As the doors opened and they stepped onto the thick carpet, Martha whispered, “Maybe she wants to tell me what really happened to Wentworth.”
“If she didn’t tell you in the time you two were waiting for the ambulance, why would she be coming clean now?”
She shrugged, and they turned the corner in the direction of Casey’s room. Cam trailed behind Martha just in case his appearance in the peephole scared off the woman.
But he didn’t have to worry about a peephole. Casey had propped open the hotel door with the latch, wedging it between the door and the jamb.
Martha raised her brows at him as she knocked on the door and called out. “Casey?”
No response.
“Maybe she stepped out and wanted to leave the door open for me.” Martha placed her hand flat against the door. “Casey? It’s Martha.”
A tingle raced across the back of Cam’s neck, and he pulled his gun from his pocket.
Martha jerked back when she saw it. “What are you doing? Where’d that come from?”
“My pocket.” He put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”
As Martha pushed open the hotel door, Cam followed closely on her heels. Nothing about this felt right. He flicked the lever back and pulled the door closed.
A lamp in the corner illuminated the empty space, a suitcase open on the bed, a curtain billowing into the room from the open door to the balcony.
“Casey?” Martha crept to the closed bathroom door and pushed down on the handle, swinging it open.
Cam hovered behind her.
Martha gasped and choked. She stumbled against him.
He caught her around the waist and peered over her shoulder.
His gut churned as he took in the sight of Casey in a tub of red-tinted water, one hand hanging over the side, pointing at the pool of blood on the tile floor.
Chapter Six
All at once, the smell flooded Martha’s nostrils, the metallic taste filling her mouth. She gagged.
Cam dragged her backward out of the bathroom and propped her against the wall while he dashed toward the sliding glass door, his weapon raised.
She blinked and slid down the wall, her legs crumpling beneath her. Where was he going? Was he cold? She was cold. A ferocious shiver had gripped her body, making her teeth chatter and her hands shake.
The cold had crept into her limbs and she couldn’t move them, couldn’t get up. Cam had left her, had disappeared out the sliding glass door, had left her alone with... Casey.
Oh, God. Maybe Casey wasn’t dead.
It took all Martha’s concentration to hunch forward onto her hands and knees and turn toward the open bathroom door, but she remained rooted to the carpet, rocking back and forth like a baby learning to crawl.
“Martha!” Cam scooped her up as easily as if she were a baby and wrapped his arms around her, holding her back against his front.
“You don’t need to go back in there. Casey’s dead.”
“H-how can you know?”
“The blood, the...” He walked backward, towing her along with him, and settled her on the edge of the bed. “Stay here. I’ll check.”
As Cam left her again, her knees began bouncing up and down. She clasped her hands over them and pressed down, digging her heels into the carpet.
Cam returned and crouched in front of her, taking her stiff hands in his. “She’s gone.”
“Did she drown? I don’t understand. Did she slip and fall? Where did all that blood come from?” Her voice began to rise, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the panic burgeoning in her chest.
Cam brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “She slit her wrists, Martha.”
“No. Oh, no.” She shook her head back and forth so hard, her glasses slipped down her nose.
“We have to call 911 and the hotel.” Cam pocketed his gun, pulled his sleeve over his hand and picked up the room’s telephone.
He murmured into the receiver, hung up and placed another call. Then he walked to the door of the room and wedged it open the same way Casey had left it for her.
Martha watched all his actions, the fog starting to lift from her brain. Casey was dead in the bathtub—a suicide.
Minutes later, a hotel security guard and a hotel manager burst through the door.
Cam pointed to the bathroom. “She’s in there. I already called 911.”
The two hotel employees crowded at the bathroom door, and the manager screamed, “Oh my God!”
Cam pulled Martha up from the bed and wrapped her in a hug. He whispered in her ear, “Are you okay? Still in shock?”
Her lips moved against the rough material of his shirt, but she didn’t make a sound. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why would she do that?”
He squeezed her tighter and she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him. She never wanted to leave this safe place.
All too soon, the police and EMTs surged into the room and the questions started.
Of course the police had heard of Casey Jessup, the DC intern who’d been too hot for the congressman to handle.
They questioned Martha about her presence here at the hotel, Casey’s demeanor, her motives. They hauled some booze and pills out of the bathroom, items Martha hadn’t even noticed.
Cam handled everything calmly and confidently, subtly protecting her by moving closer whenever the cop’s questioning veered toward the intrusive.
After what seemed like hours, the nightmare finally wound down. Casey’s body was still in the bathroom, but the police were letting them leave. The officer had her number and would call if they had any more questions or needed to visit the town house and search Casey’s things.
She and Cam said nothing as they walked out of the room, but he entwined his fingers with hers on the way to the elevator. When the doors of the car closed behind them, he let out a long breath.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that, sorry you had to stay in that room. I would’ve hustled you out of there and made an anonymous 911 call, but I’m sure the hotel has cameras that would’ve caught our arrival and departure, and the cops may even be checking Casey’s cell and would’ve identified that text going to your phone number.”
He’d released her hand, and she threw it out now to brace against the mirrored back of the elevator car. “We couldn’t have left. We found her. Th-that’s like leaving the scene of a crime.”
“A crime?” He stabbed at the elevator button again.
“Technically, suicide is a crime, isn’t it?” She sagged against the elevator wall and twitched when it landed in the parking garage.
As they exited onto their level, Cam held out his hand, palm up. “I’ll drive. You’re still shaken up.”
Biting her bottom lip, Martha rummaged through her purse and pulled out her key chain. She dropped the keys into his hand, and he opened the passenger door for her.
She plopped onto the seat and snapped her seat belt, keeping a tight hold on the shoulder strap. When Cam slid behind the wheel and started the engine, she turned to him. “Why did you go outside to the balcony? What were you doing out there?”
“Why’d she leave that door open?”
“Maybe she was enjoying a last breath of fresh air.”
“The police think she may have taken an overdose of pills with some alcohol for good measure. Did she think slicing her wrists in the bathtub wasn’t going to do the trick?”
“What did you see on the balcony?” Martha trapped her hands between her knees and trapped the air in her lungs as she held her breath.
“A way out.”
“Do you think someone else was in that room?”
“Why did Casey text you? We were there an hour later. You’re telling me she drank that vodka, took those pills, climbed into the bath and slit her wrists all
before we got there?”
Martha spoke up over the roar building in her head. “She drank the booze and popped the pills before she contacted me. She thought maybe I’d get here before she was dead, so she decided to speed up the process.”
“Why would she do that, notify you, I mean? The two of you weren’t even close.” He hunched over the steering wheel, crossing his arms on top of it. “I could see that original text. She didn’t want to go back to the town house and wanted to give you some kind of notice that she was moving out. Maybe she even wanted you to help her out by packing up her stuff and shipping it to her. But why would she want you here at her death?”
Martha lifted her shoulders to her ears and held them there. “She didn’t want a loved one or a close friend to find her, but she wanted someone to find her.”
“Do you really believe Casey was so distraught over Wentworth’s death that she offed herself in commiseration? If anything, a girl like that would’ve relished the attention, gotten a book deal, landed on reality TV. You told me that’s what she was all about.”
Martha rested her head against the cool glass of the window. “You think she had help. You think she was murdered.”
“C’mon, Martha. Use that logical mind of yours—emails, threats, a dead congressman in your place and now Casey’s so-called suicide. All coincidence?”
“It all seems so random.”
“It does, but I guarantee you, it’s not. This is all connected somehow.”
“Do you think the police will figure it out? What about those hotel cameras? If they would’ve caught us, they would’ve caught Casey’s...killer.”
“Unless he snuck over that balcony or disabled the cameras.”
“I’m scared, Cam.”
He reached over and squeezed her knee. “Get rid of those emails. Forget this whole thing.”
“What about Major Denver?”
“We’ll figure out a way to help him. Hell, he’s probably helping himself.”
“Oh, no.” Martha pressed her nose to the window and took in the reporters still hovering on the sidewalk outside her place. Her breath fogged the glass. “I can’t go through that. Wait until they find out this latest news.”
Cam ducked his head and swore. “Vultures. Don’t they have more important stories to report on? Is there a back way into your place?”
“They discovered it already.” She tucked her hands beneath her thighs. She didn’t want to be alone in that town house. Didn’t want to leave Cam.
“You should stay in a hotel tonight.” Cam flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you want, you can stay in my room.”
“That would be great...if you really don’t mind.” Had she just guilted him into that invitation? Did he see her as the poor, little friendless nerd? “I mean, I can call a friend if it’s too much trouble.”
The car lurched forward, and he squealed away from the curb. “I think it’s better if you stay with someone who knows what’s going on right now—someone with a gun.”
She twisted her head to the side. “You really think I’m in danger.”
“Martha, I don’t want to freak you out right now, but I have my doubts that Casey killed herself. I have my doubts she even texted you.”
“That balcony. You think someone was waiting for me out there?”
“I think he heard us talking at the door. He wasn’t expecting you to have company, so he took off.” Cam flicked on the wipers and rubbed the inside of the windshield with his fist.
“He could’ve shot me...us as soon as we walked into the room.” She watched a drip of water on the outside of the window join up with another one and then another to form a little stream.
“Who said he had a gun? Who said he wanted to kill you? We don’t know what the patriot wants.”
“According to you, he killed Casey. Why would he do that?”
“She knew too much.”
“I know more than she does.”
“She knew the right things.” He swung into the driveway in front of his hotel and left the keys with the valet.
As they entered the lobby, Cam pointed to the gift shop next to the elevators. “Do you want to pick up a toothbrush and whatever else you might need?”
After her shopping spree, Martha dangled the plastic bag from her fingers as she and Cam made their way to his room. She’d rushed here this afternoon convinced Wentworth’s death had something to do with the emails about Denver. Now another death had been added to the mix, and she wasn’t sure about anything anymore—except Cam.
He had her back—whether from pity or his strong desire to use those emails to clear Major Denver, she didn’t know and she didn’t care. She’d bask in the safety of the protective aura that wafted around him.
He opened the hotel door for her and gestured her through. “Sorry it’s not a suite, just the one room. You can take the bed and I’ll camp out on the sofa.”
Her gaze swept the length of the truncated sofa—almost a love seat—and then scanned Cam head to toe. “You’re not going to fit on that thing. I’ll sleep there.”
“I’ve slept on worse than that.” He held up one finger. “Don’t argue with me.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t planned on it. I’ll take the bed, and you don’t have to twist my arm. And I’ll even lay claim to the bathroom first.”
“Be my guest.” He dragged a pillow from the bed. “I will take one of these.”
“Be my guest.” She twirled the plastic bag of toiletries around her finger and tripped to a stop at the bathroom door. “Do you have a T-shirt or something I can wear to bed?”
“The ones in the closet are all clean. Help yourself.”
Martha reached into the closet and yanked a gray T-shirt from a hanger. She made for the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind her—not that she expected Cam to make a raid on the bathroom while she was in here undressing.
Bracing her hands on the vanity, she hunched toward the mirror. Her flushed cheeks and bright eyes were signals of the adrenaline that had been pumping through her system nonstop all day as she bounced from one crazy event to the next.
At the end of it all she’d wound up in the hotel room of this hot Delta Force D-Boy, who had zero expectations of her. And why would he? She’d helped guys like this with their homework and papers many times in college, and they’d never demanded anything from her except the guarantee that she’d help them again.
She let out a long breath and brushed her teeth. She took off all her clothes except for her bra and underwear, and pulled the T-shirt over her head.
Cam’s extra-large T-shirt billowed around her tall, thin frame, hitting her midthigh. It would sweep a tinier woman’s knees, but she’d never been a tiny person. Tall, gawky and awkward had marked her teen years.
She folded her clothes into a neat pile. Clutching the bundle to her chest, she crept back into the room.
Cam jerked his head up and jabbed at the TV remote, but not before she heard Congressman Wentworth’s and Casey’s names.
She placed her clothes on a vacant chair. “They’re on that like a pack of dogs on a rabbit’s scent.”
“Until the next scandal breaks.” He tossed the remote onto the bed. “Did you have everything you needed in there?”
“I did. Your turn.”
As Cam disappeared into the bathroom, Martha turned on the TV but skipped all the news channels. She was the news for the second time in her life. She didn’t have to watch it. Settling on a nature show, she bunched the pillows behind her and settled back.
Ten minutes into the program, Cam eased open the bathroom door and poked his head around the corner. “Are you still awake?”
“After the day I just had, I’m wired. I’m going to need a few more hours of watching plants grow in fast-motion before I can even think about sleeping.”
He turned off the lone light in the room, the tall lamp next to the sofa, and grabbed the hem of the white T-shirt he’d been wearing beneath his denim shirt, pulling it up.
Martha got a quick glimpse of his six-pack, illuminated by the blue light from the flickering images on TV, before he pulled the T-shirt over his head and she averted her eyes.
As he unbuckled his belt, she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and studied the insects hatching on the screen. And she hated insects.
Yanking down his jeans, Cam turned his back to her and she turned her gaze onto him. His pants dropped down his powerful thighs, and Martha swallowed at the sight of his muscled buttocks in the black briefs.
He kicked his jeans into a corner and then shot her a look over his shoulder.
She cleared her throat and pulled a pillow into her lap. Had he caught her watching him undress?
“Guess I should try to keep the room neater with two people in here.”
She waved her hand. “Do whatever you’d normally do.”
He walked to the discarded jeans and picked them up. As he draped them over the back of a chair, he said, “I don’t think you mean that.”
“Sure I do. I don’t want to upset your routine.”
He cocked his head. “Really? ’Cause I usually bunk in the buff.”
A flood of warmth washed into her cheeks. “I—I mean, if that’s what you...”
He held up his hands and flashed that boyish grin that pretty much did her in. “Don’t worry. I’m not a perv.”
What if she admitted she wouldn’t mind one bit if he stripped down completely?
“And I’m not a complete prude, you know.”
“Prude? I never thought you were.” He crawled into the bed he’d made from the sofa, propping his head on the arm of it. “What did I miss?
“We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want.” She held out the remote into the space between bed and sofa. “Just no news.”
Delta Force Defender Page 6