Relentless Pursuit (7 page)

Stepping back into the hallway he closed the door, and strode back to his room shoving the extra shirt and pants into his backpack.  He added his backup piece, a .38 snub nose and extra ammo.  Grabbing up the pack and his keys, he headed for the living room.  He gave a quick knock on her door and mumbled, “I'll be in the living room, let's go.”

In less than a minute Jennifer crept into the living room tugging at the T-shirt.  The clothes were tight on her as he'd suspected they would be, though the shirt was a halfway decent fit, especially across her full breasts.  She definitely had a gorgeous rack.  Luckily, the pants were Capri style, so they hit below the knee. Which was okay, nobody would look twice at that.  Her bare feet, on the other hand, might be a problem.

“Crap.  I forgot about shoes.  Lemme see if
maman
has anything that might work.  Wish I could take you over to Max and Theresa's place.  Her stuff would probably fit you better.”  He kept talking while he rummaged through his gran's closet again.  Luckily, there was a pair of decorated flip-flops, beaded with the gaudiest rhinestones and fake flowers he'd ever seen.

“Here you go.”  He tried to hide the smirk threatening to pull his lips upward, but it was a losing battle at the horrified look on her face.  She quickly masked it, and fluttered her eyelashes at him in a blatantly exaggerated mock flirt.

“Why thank you so much, Prince Charming.  What lovely slippers.”  She slid them onto her feet wincing a bit when the cuts met the rubberized soles, but never said a word.  She'd been a real trooper about the whole thing, actually, Remy thought.  Battered, bruised and bleeding when she'd come into the station, she'd never once complained about her own plight. She was too worried about her brother, Carlo.  He spared a quick thought for him, knowing Captain Hilliard would do everything humanly possible to find him and keep him safe—if he was still alive—and that was a big if since Dubshenko was involved. 

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”  She pulled her long hair back in one hand before adding, “Wait.  Have you got a piece of string, or something I can tie this back with?  If we're going to be on the motorcycle it'll be easier.”  Remy pulled open a drawer in the entryway table, and pulled out a leather thong, one he'd used on his own hair when it had been longer.

“Here.  Use this.”

“Thanks.”  With a quick flick of her wrist, her hair was bound back away from her gorgeous face, and Remy was struck by the unselfconscious beauty of her.

She doesn't even realize how beautiful she is
.

Gabbing up his pack and keys, they headed outside.  “I was kidding about the bike, Jennifer.  We can take the car.”

“No, I thought about it and you're right.  They'll be more likely to look for a car than a motorcycle.  Plus, we'll travel faster this way.  I'm sure I'll get used to it—eventually,” She chuckled before continuing,  “if I can stay on the beast, that is.”

They climbed on Remy's Ducati Diavel Dark, his pride and joy. Its black and chrome finish was polished to a gleaming shine, even in the darkness.  He knew the bike inside and out, kept her in tiptop running condition and trusted her more than the car anyway.  He strapped the pack on the back with bungee cords, tying it down tightly before motioning for Jennifer to climb on.  His eyes were glued to her ass as she swung her leg across the seat, the dark yoga pants stretching to outline and highlight her luscious curves.

Get your head in the game, jackass.  She's a witness, you're supposed to be protecting her, not lusting after her body.

He climbed on in front and hit the electronic ignition, waiting while she wrapped her arms snug around his midsection, fingers intertwined in front at waist level.

A last fleeting thought whispered through his mind as they drove into the darkness. 
Crap, this is going to be a flaming disaster.

Chapter Six

A
round 3 a.m. Remy finally pulled into a motel where they could check in for the remainder of the night.  Jinx had never been so happy to finally see a place with a bed and a bathroom.  Her bladder had been protesting for the last hour, but she knew the farther away from New Orleans they got, the safer they'd be.  Swinging her leg across the seat, she stood next to the black motorcycle.  Or she tried to.  Her legs resembled limp overcooked spaghetti, weak and not up to the job of holding her weight. 
Well, crap on a cracker, this sucks
.

Remy's arm shot around her waist, keeping her from face planting onto the crumbling asphalt drive.  Wouldn't that make a great impression on the night clerk?  Heck, maybe he'd think she was too drunk to stand up on her own.  Glancing down at her unique clothing choices, maybe he'd think she was a cheap hooker Remy had picked up.  After all, the entire place looked like they rented rooms by the hour, not someplace you'd bring the family on the way to Disney World.  Heck, for all she knew, the clerk probably had the local professionals on speed dial for easier customer service.

“Wait here and I'll get us a room.”  Remy strode toward the office and all Jinx could think was
A ROOM?  One?  Uh, oh.  No, don’t even go there.  We're both tired, nothing's going to happen.  He's keeping you safe. That's it.  Of course we'd have to share a room.  It only makes sense.  Wait—I don't have anything to sleep in!

She turned back to the bike and fumbled with the bungee cord, and unhooked the backpack.  Sliding the strap across her shoulder, she paced beside the bike.  Her thigh muscles ached from holding them at that angle for so long. Plus, she wasn't used to being on a motorcycle, so they throbbed, to say nothing of her butt.  Talk about uncomfortable.  She chuckled and whispered, “The vibrations were definitely a plus, though.”

The office door opened and Remy met her halfway between there and the Ducati.  “We're at the end, first floor.  Let's go.”  Since it was such a short distance they walked, and he rolled the bike into the empty parking space two slots over from their room.  When it was parked, he reached down and picked up a handful of dirt, and with a grimace smeared it all over the license plate.

“Why'd you do that?”

“Covers up the numbers from a distance.  Somebody would have to be up close and personal to read them clearly.  Just playing it safe.”  He wiped his hand down the side of his jeans before reaching for the backpack she had over her shoulder.  With a shrug she slid it off and handed it over.

“You hungry?  There was a vending machine in the office.  It ain't much but…”

“No, thanks.  I'm okay.  I just want to sleep.”  Jinx followed him into the room. She waited a second while he flipped on the light.  The rank smell of cigarettes, greasy fast food and stale sex permeated the room with their acrid stench.  A king size bed dominated the space, its worn faded comforter a dull floral pattern of browns, oranges and a decidedly puke green color.  A brown lamp with a lopsided, yellow shade sat in solitary splendor on the narrow nightstand to the left of the bed.  Not even an alarm clock decorated its worn and scratched surface.

“Gee, you take me to the nicest places, Detective.”

Remy grimaced and she felt bad about the verbal dig, but she was exhausted, worried about her brother and scared.  Dubshenko was the unknown element in everything.  The kind of monster you dreamt about in the darkest recesses of your nightmares, but happily faded into oblivion with the light of day.  Only he wasn't fading away.

“Sorry.”  She sank down onto the corner of the bed, sitting on the verge edge, and absently picked at the bedspread.  How should she approach talking to him about their sleeping arrangements?  She got that they needed to stick together.   But didn't they have a room with two beds?  Then again, thinking about the kind of dump they were in, chances were good this was the penthouse suite.

“I know you're tired, Jennifer.  Just know I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”  He tossed the pack onto the bed beside her and turned away. He walked toward the room's solitary window, its ugly green and yellow striped curtains doing nothing to disguise the cobwebs clinging to the curtain rod. They were clearly visible even with the light of only the single lamp in the room.

“I'm going to call Captain Hilliard, see if there's any news about your brother.”

She glanced at the cell phone he'd pulled out of his pocket.  “Is it safe to make any calls?  Can I use that when you're finished?”

“Burner phone.”  He replied.

“What's that?”

“Prepaid cell phone with no way to trace it.  I'll only use it once, then get rid of it.  It's not safe to have direct communication.  Too easy for somebody with even minimal skills to hack into and track the GPS.”  He motioned toward the pack.  “Why don't you go ahead and get ready for bed.”

She headed toward the bathroom and within minutes was back out again, dressed in just the T-shirt she'd borrowed.  It barely covered the edge of her panties.  She tugged on the hem, and Remy caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.  He turned back to the window, and she ignored him, instead staring at the bed.

He finished the call with Hilliard, removed the battery and smart card from inside the phone, and ground the plastic phone casing beneath his boot heel before he tossed the remnants of the phone in the trash, along with the battery. He carried the smart card into the bathroom.  A quick flush took care of getting it out of the room and on its way to the local sanitation station.  Good luck tracking it now.

# # # # #

Remy sauntered back into the room.  Jennifer had already pulled back the bedspread and climbed beneath the covers, and pulled them up all the way to beneath her chin.  Big blue eyes watched his every move, a blend of exhaustion and a tiny glimmer of fear readable in her gaze.

He hated this entire situation.  Although they'd only spent a few hours together, from the time she'd walked into the station, he'd been instantly attracted to her. She reminded him a lot of Theresa.  They had the same coloring, long blonde hair and a pale creamy complexion.  That initial appearance of fragility disguising a core of solid steel.  Under different circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated to date her, bed her and move on.  But these weren't the usual circumstances by anybody's definition.  He was responsible for keeping her safe and out of Dubshenko's clutches, for however long that took.

Looking at her tucked up in the bed they'd have to share, he could only hope they arrested him pretty damn quick before his little head overrode all sense in his big head, and he did what he'd been dying to do ever since they'd left his house.  Find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.

“Where are you going to sleep?”  The softly voiced question brought his eyes zeroing back to her.

“Right beside you, sweetheart.”

Jennifer struggled upright in the bed, keeping her death grip on the blankets.  “Hell, no.  I don't think so.”

“Well, think again.  Have you taken a good look at the carpet?  There is no way I'm sleeping on that disease-ridden mess.”  He toed off his boots, and sat down on the edge of the bed to peel off his socks.  Grabbing a handful of his shirt, he yanked it off over his head, and started to toss it onto the floor, stopping in mid-motion.  He stomped over and folded it before placing it atop the backpack.   Fingers flicked open the button of his jeans.

“Wait.  Keep your pants on.”

Remy turned around to face Jennifer, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I am not sleeping in my jeans.  For heaven’s sake, we're both adults.  We can share a bed without pouncing on each other in uncontrolled lust.”  Although that sounded like a really good idea to him.  It had been a long dry spell since he'd had a gorgeous blonde in his bed.

He unzipped his jeans and peeled them down his legs, smiling when he looked up and saw Jennifer's eyes squeezed tightly shut.  Folding the jeans, he placed them with his shirt.  Reaching inside the backpack, he pulled out his .38 snub nose and strolled over to the side of the bed closest to the door. 
Which just happened to be the side she'd plopped her pretty little fanny on.

“Move over, sweetheart.  I need to be near the door.”

With a huff she scooted over, still keeping her death grip on the covers.  He slid underneath, punching the flattened pillow behind him and shoved the .38 beneath his pillow.  With both their lives on the line, Remy wasn't taking any chances.  While he was pretty sure Dubshenko didn't have a lead on them yet, it was only a matter of time.

“Try to get some sleep.  We'll have to take off early to keep ahead of Dubshenko.”

She turned toward him, braced her head on her bent arm and studied his face.  “What did Captain Hilliard say?  Was there any word on Carlo?”

Remy leaned forward and tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, marveling at how soft the skin of her cheek was.  His groin tightened and swelled.  Looks like the little head wanted to do the thinking after all.  He needed to get a tight rein on things right now.

“There's no word on your brother yet.  Cap's got everyone available out looking for any sign of him, but nothing so far.  Dubshenko's limo was spotted at your house, but you already knew that.  He thinks they loaded Carlo inside it after you took off, but there's no trace of him.”  He saw the tears welling up in her eyes, and he wanted to make everything better for her. He just wasn't sure how.

“No, don't think the worst.  You talked to him.  You know he was alive after he left your house.  Carlo's smart, right?  A fighter?”  She nodded, and he heard her whisper, “You have no idea.”  He brushed it aside and continued.

“He's hurt, though we don't know how badly.  Cap says there was some blood at your house.  Not as much as you'd think for a gunshot to the chest, though.”

“I've never been so scared in my life, and I've been through some pretty crazy sh—stuff.  When Dubshenko shot him he stumbled backward, and blood spread across his chest.”  She paused and Remy could practically see the wheels turning in her mind, piecing together what she'd seen and heard.  “I think he was more stunned than anything.  You're right, there was blood on his shirt, but wouldn't a gunshot wound to the chest, especially one near the heart, have a lot of bleeding?  Wouldn't it be pooling on the floor beneath him?”