Maybe someday, she mused, someone like Rick Arrowsmith would come into her life. The blurb about the hero in the suspense-thriller she’d picked up made him sound like everything she wanted in a man. Tall, dark, handsome and mysterious, with a lethally sexy mouth and piercing eyes that radiated heat and desire. All that and a mind that was razor sharp.
What a combination. If she ever found a man like Rick Arrowsmith… With a sigh, Marla put her card into the slot of her hotel door and slid it down, then turned the latch.
The lights were on inside the room. Funny, she didn’t remember leaving them on. Maybe housekeeping had come in. But there was no reason for them to do that, she thought. This was her first day here—she hadn’t even unpacked, much less rumpled her bed. There’d only been time to throw her suitcase into the closet before dashing off to the first lecture.
Bemused, she stepped out of her shoes and tossed her new book on the bed. She could have sworn she heard a shower running. Had to be in the room next to hers.
You’d think an elegant hotel like the St. Charles would have walls that were thicker than that, she thought.
Marla debated calling room service immediately, but then decided against it. She didn’t want the waiter arriving while she was in the shower, and she planned to be in there for a very long time. There was something incredibly soothing about having hot water cascade all over your body.
Like a man’s hands, gently gliding along your skin.
She pulled herself out of her reverie before she sank in too deeply. Unbuttoning her blouse, she pulled it out of the waistband of her slender dark skirt and walked to the bathroom.
The sound of running water grew louder. She supposed the bathrooms were positioned back-to-back to save on plumbing fixtures.
Opening the door, she felt the mist first. It surrounded her like a veil that then slowly lifted.
A second later she saw the outline of a naked male body on the other side of the translucent glass.
CHAPTER TWO
THE SCREAM FROZE in her throat like a solid piece of ice refusing to melt. Marla took a shaky step back on rubbery legs, feeling for the doorknob. Sneaking into her vision peripherally, the scattered clothes on the floor registered.
Male clothes. To go along with the very male body in her shower.
His form was visible through the translucent glass. Specific details might be blotted out, but she could definitely make out the essence of the man. And his essence was nothing short of powerful.
Marla swallowed. The solid block of ice remained lodged where it was.
She was in the wrong room.
The thought desperately tattooed itself through her brain. That had to be it. She was in the wrong room. All the rooms looked alike. That would explain why the lights had been on.
But not, she realized almost instantly, how she’d managed to gain entry into the hotel room—with her card key. With all the different combinations being constantly scrambled, that would mean that the entry codes on her card had to have somehow come out matching the ones to the room she was in.
It was a hell of a coincidence, defying astronomical odds. Odds she wasn’t up to calculating at the present moment.
The moment melted away as the man behind the glass suddenly became aware of her presence and grabbed for something that looked as if it was perched on a ledge above the showerhead. The next second, as her heart rate accelerated to a number that surpassed any records known to science, the glass door was pushed back and she found herself looking at the barrel of a gun. A gun that was pointed right at her chest. The gun barrel was almost as sleek as the wet, dark-haired man pointing it.
The frozen scream melted, emerging as a loud gasp by the time it passed Marla’s lips. She wasn’t sure if the gasp was a reaction to the weapon or the man. Both looked equally lethal from where she was standing.
Sharp blue eyes swiftly scrutinized every inch of the room before returning to her. “What are you doing here?”
She was trying very hard not to give in to a growing sense of panic. “I—I thought this was my room. Twelve-twenty.” Even as she said it, the hope that she was in the wrong room evaporated. She specifically remembered seeing the numbers on the door before inserting the entry card into the lock.
Not a muscle on the angular face moved. “Twelve-twenty’s supposed to be empty.”
“It’s not.” Her throat had become utterly dry. She found herself longing for the lump of ice she’d imagined there several hundred heartbeats ago. “There was a mix-up at the front desk and the hotel gave me this one.” Her mind searched for an explanation. The room had been a last-minute switch. Maybe it hadn’t been properly recorded and that was why he was here now. With a gun. Naked.
“I can—I can go,” she offered, taking another step back. She froze when she heard the safety being released.
“Stay where you are.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded almost normal to her ears, an incredible feat since within her chest her heart was shifting to and fro erratically like a runner trying to avoid a sniper bullet—which at the moment seemed chillingly appropriate to her. “But could you please, um…”
Unable to put her request into a complete sentence, Marla lowered her eyes to his torso, but only for the briefest of seconds. Her meaning, she hoped, was clear, if unspoken.
Raising her eyes again, she saw it.
The smile.
Actually, it was only a glimmer of one. But to her it was even more unsettling than the weapon and his unclad, stone-hard body with its sheen of droplets slowly making their way to his feet.
Somewhere within the confines of a museum in Europe, Michelangelo’s David was stepping down off his pedestal, hanging his head in defeat at being usurped.
Maybe it was a dream.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep while reading her book and was even now lying on the bed. It was a silly thought, but it sustained her for all of half a minute until the fogged mirror sent part of her reflection back at her, dashing the desperate thought. She wasn’t on the bed—she was here, in the bathroom, trying not to look at the best built man God had ever created.
“Sorry,” he apologized in a voice that, at least for the moment, sounded far less threatening. “I forgot I was naked.”
He’d be the only one who forgot, although if she were honest he was also the only one who was sorry. She tried to draw oxygen into her lungs as her gaze darted anywhere but at her cleansed intruder while he reached for a towel.
Quickly he secured the towel around his waist, moving so fast that his weapon seemed to remain trained on her almost the entire time.
And then it came to her. With the realization, Marla straightened the backbone that had been in serious jeopardy of melting. This had to be a put-on, she decided, a put-on cashing in on her single-minded romance with mystery novels. “Barbara put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“Barbara?” he repeated in a puzzled tone of voice.
Empowered by her theory and managing to ignore the contours of the glistening man less than three feet away from her, Marla felt on solid ground. “Very good—act confused.” The pieces came to her in a rush. “You’ve got to be Stewart’s friend. The one she was talking about in the elevator. I don’t know how you managed to get into my room, but my answer’s still the same. I don’t like blind dates.”
Although in light of what she’d seen she had to admit that the scale was seriously beginning to tip in the direction of this particular blind date.
“Neither do I.” He cocked his head as if straining to listen to something in the other room. “Are you alone?”
A sinking sensation took hold of her stomach. This wasn’t her would-be blind date. He was exactly what he seemed—a man with a gun. Panic produced her next answer. “No, I’m here with people, lots of people.”
He motioned her out of the bathroom. There was no one in her room and no sign that there had been. Humor curved his mouth. “Are they tiny people?”
“No, they just ste
pped out. To get ice,” she tacked on, her mind working in fits and starts.
“Who stepped out?” He moved around the room like smoke, infiltrating everything, assuring himself that they really were alone. “Husband, lover?”
“Yes.” The answer was breathless.
Bending, he quickly checked under the bed. “Which is it? Husband or lover?”
Stupid, she upbraided herself. “Both. He’s my husband and my lover.”
He looked at her face then and she could feel his eyes touching her. “I’d say he was a lucky man. And an understanding one to let you go out on blind dates.” Marla closed her eyes, feeling like an idiot.
“You’re alone, aren’t you?”
Her eyes flew open, alert. “Yes, but I can scream.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.” At the window he drew the curtain back and looked down at the street. “Damn.” Letting the curtain drop again, he looked at her. She thought he was deciding on something. She hoped it wasn’t whether or not to kill her. “What’s your name?”
“Marla O’Connor.” Maybe Barbara would come to drag her to dinner, she prayed, all the while watching the man’s every move.
“Well, Marla O’Connor, it looks like I’m going to need your help.”
His weapon remained pointed at her.
CHAPTER THREE
PANIC CLAWED AT HER THROAT. It took Marla a second before she found her tongue, another second before she could use it. “Exactly why do you need my help?” Many things suggested themselves to her, none of them good. “And just who are you?”
He took a step toward her, admiring the way she held her ground despite the fear in her eyes. He wished he could be completely honest with her, but he’d learned that honesty had its price and it was one he couldn’t afford to pay right now.
“Who I am is unimportant. As to why I need you…” His eyes slowly washed over her. “At another time or place, my answer would be completely different. But for the moment my situation supersedes any notions of wining and dining a beautiful woman and spending the night getting lost in her ample charms.”
The many bad things Marla had been worrying about temporarily faded into the background. “Beautiful woman?” No one had ever called her that before—if she didn’t count her father, who’d been obligated to say that to his ugly duckling of a daughter.
A sexy smile lifted a corner of his mouth. He really would have liked to linger with her, to entertain both of them in the variety of ways he’d learned to pleasure a woman. But even now they were closing in on him, and there was little time left. Perhaps none.
“As beautiful as twilight along a Tahitian shore, but this is no time to hunt for a compliment, Marla O’Connor.” He got down to business. “I need your charge card.”
The roller-coaster ride she was on came to an abrupt halt, nearly throwing her from the lead car. Anger usurped common sense. “A robbery? This is a robbery? Aren’t you a little underdressed for a robber?”
He supposed it probably sounded that way, but he didn’t have the time, or the freedom, for elaborate explanations. “No, this is a crisis and I’m underdressed because everything I was wearing was a potential tracking device.”
He’d wet his clothes and his shoes down in an attempt to short-circuit the devices. Technology being what it was, he had no idea where the tracking device might have been hidden or if there was more than one.
“Tracking device?” Horror and confusion danced together through her. The only tracking device she could think of was the kind given to people under house arrest. “Are you a criminal?”
There were times when the line that separated one side from the other was finer than he liked, but saying so would only frighten her. “No, I’m one of the good guys.” He held out his hand. “Now, the charge card, please.”
Marla wasn’t sure exactly what possessed her, but she raised her chin. “I know tae kwon do.”
He doubted it, but he humored her. “Of course you do. And I know seven ways to kill a man, none of which requires noise.”
She swallowed. “Seven?”
“Seven.” He took another step toward her, cutting the distance between them to almost zero. “The card, please.”
She struggled not to tremble. There had to be ground rules of some sort. “No.”
He was doing her a favor, asking. In his place, Wallace would have ransacked the room until he found her purse, but he preferred hanging on to the notion that he was civilized. At least, whenever possible.
His voice was dangerous. “No?”
Her escape was blocked by the bed and her knees almost buckled when she backed into it. “No, not until you tell me your name and what’s going on.”
He shook his head, random drops of water falling from his black hair. “You’re either very brave or very stupid, Marla O’Connor. I’m hoping it’s very brave. It might come in handy.”
He paused, whether to debate or create, she didn’t know. And then he answered her. In part. “My name is Erik Carter. I can’t tell you what this is about, but if I don’t show up tomorrow at precisely two o’clock on the Golden Gate Bridge to meet a certain person, some very bad things are going to happen to some very nice people.” This time he raised his weapon, cocking it. “The card, please.”
She had no choice.
MARLA COULD FEEL her pulse throbbing wildly in her head. It felt as if her entire body was clenched, waiting for the knock on the door. Erik Carter, or whoever he really was, had ordered clothing from the hotel’s men’s store.
At least she’d be able to describe him to the police, right down to his shoe size. If she made it through this alive. She’d heard Erik give the clerk his exact measurements. His mistake, she thought with a flash of triumph.
Her fingers closed over the tiny square of tissue she held in her palm. Marla fervently hoped that the dampness wouldn’t dissolve the message she’d written using her eyebrow pencil. It was her only hope.
When the knock came, she jumped, her eyes darting toward Erik as her heart slammed against her rib cage. His whole torso was rigid, poised for action. Something inside her began turning to room-temperature Jell-O.
He nodded at her and she asked in a quavering voice, “Who is it?”
The voice on the other side of the door answered, “Renee Russell’s.”
The clothier. “Showtime, Marla.” Weapon at the ready, Erik motioned her to the door, then positioned himself so that he would be behind it when it opened. Just as she reached for the doorknob, he stopped her. “Oh, one more thing.”
If her heart pounded any harder, she was certain it was going to break out of her chest. “What?”
His eyes indicated her other hand. “Give me the note in your hand,” he whispered. “The one you wrote on toilet paper in the bathroom.”
Her mouth went dry. “I don’t—”
“Don’t insult me, Marla.”
“How—how did you know?”
“I’ve been at this for a while.” With his free hand, he beckoned for the note. “Time is of the essence.” A frustrated hiss escaped her lips as she surrendered the note. Quickly Erik perused the scrap of paper. “Help, I’m being held prisoner.” Shredding it, he shook his head. “Really, Marla, a teacher should have done better than that. The deliveryman would have thought it was a joke. Now open the door.”
Signing for the packages, Marla silently tried to convey her dilemma to the man from Renee Russell’s and succeeded, she knew, only in making the clerk think she was trying to flirt with him. There was no other reason for him to point to his wedding ring with a sad smile on his face as he left.
The instant she closed the door, Erik took the packages from her and began ripping them open. “Sorry your little pantomime didn’t work.”
She stared at him. Was the man clairvoyant on top of everything else? “How did you—”
“One step ahead, Marla. I’ve always got to stay one step ahead.” His mouth quirked as he dropped the towel and began getting dressed. “Besides, it
helps to have a mirror on the opposite wall.”
Startled by his casualness, Marla barely had time to avert her eyes before the towel hit the floor. She could feel her face burning. The burn intensified as she heard Erik laugh softly under his breath.
“Modesty. Not something I often encounter these days. Nice to know it still exists. There, you can turn around now.”
She did, desperately reaching for anger and trying to cloak herself in it. It wasn’t easy being angry at a man who was devastatingly handsome and looking at her with eyes that had sin written all over them.
Marla wet her lips. “Well, you’ve got what you wanted. Now will you please leave?”
“I fully intend to.” He scooped up his old clothes and deposited them in the Renee Russell boxes, then pushed them into the closet. With luck, if the monitoring device did happen to still work, this would buy him some time. Closing the door, he looked at her. “Take whatever you think you might need.”
That sinking feeling was beginning to burrow its way through her stomach again. “Why?”
Erik was already taking her hand in his. “Because you’re coming with me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
MARLA’S MOUTH DROPPED open. “I’m what?”
“Coming with me.” Crossing to the closet, Erik pushed open the door and found what he was looking for on the floor beside her suitcase. A purse that doubled as a backpack. Unceremoniously dumping its contents on the bed, he quickly began refilling it with still-damp objects from the pockets of his wet clothing. “As in now.”
“Oh, no, I’m not.” She grabbed a lipstick that was about to roll off the bed, then glared at him in exasperation. “What are you doing?”
“Getting prepared.”
Though his expression hadn’t changed, he said the words so grimly Marla felt she was being placed on notice. Awful things were about to happen.
She grabbed his arm, her words tumbling out one after the other. “Look, you can intimidate me into giving you my charge card, because that’s only money. But this is my life we’re talking about and I’ve only got one, so no, thank you very much. I’m staying right here.” Finished, she dragged in a deep breath.
Sundays Are for Murder Page 29