Witness in the Dark

by Allison B Hanson

  Except, the car continued on at high speed and the distance between the vehicles grew longer and longer, until she couldn’t even see their tail lights.

  “Huh. It was just a run-of-the-mill asshole. Not an assassin.” She may have overreacted, but who could blame her?

  Garrett didn’t wake when she stopped for gas at about midnight. She’d thought she’d make it to wherever they were going, but the fuel light had come on. And even if they had made it, it was never a good idea to have an empty gas tank. Especially while on the run from men with guns.

  She put the Glock in her waistband and pumped the gas using a credit card belonging to Carter Bingham that she found in Garrett’s wallet, not even waiting for the receipt before she got back in the car and drove off.

  She was on edge. It was the middle of the night, and she felt like everyone was watching her.

  The GPS led her to a chain motel outside of Lexington, Kentucky. She parked at the side of the building. After looking around a few times, she hopped out of the car, locking Garrett inside, and went into the lobby.

  “May I help you?” the man asked.

  “Yes, my husband and I need a room for the night.” She smiled more enthusiastically than necessary, giddy with exhaustion and liking the way my husband sounded coming out of her mouth way too much.

  She handed him “her husband’s” credit card and the clerk gave her two key cards and a map of the motel.

  “Have a nice stay,” the man said.

  Sam made sure her shirt was still covering the gun in her waistband as she smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  She re-parked the car closer to their door, then reached over and shook Garrett awake.

  He jumped, his hand going to his gun as his head snapped around in all directions. How sad to always have to be ready for imminent death. She hoped one day they might both be able to go back to normal irritation when awakened.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We’re here.” That was no real answer, but he must have understood.

  “Did you have to stop for gas?”

  “Yes. I used the credit card for the gas and the room, too. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t have any problems?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t go into her overreaction about the black sedan. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.” As he surveyed the parking lot again, she didn’t think he looked much better. His skin was still pale, but the clamminess was gone.

  “I’ll help you to the room,” she offered.

  Of course, he was much too tough to need her help and was already struggling to get out of the car on his own. She sighed, but opened the door to their room and went inside.

  “Thanks for getting us here,” he said, following her in.

  The room smelled like stale smoke, but was clean. Nice as far as motel rooms went. There was a desk, a sofa, and a big-screen TV.

  And a king-size bed.

  The hotel clerk must have assumed a married couple only needed the one bed.

  Oops.

  Garrett sat down on the loveseat and kicked off his shoes with a grunt as she deposited their bags on a stand by the door. “Come here.” He patted the cushion next to him.

  She sat, spinning her wedding ring when she took in the seriousness of his expression.

  “I’m sorry about all of this, Sam. I’m sorry nothing’s going right, and that you had to kill people and stitch me up. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

  “It’s okay. We’re alive. That’s the important thing,” she pointed out.

  “Yes. And I want to thank you for that. I was angry that you didn’t do what I said. I didn’t want you to be in danger. But I’m really grateful you came back to help me, and were smart enough to handle the situation. You saved my life.”

  “You saved mine first.” She smiled.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” His voice was so soft it lured her closer.

  She glanced down at his lips, knowing what it felt like to have hers pressed against them. He had moved closer to her, too, and she could feel his warm breath on her face. Her heart pounded.

  Then, abruptly, he stood up.

  She blinked in surprise, disappointed that the moment hadn’t ended the way she’d hoped. With a sigh, she got up to help him get his balance when he started to sway.

  “It’s about time you start pulling your own weight,” he teased as he patted her cheek. His touch lingered slightly.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one having issues with the rules. The sex had been amazing, and it was impossible to pretend that she didn’t want him again. And again.

  Rather than dwell, she moved on.

  “Since I’m pulling my own weight now, do I get my sixty bucks back?” she joked. That was better than letting her frustration show.

  He laughed, and made a show of pulling the money from his wallet and tucking it in her front pocket before he headed for the bathroom.

  “Next time, do as I say. I mean it!” he called, but without the normal threat in his voice.

  She stuck her tongue out at the door as the shower turned on. But she knew he was pleased with her. The pleasure she felt at that thought was dumb, considering he was clearly not interested in continuing what they’d started. But she cared for him, and maybe he cared for her a little, too, despite fighting it.

  She lay back on the bed staring at her ring, and listened to him showering. It wasn’t long before she found herself fantasizing about being in that shower with him.

  Silently she slid off the bed and walked toward the bathroom door.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Garrett took the fastest shower on record, and walked out of the bathroom five minutes later in a towel, startling her when he opened the door. No doubt she’d been listening at it to make sure he didn’t fall over. The orange juice and stitching had worked wonders, but he was still a little shaky.

  He would have been happy to stay under the hot water for as long as it held out, but he didn’t want to leave her alone. He’d already relied on her more than he should. He was the one who was supposed to be protecting her.

  But hell, he’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. She’d compromised her own safety and come back for him. As much as he’d played the hard-ass and yelled at her about it, he was truly touched.

  He spared a glance at his wound in the mirror in front of the bed. She’d done a crappy job of stitching him up, but that wasn’t a surprise, given her lack of training and how badly her hands had been shaking.

  The important thing was, the bleeding had stopped and the stitches would hold. The scar would be a constant reminder of the woman who was sitting on the bed watching him.

  He smiled at the thought.

  What he wouldn’t do for the chance to climb on top of her and show her all the ways that bed sex was better than countertop sex. But at the moment, he could barely get his bag unzipped to get out some clean clothes. Awesome sex was totally out of the question.

  Water dripped off his elbow and chin as he pulled the towel tighter around his waist and tried the zipper again. He could feel her eyes on him.

  “My God,” she said with a gasp.

  No doubt she’d spotted the dark bruises marking up his back and stomach. “It’s fine. Nothing’s broken,” he reported as if he’d had an X-ray machine in the bathroom. The truth was, he was pretty sure something was. But he’d broken ribs before and survived. He would survive this time, too, despite the burn every time he took in a deep breath.

  She pushed his hands away from the bag and opened it, dug around, and pulled out a pair of shorts and a zip-up hoodie.

  “I’ll go get you some ice,” she said and went for the door.

  “No. I’m good.”

  “You’re not. Those bruises are awful. They need ice.”

  Something about how she tucked the Glock in the waistband of her jeans and pulled her sweatshirt over it made his body respond. He was g
rateful he was too beat-up to act, or he would be in process of making yet another big mistake with her.

  She didn’t wait for him to argue or stop her. She picked up the ice bucket and the plastic liner, and left.

  He should have stopped her. It wasn’t safe to let the witness go anywhere without protection. But he also realized she might need a moment away from him. Away from the reality of their situation.

  The reality that death was a distinct possibility and could be waiting anywhere.

  Hell. Even at the ice machine.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  As Sam passed the line of doors under the porch of the motel, the sound of televisions came from a few of the rooms. The ice machine was in a large niche at the end of the building. But before she got the ice to take back to the too-small motel room with a man she wanted but couldn’t have, she needed a moment to take a breath and wind down.

  It had been quite a day. Looking down at her father’s watch, she corrected herself. Yesterday had been quite a day.

  Cars were traveling up and down the divided highway, and she wondered if anyone in them was hunting her. The neon sign in the window of a liquor store across the street showed it was open. Remembering the bottles of fancy bourbon lining the shelf in the kitchen at Garrett’s cabin, she headed over to the store.

  The entry door let out an annoying buzz as she went in, and the large woman at the counter glanced up from the newspaper. Seeming unimpressed, she resumed reading as Sam perused the aisles.

  She found a bottle on the bourbon shelf that looked familiar because of the red wax oozing down the neck, and took it to the counter.

  “ID, please,” the clerk said.

  Sam pulled out her new driver’s license and the cash from her pocket. Without a second glance, the woman returned her ID. Sam bumped the gun at her waist as she put it and the change back in her pocket.

  Shit. She’d carried a gun into a liquor store. Now she had two things to worry about—Howe’s men and the police.

  The clerk put the bottle in a paper bag and handed it to her with an unenthusiastic, “Have a nice night,” before turning her attention back to the newspaper.

  With her purchase and enough fresh air, she put a scoopful of ice in the bucket she’d left on the machine, and went back to the room.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Garrett demanded. He’d been trying to get his boots on. “I was coming to look for you.” He wobbled as he stood up.

  “Relax. I saw a liquor store across the street so I got you this. I thought maybe it would help.”

  With a glare he took the bag she handed him, but it softened when he pulled out the bottle.

  “I didn’t give you that sixty bucks so you’d spend it on me,” he grumbled, and sat down on the loveseat.

  She chose to ignore his grumpiness and fetched the plastic cups from the counter, and dropped in a few of the ice cubes.

  People—men in particular—could be quite snappy when they were in pain or exhausted. This man was both. He would be in a much better mood after a good night’s rest. She handed over the bag of ice and he put it first on his head and then on his ribs.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Just bruised. I’ll be fine.” He winced as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  She focused on pouring him a couple fingers of bourbon so she wouldn’t stare at his bare chest and ripped abs. Even the bruises didn’t detract from his sexiness.

  Or the fact that there was only one bed.

  She knew Garrett was going to insist she take the bed regardless of the fact he wouldn’t fit on the loveseat.

  She had an idea that might make him more cooperative. Rummaging through the first aid kit, she found the Vicodin and dumped two into her palm while her back was to him.

  She smiled as she handed the cup to him and then the pills. “Here. Do you want something for the pain?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t look too closely. She’d been careful to word her question the same way he had.

  “Thanks.” He held the cup up in a toast and drank it down after swallowing the pills. He took a quick breath at the end and winced, but held the cup out. She gave him a second shot, a little bigger than the first.

  He kicked it back and winced again, though not as badly.

  She set the bottle down next to him. “Why don’t you lie down and watch TV while I go shower?”

  “You can have the bed,” he said, as she’d known he would.

  “Okay. But you can relax there until I’m ready to go to sleep.”

  He grunted, and reached for the bottle. She helped him top off his cup again, hoping she was giving him enough to fall asleep but not put him into a coma.

  He blinked a couple times as he finished it off. “Thank you, Sam. You’d make a damn fine nurse.”

  She propped some pillows behind his head. “Would I make a fine deputy U.S. Marshal?”

  His eyelids drooped as he bobbed his head. “Yeah. As long as you weren’t my partner.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to be my partner? I think we make a pretty good team,” she said, affronted. Had she not just saved his ass?

  “Yeah. But I’d be too worried about you. I wouldn’t want you to be in any danger.”

  “Ah.” She’d noticed that. Many times.

  “You’re pretty,” he whispered as she took the empty cup from him and set it on the nightstand.

  She chuckled as she took in his dazed expression. “Thanks.” The medicine and the liquor were obviously beginning to kick in.

  “No. You’re freakin’ gorgeous. And you kiss like a house on fire.” His words were slurred, but it didn’t deter from the compliment. If a house on fire was actually a compliment. “I really wish things were different. So I could fuck you in a bed.”

  Okay.

  She smiled, happy that he was still thinking about her in that way. She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. She would have continued, but it was pretty clear he was fading fast.

  “As much as I’d like to take you up on that romantic offer, I think you’d better get some sleep.”

  He gazed up at her with a dopey smile. “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you for risking everything for me. I cost you your home, and you’ve been in constant danger ever since I got in your Jeep. I want you to know that—”

  Her gratitude was cut off by his soft snore.

  She smiled and brushed her hand against his cheek. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’ll keep an eye on the ranch tonight.”

  She flopped down on the loveseat by the window. Better to be uncomfortable. She didn’t dare lie down next to him, she’d be sleeping in no time. She pulled out her gun to begin her guard duty.

  At six thirty in the morning, she was beginning to nod off. Only the rumbling of her stomach was keeping her awake. Deciding she would rather be shot than starve to death slowly in their hotel room, she hurried over to the fast food place next to the liquor store, and bought three breakfast sandwiches. There was a coffee pot in their room, which she would start when she got back.

  Assuming Garrett didn’t kill her for leaving the room again without him.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Garrett began to stir, knowing immediately that he’d been asleep a lot longer than he’d planned. The bright morning sun coming through the curtains made him squint. He looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. And he was still in bed.

  He glanced over at the other side. It was empty, and had not been disturbed.

  Sam was on the sofa wearing the same clothes as she had the day before. There was a breakfast sandwich and a cup of steaming coffee on the table.

  He tilted his head to the side to test how it felt, and frowned. No way he would have slept that long normally. Even with his injury, he would have slept lightly enough to keep watch.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What did you give me for the pain?”

  “Um. Maybe I got confused?” She batted her eyelashes, all innocent.

  For Chri
st’s sake. What was he going to do with her?

  “Not cool,” he grumbled and sat up, glaring at her. “I can’t believe you drugged me.”

  “I learned from the best.” She gave him that cute little smirk, and he found he couldn’t raise the appropriate amount of anger with her. “Do you want some breakfast? I got you a sausage sandwich and one with bacon so you could mix it up.” She handed him the bag.

  He took it and peered at the contents. “You left the room again?”

  “Coffee?” She handed him a cup, probably hoping it would get her off the hook.

  He eyed it warily but took it. Her plan worked.

  “It’s more cream and sugar than coffee. Just the way you like it.” She smiled.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip and looked at the loveseat. “Did you sleep on that?”

  “Actually, I didn’t sleep. I stayed up the whole night watching you and making sure no one broke in.”

  That surprised him. “You didn’t doze off?”

  “No.” She yawned. “I’m going to go take a shower now that you’re up and moving around. Do you feel okay?”

  “Much better. Still not happy you knocked me out, though. That will only happen once.” Though he did feel rested.

  By the time she came out after her shower, he was dressed and ready to go. He’d gotten most everything packed up, including their trash. He took her damp towel from the back of the door and, with the precision of a surgeon, he went over everything in the room they might have touched. It was normal protocol. Leave no trace behind. None.

  It would be too easy to track them if they left clues behind. Not for the first time, he wondered how many men Howe had on his payroll. And how many had been specifically tasked with finding Sam.

  How had Howe found them? His place was off the grid, but if Tom and Wendy figured out Sam was with him, they would have had a place to start digging. And an arsenal of resource specialists to dig into his assets.

  “Clean. Let’s go,” he announced. “You can sleep in the car.” She’d taken care of him, and he was more alert and able to protect her, now that he’d slept. He wished he could offer something more comfortable than sleeping against the car door, but they needed to keep going.