Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(8)

We drove all night. For some reason, since our destination was obviously Vegas, Walker took what turned out to be a circuitous route that added hours onto our travel time. He did not explain his to me, any of it, where we were going or why we took that route. Conversation was non-existent. I listened to my iPod and slept a bit.

Now he was checking us into one room with a king-size bed. And he was doing it under Mr. and Mrs. Walker.

I did not think this was good.

“How many nights will you be staying, sir?” the desk clerk asked.

“Three,” Walker answered.

Oh shit. Three? Three nights?

What were we going to do in Vegas for three nights?

“Excellent,” he picked up a form and put it on the counter. “If you could fill that in and give me a credit card –”

“Cash,” Walker rumbled and the clerk looked from his computer to Walker.

“That’s fine, sir, but we like to have a credit card on file just in case you use the mini-bar, should you like a movie –”

“Cash,” Walker repeated.

The clerk blinked up at him clearly having been lost in a fog of customer service and seeing just about everything in Vegas, he was used to blocking it out. Now, he was fully taking in Walker and processing what he saw, all of what he saw and just how much of it there was.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing then he started, “It’s policy, sir, to –”

I stepped in mainly to move this along because I knew Ty Walker would repeat the word “cash” until we were physically ejected or the clerk gave up and I needed to, first, see what the hell was up with him getting us one room, second, attempt again to figure out what was happening and my part in it, third, take a shower and fourth, sleep in a bed or, better yet, buy a swimsuit and sleep by a pool.

I dug in my purse saying, “I’ll give you my card. You can have it on file but when we check out, we’ll pay in cash. Cool with you?”

The clerk’s relieved eyes slid to me and he nodded.

“Room safe,” Walker stated at this point.

“Of course,” the clerk murmured on a bow of his head toward Walker. “All our rooms have safes. We’ll set that up for you.”

Walker stared at him half a second then his eyes did a sweep of the immediate area.

I handed the clerk my card, filled out the registration form, took my card back and the clerk handed Walker our little envelope with its keycards, wisely not noting that my credit card said Alexa Berry and not Alexa Walker. After I filled out the form, as he processed us, I tried not to think where Ty Walker would get cash to pay for a swanky Vegas hotel room considering he walked out of prison not twenty-four hours ago with nothing (that I knew of) but the clothes on his back. He didn’t even have one of those big plastic Ziploc baggies in his hand holding his belongings that recently released prisoners on TV shows were given.

Nothing.

But that duffle.

A duffle packed by Shift.

Shit.

“Room six twenty-three. You’ll find the elevators over there.” He pointed to his left but Walker was already walking that way.

I smiled at the clerk, expressed mumbled words of gratitude, grasped the handle on my bag and followed Walker.

He tagged the button before I got there and I stopped close to him.

“Hubby, we need to chat,” I said quietly, his chin dipped into his neck to look down at me, his face still as impassive as ever and then his head turned and he looked over his shoulder.

When he kept looking, his eyes honing in on something and staying there, I turned to look too.

He was looking at a man who was standing at the reception desk. He was super slim and when I say that I mean bag of bones thin. It was a wonder his clothes stayed on him, he was so skinny. He had light brown hair with a hint of red in it but he didn’t have much of it. It was thin everywhere, seriously light on the top and clipped super short. He wore glasses. His features were pointy. Considering he wasn’t much to look at, I was surprised to see his clothing was of very good quality and suited him as best they could given his stature.

And he was looking right at Ty Walker, as bold as you please, checking in at the reception desk but staring at Walker at the same time looking knowing in a way that made something unpleasant crawl along my skin. If he sneered, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But it did surprise me that this obvious weakling was so bold considering he was a third of the man standing at my side (and a third was being generous) and the man standing at my side could easily break him in half.

But he was.

In your face bold.

How weird.

“Do you know him?” I asked as the elevator chimed and then it happened.

Ty Walker touched me for the first time (that was, the first time he touched me when he wasn’t looking for needle tracks at the same time annoying me).

His fingertips went into the small of my back and they pressed forward so I moved into the elevator rolling my bag behind me. His hand dropped away, he turned to face front and automatically I did too as he leaned to the side, tagging the six button and after those few annoying seconds an elevator stays open for whatever reason it does, the doors slid closed.

But I barely registered any of this.

Because I could feel five, hot marks burning into the small of my back where he touched me. The touch was light and it didn’t last long but I still felt them burning. They were like a brand searing into my skin.