by Beth Andrews
“I’d still like to take a look.” Five minutes later Joe pronounced a mild sprain and handed over the water bottle and two ibuprofen.
Allison pointed to an ACE bandage. “Shouldn’t you wrap it?”
Joe busied himself repacking the kit. “A doctor once told me that actually prolongs inflammation. Said the best remedy is to elevate the ankle, then alternate hot and cold baths.” He stood, and massaged the back of his neck. Allison knew what he was thinking. What were they going to do with this guy?
“What’s your name?” Joe asked.
No answer, except for the crackle of plastic as he took a deliberate swig of water.
“Do you have any family? Anyone we can call for you?”
Still no answer, except for the curl of his lip.
“How long since you’ve had a hot meal, man? Not counting eggs, I mean.”
The lip curl took on a hint of humor. “Week or so.”
“Then I’ll take you to get something to eat. We can talk about what to do next.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I’m not asking. Let’s go.”
The panic was back in the young man’s eyes. “I don’t do people.”
“We’ll go to Snoozy’s, then. More private than the diner.” Joe pulled Allison aside. “You’ll be all right here on your own?” His voice was clipped and impatient, his gaze remote. Which she should have been celebrating, not mourning.
“I can’t go?” she asked
“He might not be as forthright with you there.” His eyebrows scrunched. “You and I need to talk later.”
Oh, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to let this thing go. Which was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to tell him in the first place. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“Think again.” Then his face changed. “Hell, I can’t leave you here alone. What if this Sammy character really does send someone after you?”
“He won’t. He knows I’m coming back to D.C. When I saw someone in my room I made an assumption.”
“I hope you’re not as cavalier about this as you sound. Those kinds of people mean business.”
“I have it under control.”
Sure you do.
Joe started to say something then shook his head. “Lock up after us.”
The young man limped past her and she gave a little wave. “I’m sorry I called you a creepy crawly.”
With a disinterested grunt he followed Joe out of the room. Allison flipped the bolt into place.
She really did have a way with men.
* * *
MARCUS HESITATED INSIDE the door to Snoozy’s, and blinked in the dim light. The place didn’t smell like he’d expected, not like smoke or sweat or booze. It smelled like French fries. And old leather. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watched Meathead settle at a table in the corner.
A flat-screen TV was tuned to a news channel, the no-nonsense voices of the newscasters masking the frenzied rhythm of his heart. What the hell was he doing here? In a bar? With a dude he knew very little about, other than he liked to lift weights, read old-fashioned spy novels and drink whiskey?
Sweat sprouted on the back of his neck and his hands started to shake. So what if he’d been swallowing drool ever since they left the motel. He hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks, but he knew damned well—lunch would come with a price. At the very least, Meathead would expect him to talk.
And the more he talked, the more he risked giving himself away.
And he was never giving anything away again. Never.
Meathead waved him over. Screw that. So the dude had figured out he’d been living in the woods. Whatever. He’d find somewhere else to hang until he’d done what he came to do. He was outta here. As he turned to leave, a hot blonde carrying a tray of dirty dishes and a damp rag paused beside him.
“Can I help you?”
He told himself not to stare but he did, anyway. She had wide blue eyes and lots of crinkly hair, and she smiled like she meant it.
“You look hungry. Lucky for you, we just pulled a chicken pot pie out of the oven. But our wings are popular, too, and people drive in from all over for one of Snoozy’s hamburgers. From Erie, even.” She leaned in. “But whatever you do, don’t order the chili. My name’s Liz. Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring you a menu.”
She walked away, and his stomach growled a threat he figured it was better not to ignore. He reluctantly made his way to the table in the corner and took the seat across from Meathead. Liz was right behind him. She greeted Meathead with a smile he totally didn’t deserve, shot Marcus a curious glance and took their drink orders.
Meathead ordered a beer. If Marcus weren’t so hungry, he’d have left right then.
“Problem?”
Marcus shook his head. He’d wait until after he’d eaten before pissing off the guy buying him lunch.
“Tell me something.” Meathead sat back in his chair. “If Allison and I hadn’t cornered you, what would you be eating tonight?”
“An apple. And a muffin. Pumpkin, I think.”
“I knew I hadn’t eaten the last one.”
“Figured we were even ’cause I—”
“Yeah, I know. You saved my motel from burning to the ground.” He must have seen something in Marcus’s face because his suddenly went wary. “What?”
Marcus shook his head and picked up the menu. If he was so determined to give himself away, he might as well do it on a full stomach.
“You just passing through?”
“Something like that.”
“On your way to where?” Marcus scowled and lowered the menu and Meathead held up his hands. “Hey, man, I’m not asking for an address. Just curious.”
“South, maybe. Winter sucks here.”
“Unless you happen to like snow. Which I totally do.” Liz stood by their table, pad in hand. “You boys ready to order?”
Marcus reached for his iced tea. His throat had gone dry. She smelled like peanuts and flowers, and he had a sudden urge to touch her hair.
For the twenty minutes it took them to finish their meals, Meathead grilled him, but he didn’t learn much more than what he had already discovered when they’d placed their orders—Marcus liked his cheeseburgers with ketchup and mayonnaise.
With a bemused shake of his head, Meathead pulled out his wallet. “How’s the ankle?”
“Good.” Good enough to run, if he had to.
“Tell you what. I could use some help with the motel. You want to hang around, I’ll put you to work. Give you room and board in return. What do you say?”
He’d say it was too damned good to be true. “What kind of work?”
“Demolition, sheetrock, painting, cleanup—maybe even some landscaping. Whatever needs doing.”
The demolition part sounded good. But at the moment, the room and board sounded better. He hesitated, finally pushed the question past a throat gone inexplicably tight. “Why?”
“I owe you one. But there is a condition.”
Marcus jerked to his feet. “I don’t do conditions.”
“Now, don’t get your dress over your head.”
“Do what?”
“Sorry. Favorite expression of a friend of mine. The condition is, you have to give me a first name. Doesn’t have to be real. But I have to call you something.”
Marcus shifted his weight, and clenched his teeth against the pain that clawed at his ankle. His first name. What would it matter? Let the dude feel like he’d scored a point. He’d be long gone before anyone figured out why he’d really come to town.
“Marcus,” he muttered. As soon as he said it, a gray-haired man emerged from the hallway at the back of the bar, a large box in his arms. He was looking over his shoulder, laughing wi
th someone behind him. When he faced forward Marcus stopped breathing. Blindly he reached for the back of his chair, and gripped it so hard his fingers went numb.
“You all right, man?” Frowning, Meathead tossed a couple of bills on the table and moved closer, blocking Marcus from the gray-haired man’s view. “Let’s get you back to the motel so you can put that foot up.” Meathead held out an arm, as if expecting him to lean on it.
“I’m hurt, not helpless.”
Slowly Meathead lowered his arm. “I understand.”
“And I’m not an idiot. I know patronizing.”
“That wasn’t patronizing. You got defensive. I got careful.” He dug his keys out of his pocket, never breaking eye contact. “Just so you know, I’m not looking for anything more than a solid day’s work. You get your own room. No one can get in. Long as you lock the window,” he added dryly.
Marcus tensed. What exactly did this guy know? And how the hell did he know it?
His gaze traveled from the empty beer glass on the table to the man standing beside him. Meathead lifted an eyebrow.
“Something on your mind?”
“I’ve had some trouble with drunks in the past,” he said, and braced himself.
Meathead grimaced, and let a few seconds of silence go by. “It’s no secret I like to drink. And yeah, sometimes I drink too much. But I would never—” He frowned. “You’re safe from me,” he said finally.
He headed for the door and Marcus followed slowly. Safe? Maybe. Time would tell. Least the gray-haired man had already left. Marcus annoyed himself by scanning the room for a final glimpse of the blonde. She’d disappeared, too. Just as well. Meathead held the door open for him, gave him a nod as he limped by.
“Marcus, huh? That’s a good name.”
Marcus pressed his lips together. If that was true, then it was the only good thing about him.
* * *
ALL THE WAY back to the motel, Joe battled his conscience. He wanted to help Marcus—whether the kid knew it or not, he was desperate for guidance—but wasn’t it time Joe put Allison first? He’d made a snap decision she could end up paying the price for. And damn it, she deserved better.
Keep saying it. Eventually you’ll mean it.
He’d started to tell Marcus he would never hurt anyone. Considering what he’d done to Allison—not to mention his brother—that was a lie.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, watched idly as tiny drops of water speckled the windshield. Maybe they’d finally get that rain they were promised the day before. He cast a sidelong glance at his grim-faced passenger. What did Marcus do when it rained? Huddle under a tree and wait it out?
He flicked on his windshield wipers, considered the comfortable interior of a high-dollar vehicle he took for granted. Thought about the shock on Marcus’s face when he’d offered him a job. He didn’t think the kid was dangerous, just angry and resentful. Stubborn, too.
Still, he had no way of knowing for sure. Allison was sleeping in his motel. She was his responsibility. Already he’d let her down by allowing a stranger to find his way into her room. Judas Priest, what if the intruder hadn’t been an angry kid, but someone bent on violence?
He gave his hair an impatient scrub and turned into the motel parking lot. “Look, man. I have to be honest with you.”
Marcus already had a grip on the door handle. “I get it. No sweat. I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m not asking you to leave. But I should have checked with Allison before asking you to stay.”
“You and she...?”
“No, no. In fact, she’ll only be here another week. And then I’m following her back to Virginia for a month. But she was here first.” He shifted toward his passenger, careful not to move closer. Marcus was as twitchy as a kid sitting in a classroom five minutes before the last bell rang—on the last day of school. “So, do you mind waiting in the truck while I talk to her?”
Marcus stared through the windshield, now streaked with narrow ribbons of rain. He shrugged, but Joe knew what he was thinking. That Allison would tell Joe to send him away. He didn’t know her like Joe did.
Ironic as hell, wasn’t it? She’d agree with Joe that Marcus deserved a second chance. But she’d never agree to give Joe one. And as tempting as it may be to use that argument to win his own do-over, it was time he accepted it wasn’t going to happen. Shouldn’t happen. He let people down. That’s what he did. She’d already experienced his particular brand of betrayal and he wouldn’t put her through that again. She had enough to deal with.
He slammed out of the truck, welcomed the warm, wet shock of summer rain. Butt-kicked his mind from imagining Allison out there with him, the soft, slick skin of her face in his hands, her mouth moving under his. He pulled in a long, deep breath, and knocked on her door.
Thirty seconds later he was using a borrowed towel to wipe the damp from his face while Allison stood at the round table by the window, where she’d been working on her computer. She looked apprehensive, and no wonder. He had plenty to say to her, but first things first.
“Here’s the deal. Marcus is outside in the truck.”
“Marcus?”
“He finally came through with a name. Whether or not it’s real...” Joe shrugged. “I’d like to put him up for a while, give him a chance to get back on his feet. He’s agreed to help out with the renovations. But I won’t let him stay if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”
“Where would he go if I said no?”
“I’ll drive him over to the next town. Get him a room there. Assuming he’ll want to stay in the area till I get back from D.C.”
“It’s nice of you to help him out. And I appreciate that you’re asking me how I feel about the whole situation. But as long as he doesn’t have any plans to slither through the wall and suffocate me in my sleep, I’m good.”
Joe nodded his thanks. “The moment you feel the slightest bit uneasy having him around, you let me know.”
“I will. It’s only for a week, anyway.”
“Twelve days.”
“But who’s counting?”
They both were. For very different reasons. He tossed the towel on the bed. Opened his mouth. She rushed into speech.
“I talked to Ivy. She said her manager’s wife has a broken collarbone and a few cuts, but she’ll be okay.”
“Glad to hear it. Nice of you to call her. But once I let Marcus know he has a place to stay, you and I need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“The hell we don’t. You could be in danger. And I’m supposed to stand by and do nothing? Screw that. You need my help and I’m giving it to you.”
“I’m not your project. You coming back to Alexandria to handle Mahoney is all I need. And I’m not in danger. My payments are up to date.” She gestured with her chin at the door. “You need to go. Marcus is waiting.”
“Your payments? Damn it, we need to talk about this. About what you’re letting your mother do to you.”
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
“No. You’re doing what she has to do. Jesus, Al. Why would you take that on? Why would you sacrifice everything to pay her debts? She can’t know what you’re doing. There’s no way she’d allow you to waste your money—your life—supporting her vices.”
“None of that is your business. And how many times do I have to tell you? My name is Allison.”
Had he...? He had. Hell, he hadn’t called her “Al” since before his brother died. He rubbed at his forehead. “My motel. My business.” He dropped his hand and snagged her gaze. “My friend.”
The hostility in her expression faded, giving way first to confusion, then sadness and finally resignation. “My mom kept me safe. From a father who couldn’t keep his fists to himself. She took beatings meant for me. I do owe her. I o
we her everything.”
A furious burn started in Joe’s chest, and spread until his entire torso smoldered with a bitter energy. She’d never told him. Never even hinted. No wonder she had compulsions. He’d have them, too. Had one right now, as a matter of fact.
To kick someone’s abusive ass.
“Where’s your father now?”
Her glance was cautious, as if she sensed the aggression behind his words. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. He was in prison for a while—maybe he’s still there.”
Good place for him. Joe moved closer. “If your father was beating your mother it wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life paying for something you had no control over.”
That’s when it clicked for him. She’d had no control over her father’s temper, her mother’s addiction, Joe’s drinking, Tackett’s unreasonable demands. It all made sense, now. Allison was tired of being at the mercy of others. She needed to feel in charge, for once. Not because she was manipulative, but because she was hurting.
A long overdue megawatt lightbulb went off in his head. He’d been feeling all of that, too, and he’d let the booze have control over him because it was just easier not to fight.
But Allison was fighting. She was fighting hard. Didn’t he owe it to himself to do the same? Hangovers, tremors, forgetfulness—they’d all become his new normal. And despite all the lame-ass things he’d done in his life, he deserved to be free of the hold alcohol had on him. Didn’t he?
His muscles suddenly felt loose, and his stomach churned. Could he give it up? The one thing that got him through each and every day? And damn, if he tried and didn’t make it he didn’t know what the hell he’d do—
“You need to go,” Allison choked. She plucked his damp towel off the bed and backed toward the bathroom. “Marcus is waiting.”
He had a lot to think about. He went.
* * *
ALLISON LINGERED IN her room for half an hour after Joe left, giving him time to get Marcus settled, and herself time to come to terms with the fact that she’d actually told someone about her father. It wasn’t something she discussed. Ever. But if it meant avoiding another misguided lecture from Joe, she was glad she’d blurted it out.