“I’ll do that.” He could deal with Granny. If necessary, he could offer her so damn much cash she would invite him right into Hannah’s bed—a place he had been and thoroughly enjoyed. A place he wished he’d never known existed.
“I can’t do up the room tonight, but I can come down and make the bed.”
He brushed off the offer. “Just give me the bedding and towels. I’ll do it.”
“A guest doing his own housekeeping. Sylvie’s not gonna like this.” She went through the door behind her, then returned a moment later with bedding, towels, pillows and two tiny bars of soap. “Let me get your receipt.”
“I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
The lights were still on in Hannah’s rooms when he approached the end of the building. He left everything on the bed, then returned to the truck for the bags he would need tonight. He would move the rest of his things in tomorrow. Tonight he was tired.
As he finished making the bed, the pager on his belt went off, its annoying beep loud in the stillness. The number was Brad’s Oklahoma City house. Using his calling card, Mick dialed it, then sank onto the bed.
“Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling your truck with no answer, and the clerk at the motel said you checked out tonight. Where are you?”
Mick chose to ignore the question. “Have you found a lawyer for me?”
“Yeah. You’re supposed to call him first thing tomorrow. What’s going on, Mick? You’re not planning to skip town, are you?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a suspect in an arson and a murder?”
“I’m going to find Elizabeth. I’m going to prove I haven’t lied.”
“And how are you going to do that? You don’t have a last name. You have no idea where she’s from. You don’t even know if her name is Elizabeth. How the hell are you planning to find her?”
Mick slid down until the pillow was beneath his head. There was a reason he wasn’t telling his partner and best friend where he was or that Elizabeth, better known as Hannah, was right next door. Later he would figure out what it was. “I’ll find her.”
“Oh, yeah, you’ve got so much to go on. You know she’s a redhead, she’s got nice boobs, she’s hot and easy and hell in bed. Yeah, that’s gonna make the search a whole lot easier.”
“What’s the lawyer’s name?” Mick made a mental note of the name Brad gave him and thought he might pick his own attorney, after all.
“So where are you?”
“I’ll let you know when I settle someplace.”
“Come on, Mick, don’t be—”
He hung up, but remained where he was. Using the remote, he turned the television on and got nothing but audio. He left it on, using the noise as he had for the past year to disguise the fact that he was so alone.
Letting his eyes drift shut, he shifted on the bed. The mattress was about twenty years past its prime, but he’d gotten a good night’s sleep here Saturday. Of course, that had been after Eliza—Hannah had exhausted him. Once she’d gotten over her shyness, she had made love to him—snidely he substituted another word for the quaint phrase—with a greedy, needy passion that had matched his own. He had thought in one brief, lucid moment that she must be lonely, like him, and eager for intimate contact that didn’t involve fighting, pain or hostility. She had seduced him as if not just her body but also her soul had been starved for a personal touch.
And the whole time she’d been helping someone frame him for Sandra’s murder.
I didn’t know, she’d said, leaving the words hanging as if there were more to follow. I didn’t know he was going to kill her. Had that been the rest of it? He hoped so. He hoped she wasn’t so cold, so heartless, that she could lose herself in pure sexual pleasure while another woman’s skull was crushed and the building set on fire around her. He prayed he couldn’t possibly be attracted to a psychopath like that.
Who was the someone she’d been helping? Sandra had had her share of enemies. There were the men she’d slept with and callously dumped. The wives who’d watched her threaten their marriages all for her own brief amusement. The people she’d used and abandoned, the ones she’d treated as beneath her notice. And, of course, Mick had nursed his own animosity toward her for a long time.
When he’d married her, he had loved her more than he’d thought possible. They had met when she’d come to his office to interview for a secretary’s job. He’d taken one look at her, listened for one moment to her sweet, lazy voice, and hired her on the spot. He hadn’t known or cared whether she could handle the job. He’d only wanted to see her every day. After a year they’d gotten married. He thought she had fallen in love with him. He suspected now that her decision had more to do with the impressive growth his company had shown that first year. She had finally been convinced that he could keep her in the style she wanted to become accustomed to.
She had been a beautiful woman, a good office manager, a perfect hostess. She might have grown up poor, but no one ever would have guessed it. Her style had been impeccable, her taste expensive and elegant. There’d been times, when she was dressed for some formal event, when she had intimidated the hell out of him, when he’d felt so lowerclass average—and so damned lucky.
When had he stopped feeling lucky? When had she started treating him as if he were inferior? When had the love started to fade?
It had been a gradual change. Once he’d hooked up with Brad and Reilly Homes had become Blue Water Construction, he’d worked longer and harder than ever before, often at jobs that sent him away from home overnight or for a week at a time. The free time he could give Sandra had shrunk, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. At the time he’d thought that she was being supportive, that she understood how much the company demanded of him, that she was willing to wait until they were better established and he could spend more time with her. Now he knew that she simply hadn’t cared. She’d had his money—no small amount the way business had tripled and tripled again—and she’d had her men.
He had never been unfaithful to her—not when he’d found out about her first affair, not when she’d stopped making love with him, not when he’d acknowledged that their marriage was beyond saving. Until Saturday night, he had slept with his wife or he’d slept alone.
He’d picked a hell of a time to forget his morals. But he’d had little enough say in the matter. If he hadn’t been willing—eager, even—to leave the bar with Hannah, she would have convinced him. Seducing him—keeping him occupied and leaving him without an alibi—had been her job, and she’d been determined to do it right.
Hell, yes, she’d done it right. Just thinking about those long dark hours in this bed was enough to make him hard. Knowing that she was right next door was enough to make him want her again. Even knowing that she’d lied. That she’d set him up. That she was helping ruin him. He would take her to bed again in a heartbeat.
And then he would ruin her.
Hannah gave up her night-long efforts to sleep, got ready to face the day and went to the office to relieve Ruby. The night clerk was comfortably tucked into the padded swivel chair, watching the television on the corner of the desk. It was tuned to an early-morning exercise program led by a woman cheerful enough to drive any sane person to commit murd—
Swallowing hard, Hannah cut off the thought. “Morning, Ruby.”
“You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hope your neighbor didn’t disturb you.”
Hannah rested her arms on the counter. “My neighbor?”
“He insisted on room 17. Said it was his lucky number.” Rising from the chair, Ruby pulled open the cash drawer and furtively displayed a stack of money. “He paid five hundred dollars for one week in that particular room. Can you believe it, Hannah? Of course, I told him he’d have to take it up with you this morning. I know you like your privacy, but how could I turn down five hundred dollars?”
Hannah stared at th
e money as a chill raced through her. She grabbed the register, praying it would disprove her fears, but it didn’t. Of course not Nothing else was going her way. Why should this?
Why was Mick Reilly staying at her motel? Obviously he wanted information from her. He wanted to make her nervous, wanted her to know she was being watched. Well, he simply couldn’t stay. If Brad found out—and he would—he would suspect Hannah of betraying him, and he would carry out his threat to destroy her family. She couldn’t let that happen.
Even if it meant letting him destroy Mick.
“Is something wrong, Hannah? You look feverish. Maybe you should take some aspirin and go back to bed.”
She felt feverish—cold with fear and hot with anger—but she brushed off Ruby’s concern. “I’m all right. I’ll take care of this. If you could stay at the desk until I get back...?”
“Heavens, honey,I’m not scheduled to leave for another hour. Take your time. But I doubt that fellow’s awake yet.”
“Then I’ll wake him,” Hannah said through gritted teeth. She left the office, blinking at the sun that had just cleared the hills to the east before her gaze settled on the midnight blue pickup parked in front. She hadn’t even noticed it earlier. Her gaze had been down, like her mood, and she’d walked right past it. Of course, it was Reilly’s.
At room 17, she didn’t settle for a polite knock. She pounded her fist on the door, releasing every bit of fear and anxiety into the action. Then, without giving him a chance to respond, she used her master key, flung the door back and stalked inside. The television was on, the air conditioner ran at a low hum, and the bare bulb over the sink gave off a dim light. A shaft of sunlight illuminated Reilly stretched out on the bed, on top of the covers and wearing nothing but unbuttoned jeans. The remote was loosely clasped in one hand, and the other was raised to protect his eyes from the sun.
With his long lean body, dark skin, dark hair and day’s growth of beard, he was quite possibly the handsomest and sexiest man she’d ever seen.
Oh, God, she was in trouble.
“Why don’t you come on over here and crawl into bed with me like you did the other night?” His voice was thick with sleep and desire. It made her remember the sweet things he’d whispered to her Saturday night—promises, encouragement, endearments. It also made her remember the sharp contrast of his contempt last night.
When she said nothing, he shifted to lean on one arm. His face was in shadow now, his body still gleaming deep golden brown in the sun. The sight made her hot, trembly, and scared her to death.
He shut off the television and tossed the remote aside, then sat up, stuffing pillows behind his back. “I take it that banging on the door was your way of saying welcome to the Last Resort.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“I am here, darlin’, and I don’t intend to leave. Of course, if you want to do a little persuading, feel free. My body is yours. Do what you will.” His grin was wicked and teasing, but there was real danger underneath it. She could feel it. “Do what you did Saturday night.”
Moving farther into the room, she picked up the shirt, shoes and socks he’d discarded last night and laid them at the foot of the bed before turning her attention to the neatly folded clothes on the table and toiletries around the sink. “Ruby was wrong to rent you a room. You’re not welcome here. You can’t stay. I’ll pack your things, and you’ll go to the office and get your money back—all of it. There’s no charge for last night. You just have to go. Now.”
She was concentrating so fiercely on returning everything on the counter to the nylon duffel that she wasn’t aware he’d left the bed until he stopped too close behind her. Reaching around, he pulled the bag away, then stilled her hands by gripping both wrists. “I’m not leaving.”
“You have to! You can’t stay here!”
“Then tell me what I want to know. Tell me who killed Sandra...and then tell the sheriff and make him believe it.”
She met his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his expression was ruthless. In contrast, she looked pale and frightened. “If I tell you, he’ll destroy me. He’ll—” She bit off the words, clamped her mouth shut.
“Who?” When she didn’t answer, Reilly leaned closer. “If you don’t tell the sheriff everything, I’ll destroy you.”
She believed him. She just believed Brad more. Still, she tried in a quavery voice to reason with him. “If I help you, he’ll implicate me. He’ll make us both look guilty. He’ll put me in jail and my mother and grandmother out on the street. I’m the only family they’ve got. There’s no place for them to go. Sylvie would have to go to a nursing home, and my mother...she’s not well. She doesn’t cope well here, but she can’t function at all away from here. She’s—”
“—crazy,” he supplied. “She probably wouldn’t mind Vinita at all.”
She shrank away as far as the counter would let her. The small town of Vinita in northeastern Oklahoma was home to Eastern State Hospital, a state-run psychiatric hospital. Merrilee had gone there for treatment soon after Hannah’s father’s death and had come back in worse shape than before. It was one of her greatest fears that she would someday have to go back there. Leaving Sunshine and the Last Resort was her greatest fear of all.
“Frankly, darlin’, I don’t give a damn about your crazy mother or your grandmother or you. I don’t care whether you stay here until this place falls down around you or if they rot in a nursing home and a mental ward while you rot in jail. All I care about is the truth and saving myself. Now who are you working with? Who set me up? Who told you to entertain me while he killed my wife?”
She twisted to face him and wished she hadn’t. It was easier meeting his gaze in the mirror than face-to-face. Some small measure of the malice and threat got lost in the mirror. “If I tell you, will you leave?”
“When you tell me and the sheriff.”
“I can’t do that. You can get the sheriff to help you prove it, but I can’t be your alibi.”
He stared at her a long time, then made a frustrated gesture. “All right. Who was it?”
“You’ll leave? And never come back? And never mention my name to the sheriff or anyone else?”
“Yes. Who was it?”
“Think about it. Who stood to profit?”
“According to the sheriff, me.”
“Not from Sandra’s death. Who stood to profit from getting rid of you?”
He shook his head slowly. “Only Sandra. She wasn’t satisfied with the property settlement our attorneys had worked out. She wanted everything. But no one tried to kill me. Sandra wasn’t mistakenly killed in my place.”
“How much is Blue Water Construction worth?”
He named a figure that made her blink. Her shabby little business venture here wasn’t worth even one-hundredth of that. In her entire lifetime she would never see a fraction as much money come through here. No wonder Brad wanted it all for himself.
“But this had nothing to do with—” He caught his breath. His eyes narrowed, and he backed away. He paced to the bed, his movements tightly controlled, then came back. “The sheriff assumed the fire was set to cover up the murder. But the resort was heavily insured, and it was about to bankrupt Blue Water. So maybe the fire served to get the company out from under that debt and to cast suspicion on me, because I’d said before that since we couldn’t sell the place, we should burn it down. And it made it look as if the fire was connected to the murder. Although Brad might have a motive for arson, there’s no reason he’d want to kill Sandra. I, on the other hand, had reasons for both.”
For a long time he remained silent, then abruptly he shook his head. “Brad had nothing against Sandra. They hardly ever saw each other, except on the rare occasions we had dinners with clients. He and I have been partners and friends for years. And you expect me to believe that he sacrificed her life—that he killed a woman he barely knew—just to get me out of the company?”
“I don’t care whether yo
u believe me. I just want you out of here. If he knows that you’ve found me, if he even suspects that you’ve connected me with Elizabeth, he’ll make me pay. He’ll take everything I have and frame me right alongside you.”
Mick gave her a long hard look, then went to the phone, punching in numbers for a long-distance call. Hannah’s heart sank when, after a moment’s wait, he said, “Hey, Brad, it’s Mick. I told you I’d let you know when I found a place to stay. I’m at the Last Resort Motel, room 17.” His gaze locked with hers. “I think I’ll find something here that will lead me to Elizabeth.”
She sank against the counter, her legs too weak to support her. That was it. Brad had promised her punishment, and he would deliver where it would hurt most. He would foreclose on that ten-thousand-dollar note, which she’d paid in full with her body and the loss of her self-respect, which he’d promised to write off legally upon her return from the cabin. He would evict them, and her mother... Oh, God, her mother wouldn’t be able to handle that.
The distant sound of a ringing phone drew her attention back to Reilly. He’d hung up and was watching her now. “Your phone’s ringing.”
Brad, no doubt. She was afraid to talk to him, afraid of his anger and his threats. But when Reilly opened the connecting door, then swung hers open—left unlocked in the shock of yesterday’s phone call with Biad—she numbly walked through and answered midring.
There was no ranting, no loud fury, no screaming accusations. Just a quiet, deadly voice. “I warned you once, Hannah. Now I’m promising you. If Mick makes the connection between you and Elizabeth, if he finds out one damn thing that will help him, you’ll live to regret it. Merrilee won’t like being locked up with all those crazy people, miles from Sunshine, knowing she’ll never be able to go home again, will she? What do you think that will do to her, Hannah? Probably cause her mind to snap completely. She would never recover. And what about Sylvie? It’ll break her heart to see her daughter-in-law in Vinita and her granddaughter in Mabel Bassett.”
The Overnight Alibi Page 5