She Can Hide (She Can #4)(38)

Krista choked as he cut off her breath. The pressure around her neck increased. Lights danced in her vision. She pulled sideways, but his body held her against the wall. His erection ground into her stomach.

He was enjoying every second of her distress. She’d learned that about him. He liked to dish out pain and humiliation as much as she liked to receive it.

He put the pipe to her lips. “Just take a little hit.”

She shook her head.

“I said do it.” Twisting the fabric around his hand, Joe tightened the scarf then suddenly released it. Krista gasped, inhaling the smoke deep into her starved lungs. Coughing, she exhaled and sucked in a lungful of air.

“That’s my girl.” Joe put the pipe to her mouth again.

Krista gasped as the smoke filled her lungs. Euphoria flooded her. Her fears and pain melted. Joe whipped off her towel and shoved her hard against the wall. She slumped against him, her muscles as limp as her resolve.

Pleasure overwhelmed her. It flowed through her veins and penetrated deep into her body. Her thoughts went liquid, her despair vanished, and her determination to send Joe packing floated away.




Abby kept the ball cap on her head as they pulled up in front of the first motel on the list. The U-shaped building of about three dozen rooms sat on a poorly maintained four-lane highway. There was an office at the end. Across the parking lot, Dumpsters butted up against the last unit. A strip of scraggly pine trees obscured whatever was behind the property.

She didn’t want Zeke to run if he saw her. Ethan had filled her in on his conversation with Zeke’s mother, and nothing indicated Zeke intended to go after Abby. Had he tried to kill her? If it wasn’t Zeke, then the who and why of her attack became even more frightening questions. As if the sight of Zeke Faulkner didn’t make her bowels cramp every time she looked at the mug shot Ethan had brought along.

Through the glass doors, a burly bald man sat on a high stool watching a tiny television on the counter.

Ethan drove by the office slowly, then parked outside next to the only other car in the lot, which probably belonged to the guy behind the desk. There was no sign of Faulkner’s Camaro.

Abby scanned the motel. “Looks empty.”

Ethan shifted into park. “I’ll go in and see if I can find anything out from the clerk.”

“Wait.” She scrutinized his trimmed black hair and cleanly shaven jaw. Though his casual sweater was one size too large and bulky, it still didn’t completely conceal the bulge at his right hip. But it was his shrewd eyes that gave him away. “You look like a cop.”

“I am a cop.”

Abby looked back at the guy in the office. “He has tattoos on his face.”

Ethan raised a hand, palm up. “Hey, I don’t judge people by the way they look.”

“But he might.” She took off the cap and fluffed her hair. “Let me go in.”

“It’s not safe,” Ethan protested, those sharp eyes narrowing.

“I thought you didn’t judge people by their looks.”

His eyes heated. “There are exceptions to every rule. Your safety is more important than political correctness or good manners.”

“You’ll be sitting right here, watching.” Abby tilted her head toward the door. “I doubt that glass is bulletproof.”

Ethan leaned back. His fingers drummed on his thigh. “OK, but I still don’t like it.”

Neither did Abby. But if she lost momentum, she might not be able to gather the courage to keep moving forward. Returning to her habitual prey-mode would be too easy. No more running. No more hiding. That was her new mantra.

“Here, you can show him this.” Ethan handed her a snapshot. “Mrs. Faulkner gave it to me. No love lost there.”

“I guess not.” Faulkner grinned at the camera. The desire to rip the photo into shreds burned hot, but Abby made herself take it. She couldn’t very well use the mug shot they’d brought along.

“Stay in front of the door, in my direct line of sight.” Ethan pulled his handgun free of its holster and rested it across his leg.

Abby suppressed the fear rising in her esophagus. She needed to do this. She took a sip of water to wash the acid from her throat. Getting out of the pickup, she adjusted her jacket hem and pushed open the glass door. A bell tied to the inside handle jingled. The man looked up at her. Thick arms crossed his chest, mirroring Ethan’s stubborn and reluctant posture. She’d made the right call. Ethan wouldn’t have gotten anything out of this guy.

He scowled at her. The black scorpion inked on his temple wrinkled, making the tail wrapped around his left eye twitch.

How to proceed?

For starters, she should probably stop staring at his tattoo.

She blinked and gave him a weak smile. His scowl deepened. She guessed she didn’t look like the usual clientele, and there was no way she could pull off the femme fatale thing, especially not dressed like she’d just stepped out of an L. L. Bean catalog. Could she be Faulkner’s sister? No. No one would believe they were related. But good girls fell for bad boys all the time.

She pulled the snapshot of Faulkner out of her purse. “I’m looking for my boyfriend.” She wanted to vomit as she said it. “He was supposed to call me.…” She let the words trickle off.

His gaze dropped to the photo. His facial expression didn’t change, but recognition flickered in his eyes. “Haven’t seen him.”