What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(26)

She shifted the gear stick and eased out of the rest stop. “Where’s the nearest one?”

“Another five miles west of here,” he told her.

Pressing the gas pedal, Carmen had them back on the highway and headed west.





Chapter Seven


Carmen decided truck stops possessed a weird gravitational force.

They sucked in passing motorists, luring them in with platters of greasy food and hot coffee, and then spun them back into the cold with bloated bellies and the buzz of caffeine.

Tonight, however, the large restaurant and attached fuel station were eerily empty. The threat of more snow kept most travelers off the road, while the professional truckers were too anxious to get home for Christmas to linger over their meals.

Leaving Griff to speak with the manager about any strangers who might have been hanging around the night the truck was stolen, as well as any arrests that had been made in the area for prostitution, Carmen headed into the restaurant area, interviewing the handful of diners.

They’d all been eager to speak with her once they’d recognized her as the famous author they’d seen on the cable news shows. They all had a story they just knew would be perfect for a book. And they were all willing to offer her the rights, as long as they got a cut of the profits.

But not one of them had been in the area two weeks ago.

Or knew a trucker by the name of Lee Williams who’d had his semi stolen.

Certainly, none of them had any knowledge of prostitutes who worked the parking lot.

Taking a table, she’d waited for Griff, not surprised to discover that the manager denied any existence of illegal activities happening in or around the parking area.

Dead end.

To compensate for her disappointment, Carmen ordered the Trucker’s Special, which included a stack of pancakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs with onions and green peppers, a pile of crisp bacon, and a slice of cantaloupe.

It was enough food to feed a small tribe, so she left the cantaloupe. No need to be a pig.

They climbed into the pickup and drove back to the hotel in silence. It wasn’t until she’d parked in front of her room and turned off the engine that she at last heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” she muttered.

Griff unbuckled his belt and swiveled in the seat to face her. The security light was barely bright enough to make out more than his silhouette, but suddenly she was conscious of his close presence.

The rich, male scent of his cologne that laced the air. The soft sound of his breathing. The prickle of heat that was a tangible force between them.

He leaned toward her. Did he share her acute awareness?

“Not entirely,” he said in soft tones. “You did manage to consume an impressive number of pancakes.”

Carmen’s lips twitched. She’d always had a huge appetite. It was something she enjoyed without apology.

“I was hungry.”

“Hmm.” She could feel his gaze skim down her body. “I’m still not sure where you put them.”

“You sound like my grandfather.” She told herself the shiver that raced through her was from the cold that was already creeping into the pickup. “He used to claim I ate more than his farmhands.”

Griff ’s arm draped along the top of the seat, his fingers reaching out to brush her cheek.

“You were close to him?”

“Yeah.” The pang of grief had her retreating into her familiar shell. “Are you going back to California tonight?”

He stilled, one of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “Are you returning to your home?”

She turned her head to study the hotel.

She could stay here and hope the killer tried to approach her again. Not the most pleasant thought. Or she could return to her cabin in the mountains and worry that there might be a monster under her bed. An even less pleasant thought.

Or she could return to the small horse farm that belonged to her grandparents. A place she hadn’t seen in months.

She gave a shrug. “I haven’t decided.”

“Then I’m staying.”

She turned her head, trying to make out his expression in the shadows.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“What about a friend?”

“What?”

“Do you need a friend?”

Her breath lodged in her throat, a strange warmth curling through the pit of her stomach.

“Griff.”

His fingers brushed a stray curl behind her ear before he was pulling back and shoving open the door.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Stubborn,” she muttered as she climbed out of the truck and followed behind him.

“You know there’s a saying about a pot calling the kettle black.”

She pulled the key out of her purse and stuck it in the lock.

“I’m determined, not stubborn,” she informed her companion, pushing open the door.

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course.”

She reached in to flip on the light, then stepped into the cramped room. It was at least warm.

In the process of walking forward to give Griff the space to enter behind her, she abruptly froze.

A protective arm wrapped around her shoulders as Griff tucked her close to his body. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.