Jack Daniels Six Pack (169 page)

“It’s not
miss
, and it’s not
lady,
” I said. “It’s
Lieutenant
.”

“She outranks you guys because you suck,” Phin offered.

I really couldn’t blame them too much for trying to arrest us—the order probably came from the top—but I did pass up two relatively clean Dumpsters before finding one stinky enough to ditch their pieces, buried under a pile of rotten food.

Then I crashed. Big-time. The adrenaline that had been keeping me going had vacated the premises, leaving me an empty shell. Sleep had always been a problem for me, but I probably could have gotten forty winks right there, curled up on the garbage pile.

Phin didn’t look much better. Long damn night.

“You okay?” I asked when we got back to the Bronco.

He nodded, but I noticed he was favoring his left arm.

“Elbow?”

“Yeah. One of them twisted it. I’ll be okay.”

Phin tried to start the truck using his left hand. I should have offered to drive, but I was lapsing into zombie mode and didn’t trust myself. My phone rang. Mine, not the one Alex gave me.

“Hiya, sis.” Long yawn from Harry, who must have been really concerned about us. “You save the day?”

“Lance lived. The police tried to arrest us. We disarmed them. Now Phin can’t turn the ignition.”

“Good, that’s good.” I don’t think he heard a word I said. “I’m in Deer Park. I’m going to catch some Zs, then look for the last cell phone in the daisy chain. I’ve got a tracking device that pinpoints RF frequencies. But even better, these cells are Bluetooth enabled, and Alex never disabled it. I’ve got a computer program that can scan for Bluetooth devices. When it finds one, I can have it download SIM card info. So I don’t even have to find the physical phone. I just have to get close enough to it.”

Turnabout was fair play, because I didn’t pro cess a single thing Harry said either. I yawned, then reached over and helped Phin start the truck. His hand covered mine, held it. He continued to hold it as we pulled out of the parking lot. I was too tired to protest, and his grip was warm on my cold fingers. Warm, and strangely comfortable.

“Jackie? You still there?”

“I’ll call you later, Harry. We’re going to crash someplace too. Find a motel on the edge of town.”

“One bed or two? Not that it’s my business.”

“You’re right. It’s not your business.”

“I agree. So one bed or two?”

“Good night, Harry.”

I hung up, cutting off his reply.

We drove for twenty minutes, silent, exhausted, and I felt every second of every minute of every hour I’d been awake—over thirty hours total. Phin found a chain hotel, dropped me off to check in while he parked the Bronco someplace inconspicuous. When he pulled away, my hand felt empty.

The employee at the front desk looked pert and freshly scrubbed, greeting me with a smile so wide it bared gums.

“Good morning.” Her voice was full of annoying morning cheer.

“Two rooms,” I muttered.

“Sorry.” Smile. “We’re all booked up.” She leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Wisconsin Mom of the Year Awards.” Smile. “It’s our best turnout yet.”

I yawned again, so big it hurt my jaw. “That’s fine. We’ll sleep in your lobby, on the sofa. My friend likes sleeping naked. I talk in my sleep, and since I work for a phone sex hotline I tend to use the word
cock
a lot. If you hear me yelling about how much I love big cock, or how I love to watch you play with your big cock, just give me a nudge.”

Her smile drooped below the gum line.

“Let me double-check and see if there were any recent cancellations.”

She stuck her nose into her computer, tapped a few keys. I dug around in my purse for my wad of Latham’s cash.

“A single is recently available. King-sized bed.” Smile. “Will that be okay?”

“That will be fine,” I slurred, my eyes shutting briefly.

“Our rate is one hundred and thirty dollars a night.”

“Cash okay?”

“Cash is fine, but I need a credit card for incidentals.”

I always wondered why they called room ser vice and pay-per-view porno incidentals. Weren’t those the main reasons people stayed in hotels?

“Wallet was stolen,” I told her. “No credit cards.”

“That’s terrible.”

Perhaps, but she kept smiling.

“Cash deposit okay?”

She nodded; money, receipts, and key cards changed hands, and Phin came in. We managed to find our room, the key worked on the third try, and I stumbled to the bed and kicked off my shoes. Phin stood and stared.

“I can call down to the lobby, have them bring in a cot for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, yawning. “Just try to control yourself.”

He smiled, sheepish.

“What if I try really hard and fail?”

“I’ll be sleeping. Try not to wake me up.”

I tugged off my sweatpants, too tired to feel awkward or embarrassed. Then I noticed I was still wearing those lacy red pan ties, and I felt both awkward and embarrassed and not nearly as tired anymore. In fact, I was all of a sudden pretty awake.

Phin watched me, waiting to see what I did next. I looked down at my sweatshirt. Take it off, or keep it on? I had a sports bra on under it. Not sexy at all, flattening my boobs. But why should I care how I looked? We were just going to sleep. And seeing me in my underwear was the same thing as seeing me in a swimsuit.

Of course, it took me three hours to put on a swimsuit.

The hell with it. We were adults. I was tired and wanted to be comfortable.

The sweatshirt came off.

I met Phin’s eyes and didn’t feel comfortable at all. I felt awkward and vulnerable and ner vous and also a little excited, like a teenager right
before her first time. Phin’s eyes had that purple hue again, and his expression was intense.

I levered myself between the sheets.

Go to sleep,
I told myself.

But instead of closing my eyes, I watched Phin take his shirt off. His body was different than Latham’s. Latham’s body was decent. Lithe, strong, distinguished. But comfortable and familiar. Sort of like a Lincoln Town Car.

Phin had a Ferarri. Fast and sharp and sculpted. And dangerous.

Quit it. You just buried Latham. He hasn’t even been dead for three weeks.

When Phin began taking off his sweatpants I used all of my self-control to kill the bedside lamp so I couldn’t see anything else.

The bed bounced lightly when he climbed in, and then he turned off his light and we were both lying there in the dark and I was getting warm. Really warm.

Hot, actually.

If he tries something, I’ll roll with it,
I decided.

I closed my eyes, waiting for him to touch me. Wanting him to touch me. I knew it was wrong, for a hundred different reasons. But I wanted sex. I wanted to feel something other than pain. With all the death and horror of the past weeks, I needed something life-affirming.

I no longer had love. Love died with my fiancé.

But I didn’t expect love from Phin.

However, an orgasm or two would be a good temporary placeholder.

The bed springs creaked, and I sensed him shifting. Moving closer to me.

Maybe my breath quickened a little bit. Maybe I shifted a little bit toward him as well.

I waited. Pictured his hands on my body. My breasts. Between my thighs. I remembered his kiss, how good it was, and imagined how his mouth would feel on other parts of me.

But nothing happened. He didn’t make a move.

I’d been rebuffing him all night, and he hadn’t been put off. Now, when I finally want him to try something, he decides to listen to me?

Didn’t guys understand women at all?

I sighed, loudly, hoping he’d take the hint.

Nothing.

I sighed again, this time putting a bit of slut into the tone. More of a moan than a sigh.

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

I realized I couldn’t back down at this point. I was turned on. All I had to do was reach for him, and I would make sure he was turned on as well.

My hand crept under the covers, toward Phin. I aimed low, for a part I was sure would get his attention. The king-sized bed seemed huge, the distance between us enormous, and I really did feel like a virginal school-girl, so much so that I almost giggled, and giggling is not something I’m known for.

And then I heard it. A sound. A horrible, libido-killing sound.

Phin was snoring.

My hand stopped, flattening out like someone had stomped on it. I shrunk back, turned and faced the other way, the luxurious heat of arousal transforming into the sting of rejection. Giggly and turned on to red-faced humiliation in less than three seconds. It had to be some kind of record.

I closed my eyes and swore that if he ever tried to touch me again I’d break off his fingers. Then I tried to sleep.

Exhausted as I was, sleep didn’t come.

CHAPTER 30

L
UCKY BITCH.

It had a December 31 vibe, like counting down the seconds until the new year, and Alex had been looking forward to seeing the monochromatic fireworks of poor Lance’s head blowing up. But lucky Jack stormed in at the last possible second and saved his miserable life.

How anticlimactic.

Things became interesting again when the two cops arrived, but Jack killed the live feed in the middle of that little drama. Cue commercial. Switch channels.

Alex considers her next move. It’s still too early to pay Jack’s ex a visit, so she spends some time on the Internet, reading up on defibrillators, replying to an e-mail in her anonymous account, learning about bulletproofing a vehicle. Boring stuff, but necessary. Then she logs on to the homepage of her pay-as-you-go cell phone ser vice provider. The phones are impossible to trace, but they do keep track of minutes and numbers called. Because Alex is spoofing caller ID, most of the numbers listed are 555-5555.

But there are a few real numbers. The numbers Jack has called from the phone Alex gave her.

One of them is interesting. An 800 number. Alex makes a mental note to call it later.

At a little after seven a.m. she dresses in the police uniform and goes
for a ride, finding a twenty-four-hour con ve nience store and picking up two rolls of duct tape and some quick energy foods: chips, beef jerky, candy bars. She also gets a six-pack of bottled water.

It’s going to be a thirsty day.

Back at the hotel she checks her appearance and then knocks on Alan’s door.

“Yeah?” he answers.

Alex steps away from the peephole, letting him see her good profile and her cop clothes.

“Mr. Daniels? It’s about your ex-wife.”

She resists a smile when she hears the lock turn, the Cheetah stun gun palmed in her right hand.

Two seconds after the door opens, Alan is on his knees. Two seconds after that, he’s facedown on the carpeting.

Alex checks the hallway for witnesses, and seeing none, drags Jack’s husband to bed.

CHAPTER 31

I
FELT LATHAM’S ARM
slip around my waist and I sighed, happy it had all been some horrible dream.

But it didn’t feel like Latham’s arm—it felt like a stranger’s—and everything came back at once and I jolted, then went rigid.

“You okay?” Phin, his voice sleepy.

“Yeah. Just forgot where I was.”

Phin’s hand was still on my hip, burning there like an iron. I nudged it off.

“I wasn’t trying anything.”

“I know.” My tone had more regret in it than I might have liked.

Sunlight peeked in through a crack in the drapes. I looked at the clock radio. A little past ten a.m. I’d managed about four hours of sleep. Not too bad. I’ve been able to function on less.

I rubbed my eyes, felt some crud in the corners, and immediately wondered how my hair looked. My breath was probably awful as well. I wanted to get up, dress in the bathroom, but didn’t want Phin to see me in my underwear. Earlier it seemed daring. Now it was just plain embarrassing.

“I’m not used to waking up next to cops,” Phin said. “Especially pretty ones.”

I felt his finger trail up my spine. I flinched away.

“Jesus, Jack. We’re both adults.”

I faced him, hugging the sheet to my chest.

“You’re a good-looking guy, Phin. I’m sure you’ll rebound quickly.”

He smiled and locked his hands behind his head, triceps bulging.

“Do you like being miserable? Is that your thing?”

His pillow talk needed some work.

“No, Phin. Like most other people in the world, I actually try to be happy. And sometimes I actually achieve it for brief periods of time. But to me, being an adult means having responsibilities.”

I was lecturing, but Phin appeared more amused than chastised.

“I used to be like that. Feeling like the only thing holding the world together was my self-discipline.”

“There’s a difference between taking care of business and being a control freak.”

“I know that. Do you?”

And to think I almost slept with this guy.

“I try to do my best. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but I keep trying. It’s all I can do.”

Phin adopted a pensive look as if he was considering what to say next. I waited, feeling dorkier and dorkier in my sports bra and red pan ties.

Finally, he spoke.

“Let me tell you a story, Jack. Young man. Had a decent paying job in an office. Was in love with a girl who loved him back. They even had the wedding date set.”

“This is you, I’m guessing.”

“It was me. Living the American dream, on my way to two-point-five kids and a thirty-year fixed mortgage.”

“So what happened? One day you just decided a life of crime was sexier?”

His eyes went somewhere else. “I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Told I had eight months to live. Maria—Maria Kilborn, my bride to be—she and I were…
right.
Like we were supposed to be together. You know? When someone is just perfect for you?”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “I know.”