Long Road Home(21)

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at her for a long moment then opened his door. He pulled the keys from the ignition and stuffed them into his pocket before stepping out.

She sat and waited, taking in the immediate surroundings. Her eyes soaked in every detail, the proximity to the interstate, the number of cars in the lot. Anything to let her know what she was up against.

A few minutes later, Manny slid back into the car and started the engine. He drove a few feet forward and pulled into a nearby parking space. “Let’s go,” he said.

She collected her bag and got out, stretching her aching body. She followed behind Manny as they entered the hotel from a side entrance.

The room was nothing fancy, the bedspreads and draperies faded and thin. Manny locked the door and bolted it behind them. She sat down on the edge of one of the two beds and let the bag slide to the floor at her feet. “So what now?”

“We’ll catch the earliest flight I can book to D.C. I didn’t want to hang out at the airport. It’s too open, and we’d be visible for too long.”

“So we just sit here in the meantime.”

“Yes. You can take a shower if you want,” he offered. “I have clothes for you in the car.”

She looked up in surprise.

“You asked for clothes when you were in the hospital. You just didn’t stick around long enough to collect them,” he said pointedly.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll go climb in now.” The mere thought of a shower made her positively weak-kneed. She needed to fix her hair color anyway.

Once inside, she stripped off her jeans and shirt, wincing at the vivid bruises across her abdomen and chest. She made the mistake of looking into the mirror and gasped at her reflection. In a word, she looked bloody awful. The dye job looked cheap, and deep shadows marked her eyes.

She pulled out her supplies, lined them on the counter and then stepped into the shower. She turned on the water as hot as she could make it and stuck her head underneath the spray.

Manuel waited until he heard the flow of water before he relaxed his guard. He needed to call Tony and get the flight information…and any other information Tony had been able to dig up.

He took out his phone and began the arduous task of routing his call through the backup network, one Tony himself had devised. A few moments later, Tony’s low voice came over the line.

“I’ve got your flight info. Bad news is, I couldn’t get you a flight until tomorrow morning even with pulling strings. The weather in Chicago has the afternoon schedule a complete cluster f**k. I would have booked a flight, but I wasn’t sure about Jules’s reservation. You need to see if she has any ID, because if she doesn’t, you’re both f**ked. You also need to use one of your aliases. Sanderson would know in a minute if you booked the flight as Manuel Ramirez.”

Manuel sighed. “I have no idea. She’s in the shower now, but I’ll check on it when she gets out, then I’ll get back to you so you can make the reservations. You find out anything else?” He held his breath as he asked the question.

“Not yet. Hopefully by the time you get here.”

Manuel thanked him and hung up, letting out a long breath. He felt so goddamn guilty about deceiving Sanderson. The man had been very understanding of Manuel’s need to find Jules. He’d turned the other way countless times when Manuel had used department resources. And now Manuel was not only lying to him, but he was indulging in activity that could very well brand him as a traitor.

What a goddamn mess. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t hang Jules out to dry, no matter what she’d done. And if she’s a traitor? God, he couldn’t bring himself to consider the sweet, innocent girl he’d loved forever could possibly have joined a f**king terrorist group. No matter how damning the evidence.

He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. They still needed to talk. But first he had to get her clothes.

He slipped out of the room and hurried out to the car to retrieve the bag in the back seat. When he walked back into the room, he nearly collided with Jules as she came out of the bathroom.

He swallowed hard as he took in her damp body wrapped in just a towel. Averting his gaze, he held out the bag to her. “Here are your clothes.”

“Thank you,” she said shortly. “I’ll be a bit with my hair.” Then she retreated back into the bathroom.

He crossed the room and folded his large frame into the armchair by the window. How had things gotten so damn complicated? He had more questions than ever, but the one foremost on his mind was whether she’d planned to join the NFR even before she had left for France. Or was her traveling there just a huge coincidence?

He rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep. They both needed sleep. But most of all he needed answers. Real answers. How in the world could he get her to talk? She had flatly refused to tell him much beyond admitting her association with the NFR. If it was a simple matter of trust, he might be hurt that she wouldn’t confide in him, but he sensed it was more than that. She was trying to protect him, and that pissed him off more than her holding back.

He must have dozed for a while. He opened his eyes when he heard the bathroom door open. Jules padded out in the pair of jeans and T-shirt he had provided her. Her hair was brushed behind her ears, still damp, but the red was gone, replaced by pale blonde.

The T-shirt did nothing to disguise her thinness and appearance of fragility. It was hard to reconcile those with the images of her disabling the guard at the hospital and shooting the assassins from the cabin.