Assignment: Marriage. Jackie MerrittЧитать онлайн книгу.
bucking car into the parking area of the buildings. Nicole frowned at the dark and silent service station. “I don’t think you’re going to get any help at this place.”
“Not till morning,” Tuck said. “Wait here.” Getting out, leaving the engine idling—wheezingly—he stalked to the door of the motel office.
In the car Nicole sighed and laid her head back against the seat. Things just kept getting worse. Not more than a week ago she was a reasonably happy woman with a challenging job, some good friends, and a home she liked and enjoyed. Now here she was in the middle of nowhere, in a pitch-black night, running from killers, with a man she neither knew nor liked, and with a broken-down car in the bargain.
Tuck read the small sign above a button. Ring Buzzer For Late Night Service. He looked around. The motel had about seven units and there were only three cars parked in front of three doors. He pushed on the button.
Almost at once he heard movement from inside. The office lights flashed on, then a sleepy-eyed, middle-aged man in an undershirt and a pair of dark pants with suspenders opened the door.
“I need a room,” Tuck said flatly.
“Come in.” The man left the door hanging open and walked around a counter. He shoved a card and a pen at Tuck. “Fill it out.”
Tuck picked up the pen. “Do you have a room with two beds?”
“The only room I have left has one bed. But it’s queen-size.”
“Okay.” Tuck filled in the blanks and laid down the pen.
The man handed him a key. “Room number six. That’ll be forty dollars.”
“Forty?” Seemed pretty high for a squalid little motel like this.
“Forty,” the man confirmed.
Tuck dug out two twenties and handed them over. “What time does the gas station open in the morning?”
“Around eight.”
“Do they have a mechanic?”
“Not regular. But they got a guy on call.”
“What about food? Is there a café or something nearby?”
“Just across the road.”
Tuck glanced out the door and saw a squat little structure without lights. “Thanks.”
Carrying the key, he walked outside. The office lights immediately went off behind him. He headed for the car and got in.
“Got a room for the rest of the night,” he said while driving toward room number six.
Nicole gave him a startled look. “One room?”
“We’re married, remember?” he said dryly.
“I hope it has two beds.”
“It doesn’t.”
She stiffened. “Well, where are you going to sleep?”
He shot her a dirty look and pulled the car to a stop. “Bring in only what you have to.”
Opening the trunk of the car, he hauled out the smallest of his suitcases. “Which one of yours do you want?”
“I’ll get it myself,” Nicole answered sullenly.
Tuck shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Together, each with a small suitcase, they walked to the door of room number six. Tuck inserted the key and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and felt around for a light switch.
The room was plain and drab but appeared to be clean. As the man had said, it had a queen-size bed. Tuck set down his suitcase. “In case you’re interested, the gas station opens at eight. They have a mechanic on call, so with any luck at all we should be rolling again before noon. In the meantime, get some sleep.”
Nicole was staring at the bed. One bed. “I am not sharing a bed with you,” she said frostily.
“Then sleep in the damn chair.” Tuck yanked off the bedspread, rolled it into a tube and placed it down the center of the bed. “I get the side facing the door. Use the other, if you want. Believe me, lady, your chastity is in no danger from me. Even if I was so inclined, which I’m not, I’m too damn tired to do anything about it.” He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Nicole stood there tired and drained. Sharing a motel room with a man she had met no more than five hours ago was affronting, even if he had rather cleverly devised a barrier down the middle of the bed. Setting her suitcase on the floor, she went to a chair and wearily sat down. Tears were very close, burning her eyes and throat and making her head feel tight and achy. The room, though plain and outdated, seemed clean enough, except for the carpet, which was dingy from age and hard usage.
What was she doing here? The question hit her benumbed brain without mercy. She should be home, in her own bed. She thought of all the postcards and notes she had written to her friends, and her lips clamped together in a thin line. Some of them would accept her brief message without question, but there were a few who might have a lot of questions. For one thing, the only close family she had was her mother, who lived in Florida. There were a handful of aunts, uncles and cousins scattered across the country, but Nicole’s nearest and dearest friends knew that she didn’t stay in touch with her distant relatives. “Family emergency” was a pretty vague message and apt to raise more questions than it answered.
As for her mother, Nicole had ignored John Harper’s orders and written Jane Currie a letter. She’d tried to make it one of her normal letters, with only a few lies about a business trip for the Monte Carlo, knowing that a postcard with a ridiculous message would only alarm the older woman. The letter would buy her some time with her mother, Nicole felt, and maybe this mess would come to a head before Jane did become alarmed.
The bathroom door swung open and Tuck walked out. Seeing Nicole in a forlorn heap on the chair, he squared his shoulders to forestall another bout of sympathy.
“I’m going outside for a minute.”
Her eyes lifted to his and for a moment, the first time really, their gazes connected. A peculiar tingling traveled Nicole’s spine, a discomfiting sensation. Turning her head, she nodded. He walked past her and out the door.
Sighing despondently, she got to her feet, picked up her case and went into the bathroom.
Tuck unscrewed the bulb in the light fixture next to the door, then stood in the dark and scanned the area. Everything was silent and he felt none of the wariness he normally did when faced with danger.
Going to the car, he quietly opened the driver’s door, got his gun from under the seat, locked the car and returned to tighten the bulb before entering the motel room. There was a dead bolt and a chain on the door, and he used both. Then, placing his holstered gun—and his pack of cigarettes—on the nightstand, he kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the blanket on his side of the bed. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. He was tired through and through, and a few hours of sleep seemed like a gift.
Turning on his side, with his back to the tube of bedspread, he shut his eyes.
Nicole opened the bathroom door and turned off the light at the same time. The lights were still on in the bedroom and Officer Hannigan was already in bed. Or rather, he was on the bed, his back to her, fully clothed except for his boots.
Her gaze went from the chair to the vacant side of the bed, back and forth several times. It was no contest, she finally decided. She had to lie down and if Hannigan could sleep in his clothes, she could damn well sleep in hers.
“Turn off the lights.”
“Oh! I thought you were sleeping.” Nicole