by Lynn Hagen
“Hey, Kenny,” Mike said. “I’ll have a fat burger and a pile of fries. Give me a soda to wash it down.”
Kenny nodded then turned to Kester. “And you?”
Kester was no longer hungry, but he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to eat again. He couldn’t make it to town on his own, and calling Mike for a ride was out of the question. “I’ll have the same.”
Mike grinned. “I thought you were a healthy eater.”
With a shrug, Kester placed his menu back in its holder. “I’m a complicated man.”
More like he had a complicated family, but he wasn’t saying that out loud. That would lead to Mike asking questions. Questions Kester wanted to avoid.
Mike threw his arm over the back of the booth. God, he looked so damn good sitting there. Kester had never been into the ultra-manly type. He’d always preferred to be with men who were of his short and slim stature. But there was something about the dark and mysterious delivery guy that piqued his interest.
It was as though there was a magnet between them, attracting Kester to Mike in ways he’d never been attracted to any other man. He wasn’t even sure if Mike was gay. But he had to be. Right? No straight guy would take this much interest in another man. Not that Kester knew of.
And he wasn’t bold enough to ask, either.
“So how long are you planning on staying in Maple Grove?” Mike asked. “You have friends or family here?”
Kester shook his head. “If I was visiting someone, I wouldn’t be stuck at that motel.”
“I don’t think Maple Inn is that bad,” Mike said. “There has to be some redeeming qualities to it.” He tapped his boot against Kester’s foot. “Anything?”
Kester pursed his lips. “Like getting woken up ten at night to that batty front office lady?” he said. “She was using a wrench to bang on a heating unit right next to my room.”
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “She was doing what?”
Why did he look so pissed? “When I asked if she needed some help, she told me all the help she needed was to be left alone.”
Mike appeared even angrier. He opened his mouth to say something, but the waiter brought their food and drinks. Kester had to admit the burger and fries looked delicious. He popped a fry into his mouth then blew out. The damn thing was hot.
“Is there anything else you gentlemen need?” Kenny asked.
“Maybe you should wait until your food cools off a bit.” Mike grinned at Kester. He looked at Kenny. “No, everything looks great.”
Kester took a drink of his soda to cool his mouth off. “I think you’re right.”
The rest of their time together had been pleasant, though Kester found Mike staring at him in a peculiar way more than once. He was glad when he was finally dropped off at his room. Kester felt as though he could breathe again without Mike studying him.
The odd thing was, after Mike left, Kester wished the delivery guy would come back. He flopped onto his bed, wondering how he would entertain himself for the rest of the day.
Chapter Three
After Mike left Kester’s room, he headed to the front office. Shamefully, he hadn’t spent much time at the motel. He was either at Tilted or dealing with his cousin. Maybe it was about time he considered renovating the place.
And hiring a new desk person. Ms. Doyle had come with the motel when Mike had purchased it from the previous owner. He hadn’t had the heart to fire her, even though a few guests had left pretty heated reviews in the suggestion box about her “winning” personality.
Mike still didn’t have the heart to fire her. She lived in the room behind the counter, had no family, and was as ancient as some of the fixtures in the motel.
He would just have to hire someone much younger with a better, sunnier disposition. There had to be some young adults in town who needed the job. He’d seen postings on a corkboard at Bistro. Mike would just add his job listing to the board and hope someone in the coffee shop was interested.
A gust of cold wind followed Mike into the drab front office. It really did have a musty smell to it. Then again, the carpet was worn and stained, more than likely the culprit, trapping years and years of dirt and grime.
It only took his mate pointing things out for Mike to really pay attention. The window dressings looked as though they belonged in the sixties, as did the chairs and table. The counter was made of dull wood and was missing pieces here and there and was a complete eyesore.
“Ms. Doyle?” He heard the television playing in her room. Mike rounded the counter and knocked on the wall next to her open door. “Ms. Doyle, it’s Mike Cage.”
No reply. He didn’t want to walk in and discover her dressing. He’d never get that vision out of his head, but he also valued privacy. She might be odd, but she was old, and Mike respected the elderly.
“Ms. Doyle,” he said louder. Even over the sound of the TV, she should have heard him. Was she in the bathroom?
Mike stepped through the door and looked around, shocked at how unkempt her room was. There was also a tart odor that made him crinkle his nose. Dirty dishes were scattered everywhere, but the sink was empty. Although it was winter, there were flies buzzing over many of the dishes with dried food stuck to them.
Mike walked through mounds of newspapers and trash bags. He had no clue she was a hoarder. They were going to have a serious talk. This was beyond being lazy. This was unsanitary and disgusting, and it made his skin crawl. Empty milk jugs sat lined up on the floor by the counter. Piles and piles of dirty clothes were everywhere.
He looked at the mess and cringed at the thought of walking through it. “Ms. Doyle?”
As he moved through the room, he slipped on a few magazines underfoot, but he caught himself before he went down. Thank god. He didn’t even want to think what else could be hidden under the mounds of clutter. If he saw a rat, he was out of there. Those things carried like sixteen different diseases, and although Mike couldn’t contract any of them, the thought of getting bit by one of those vermin made his wolf whimper.
Careful of his footing, and trying not to think of what was crunching under his boots, Mike made it to the bedroom and saw Ms. Doyle still in bed. He started to let her sleep when his wolf whimpered again. Confused, he walked over to the bed, his boots crushing empty pizza boxes and soda cans.
It would take a bulldozer and a blowtorch to get this room clean, if getting it clean was even a possibility. Mike doubted it. He felt a deep-seated need for a hot shower and clean air.
“Ms. Doyle?” He touched her arm, but she didn’t move. Mike shook her with a little more strength. She didn’t open her eyes. He touched her neck to feel for a pulse and couldn’t find one.
“Fuck.” He made his way out of her room, walking outside to suck in fresh air as he called Dr. Bjord, the new town doctor. There was no need for an ambulance. Ms. Doyle had been cold to the touch, which meant she’d been dead for a while.
“Dr. Bjord’s office,” Tessa, the receptionist, said, when she answered the phone.
“This is Mike Cage, the owner of Maple Inn. I need to speak to Dr. Bjord immediately.”
“One moment.”
Mike got into his truck. He was cold, but there was no way he was going back inside the office. He’d seen dead bodies before. Mike was over two hundred and fifteen years old. But that didn’t mean he would ever get used to the sight of them.
But he was more afraid to go back into her room than to see her lying there. That room needed to be razed and built over from the ground up.
“This is Dr. Bjord.”
“Hey, it’s Mike Cage.”
“Oh, hi. Is there something you need?”
Mike had gotten to know the doctor because Ari had come into the furniture store over the past few weeks, checking out an antique dresser he was interested in. The doctor had come back over a dozen times, wavering in his decision to purchase it. Three days ago he’d finally bought it, and his mate had “flashed” it to their home.
Mike explained
about Ms. Doyle. “I don’t think we need an ambulance. She’s dead. I think it might’ve been a heart attack.”
“Human?” Ari asked.
“Yeah, and elderly.” Mike looked at Kester’s door. He was dying to go in there and talk to him, to explain that they were mates. But he had to take care of Ms. Doyle first. He hadn’t known her very well. She hadn’t been a talkative person, keeping her personal life private. But she was due the same respect as anyone else.
“I’ll send Gavril over to retrieve the body,” Ari said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” Although Mike was sad that someone had died, he wasn’t broken up over it. Again, he really hadn’t known her.
He went back inside and waited by the counter. Mike nearly jumped out of his skin when a tall and muscled guy with dark hair and swirling eyes walked out of the backroom.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m taking her,” Gavril said. He grimaced. “You might want to get a cleaning crew in here because this shit is just nasty.”
Since she had no family, there wasn’t anyone to call. There would be no one to claim her belongings, either. Under any other circumstance, Mike would’ve donated her things to the woman’s shelter, but he highly doubted anything would be salvageable. “Are you sure you can’t zap everything out of there?”
That would save Mike from having to buy a biohazard suit.
Gavril scowled. “Do I look like a fucking cleanup crew to you?”
Mike snarled. “No need to get testy. I know you have some kind of powers. I just didn’t know you were so sensitive about them.”
What a jackass.
A cigarette appeared between the guy’s lips. He gave Mike a devilish smile. “Say please and I’ll make the mess disappear.”
Mike considered telling the guy to go to hell, but he looked past Gavril and loathed the idea of cleaning that room out himself. He was still going to tear it down though. He was pretty sure he’d seen black mold in a few spots, and there was no telling the extent of damages until he had the room cleared out.
With a surly grunt, Mike said, “Please.”
Gavril winked then walked out of sight. Seconds later, from what he could see from behind the counter, the room was completely empty. Mike walked back there and was shocked.
There wasn’t even a speck of dirt left. He was downright impressed, but not with the state of the room. The floor was grimy, black mold clung to a lot of the floorboards and crept up certain parts of the wall. And the place smelled like mildew.
Too bad Gavril hadn’t given the room a facelift as well.
“What the heck?”
Mike spun at the sound of Kester’s voice.
“How did this room…where is the desk lady?” Kester crinkled his nose. “Wow, it smells worse than my room in here.”
Walking to the front desk, Mike closed the door behind him. “How would you like a temporary job?”
Kester looked incredulously at him. “You’re the delivery guy. You shouldn’t be behind there. You could get into trouble with the owner.”
“I am the owner,” Mike said with a straight face.
“But you delivered my food last night.”
Mike leaned his arms on the counter, dying to reach over it and pull Kester into his arms. “I’m also the owner of the local tavern. I bring the food to the motel because my employees are always swamped with work.”
That was an understatement. Thankfully Reese was back from maternity leave to help Rudy out in the kitchen. He’d also just hired a new bartender to work with Calhoun and Armand. He thought about putting Kester at the bar, but Mike would prefer his mate at the motel.
Kester stared warily at him. “What kind of work do you want me to do here?” He waved a hand around. “And we need to have a serious talk about the state of this motel or at least the smell.”
“Manning the desk until I can hire someone to take over, and I plan on doing something about the motel.” Mike started thinking big. There really wasn’t another place in town to stay. What if, when he renovated, he expanded? Turned six rooms into twelve and upgraded everything? He could turn Maple Inn into a lucrative business instead of the money pit that it was.
Tilted had all brand-new equipment because he’d upgraded his tavern a few years back. It was a place a lot of people came to just to unwind or entertain guests. It was the most profitable of all three businesses.
“I don’t know the first thing about running a motel,” Kester said.
“Well, it’s just you and one other guy who’s in room six. I can show you how to check people in and enter their credit card information.”
Kester looked doubtful. “Okay, but don’t get mad at me if I screw this up, and this is temporary. Make sure you hire someone as soon as possible.”
It would be permanent if Mike had anything to say about it. He didn’t plan on letting his mate go so easily. Once he showed Kester the charm of Maple Grove, he was pretty sure his mate would want to stay.
Crossing his fingers and praying wouldn’t hurt, either.
* * * *
“I think I screwed up,” Deputy Darren Christopher said when he entered the sheriff’s office and closed the door behind him.
Grayson looked up from a file he’d been reading. He waved a hand at the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat and tell me what you screwed up.”
Darren sat down and tossed his own file onto the sheriff’s desk. “Have a look at that.”
Grayson opened the file and read the printout. “Why am I reading about an FBI case trial, and how did you even get it?”
“They’re prosecuting Strabo Garcia. They have enough evidence to put him away for life.”
“Another scumbag off the streets. That’s a good thing, but what does that have to do with you screwing up?” Grayson closed the file and gave Darren a pointed stare. “Stop beating around the bush and get to the point.”
Darren sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He sighed before he said, “A friend of mine faxed me that last night. The whole case hinges on the witness, who has mysteriously disappeared.”
“From what I just read, men like Strabo make witnesses disappear. He’s being indicted on ten counts of fraud, three counts of money laundering, and the list goes on and on,” Grayson said. His brows furrowed as a dangerous look entered his eyes. “He’s also wanted in connection to the death of an undercover fed.” He looked up at Darren. “Strabo Garcia is a cop killer.”
“The witness’s name is being withheld,” Darren said. “But my ‘friend’ happens to know who the witness is.”
Grayson gave him an impatient look. It was obvious that Grayson wanted Strabo off the streets, too. Both Darren and Grayson were pissed off about the cop being killed. If Darren ran across Strabo, the guy wouldn’t see the inside of a jail.
“Mike Cage came in here yesterday and asked me to run a background check on his mate.” Darren held up his hands. “I just ran a basic search but came up with nothing. The thing is, Kester Oliver, Mike’s mate, is also the name of the witness.”
Grayson cursed.
“That’s not all,” Darren said. “You know I’m a computer whiz, and I’m going to do you a favor and cut out the technical jargon. Someone apparently created a program to watch out for anything dealing with Kester’s name, social security number, address, anything to give them a clue where Kester is lying low.”
“And you ran his name,” Grayson said. “Which means Strabo, or someone working for him, now knows that Maple Grove Sheriff’s Department ran a search on him.”
“Exactly,” Darren said.
“But how did you tie Kester with Strabo?” Grayson asked. “You just said you came up with nothing when you did your search on Kester.”
Darren sat back and rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Because Mike said his mate was hiding something, like he was in trouble kind of hiding something. So I asked my friend to look deeper into Kester’s background, and that was when he hit pay dirt.�
�
Darren got up and headed to the door. He had to make this right. If he hadn’t gone digging, no one would’ve known Kester was in town. He’d been telling the truth when he’d told Mike that they look out for their own.
Since Kester was Mike’s mate, that made the human their own.
“I’ll let Deputy Burrows know,” Grayson said. “I want him on the lookout, too. But I don’t want to tell anyone else. The less people who know about Kester, the better.”
The only reason Darren could think that Kester ran in the first place was that he was threatened. He’d come forward, which meant he’d wanted to testify.
And Darren would make sure that Kester made it to court, because Grayson was right. They needed to get another scumbag off the streets.
* * * *
Bored out of his ever-loving mind, Kester grabbed the radio he’d found under the counter and used it so he could do a workout. There was plenty of room in the front office, although the stations sucked.
Kester found himself doing cardio to county music, something he’d never done before. He was wearing the shorts he’d bought from the gym and was sweating in no time.
Too bad this wasn’t a busy motel. Kester needed something else to do while he sat behind the counter watching a cockroach across the room trying to stay as close to the baseboard as possible.
He snickered to himself. He could now call this place the roach motel. Just as long as the bugs stayed as far from him as possible, he was fine. If one scurried near him, Kester was out of there.
God, he hoped none were in his room. He grimaced and shivered at the thought of one of them getting into his belongings or into bed with him while he slept. He needed to have a serious talk with Mike about an exterminator paying this place a visit.
He spotted some cleaning supplies under the counter. Clearly the front desk lady had never used them because there was so much dust everywhere that Kester could’ve knitted as sweater from it.
Checking the parking lot to make sure no one had pulled in—ha! That was a joke—Kester went back behind the counter and started empting the shelves. He used the rag and some polish to clean each shelf, coughing a few times as he stirred up the dust.