
Over him. The air felt suddenly charged. Brenna shrugged away the unfamiliar feeling of awareness with a quick toss of her head.
“We can keep this up all night,” he said. “Or we can get some rest. It’s late.” Massaging the back of his neck, he indicated the other bed. “That’s yours. Go to sleep. We’ll start again early in the morning.”
“If the plows show up.”
He gave her a tired smile. “They will. They always do.”
He watched while she gingerly tested her mattress. She pinched a corner of the faded bedspread between her index finger and thumb, yanking it back so it fell on the floor at the foot of the bed. The nappy blanket, though, she turned back neatly. Then, still fully dressed, she lay down on her side on top of the sheets, trying to ignore the faint musty scent that tickled her nose. Still facing him, she kept her eyes open. Watching.
“Tap on the wall,” he said.
Blinking, she sat up. “What?”
“I need to go in there.” He indicated the bathroom. “I want you to tap on the wall until I come out.”
Amused, she let her mouth curve in the beginnings of a smile. “You really think I’ll run.”
“Won’t you?”
Exhaling loudly, Brenna lifted one shoulder. “Turn down the heat.” Moving with deliberate slowness, she peeled off her heavy leather vest and tossed it on the bed. Then she lifted her hand to the wall and rapped three times, the plaster rough against her knuckles, repeating until she’d found a simple, primitive rhythm. Oddly, this soothed her.
After flipping the dial to off, he nodded curtly. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he spent less than a minute in the tiny bathroom before he emerged. Without glancing at her, he went around the room, extinguishing the lights one at a time. That made Brenna want to laugh again. She saw as well in the darkness as she did in the light.
She let her arm fall, watching him as he readied for bed.
Like her, he didn’t undress. She heard the rasping sound of his jeans as he slid between the sheets, fully clothed.
In the silence, she listened for his breathing to slow. Instead his restless movements indicated he was as far away from sleep as she.
“Let me