Future Under Fire - Trish McCallan Page 0,37

tight and wait or some such bullshit.

Sarah got into her car and pulled forward. She was headed around the corner of the building.

The room must be in the rear. She’d recognize his truck if he tailed her around back. Which meant he’d have to track her on foot.

Hopping out, he slammed the door, beeped the locks, and raced for the far corner of the motel. If he was lucky, which was never something to rely on, he’d reach the backside as she got out of her car, and he’d see what unit she went into.

Of course, that would be the easy part.

The hard part would be accessing the unit without a key. He couldn’t exactly knock on her door. Sarah wasn’t stupid. Neither was Mitch. They’d lock the door, set the deadbolt, and attach the chain. While kicking in the door would give him immediate access and release some of this pent-up aggression winding through him, it would also alert Mitch, give the bastard time to go for his weapon.

Even if he caught Mitch flat-footed, the noise of splintering wood and the door banging against the wall was sure to wake someone. He could do without a second round of police interrogations tonight.

His best bet was to wait for her to unlock the door and sneak in behind her, catching both her and Mitch off guard. He’d need to get close for that, though, and without being seen.

There better be some damn fine cover on hand. .

At the far corner of the motel, he paused long enough to scan the parking lot. He found her car instantly. It was the only one back there. She was close too, five doors down.

There was a staircase close by, which would give him cover. Now he just needed to reach it without her noticing.

She climbed out of her car and turned toward the back seat. He darted to the staircase and tucked himself against the steel. The sound of a car door slamming echoed through the night. He cast her a quick look. She’d grabbed her suitcase and was dragging it toward the unit in front of her.

Scowling, he pulled back into the shelter of the stairwell. She hadn’t noticed him. Great news for him. But fuck—she was too damn distracted. If he’d been one of Mitch’s business partners, she would have been taken for the second time today.

As soon as he took down Mitch, he and Sarah needed to have a serious conversation about security. Nor would it hurt to explain to her how to spot a tail, and once you spotted one, how to shake it. He’d followed her for an hour, and she hadn’t had a clue. He’d taught her better than that, damn it.

He glanced around the corner again. She was standing at the motel door, key held out. Time for him to move. On silent feet, he left his cover, reaching her as the key slipped into the lock.

Chapter Ten

All Sarah was thinking about as she dragged her suitcase from her car was standing beneath a hot shower, soaping up, and letting the spray wash away the day’s filth.

While she’d ditched her dusty, bloody, germ-infested wedding gown as soon as she’d walked into her bedroom at home, she hadn’t taken a shower. She’d been too pressed for time. Too driven to get out of the house, out of town, before the police showed up at her door. Or even worse, before another of Mitch’s disenfranchised business associates tried to grab her.

She’d had to force herself to slow down and fill a suitcase before heading back out to her car. But man, was she relieved to have the suitcase in tow now. After the shower, she’d have clean clothes to change into. And thank God for that. She’d need clean clothes between her skin and the motel sheets. There were far too many exposés out there about just how disgusting motel sheets were. And the sheets inside that room, she suspected, would be worse than most.

The fact the desk clerk hadn’t required identification or a credit card to rent the room didn’t instill confidence. He’d simply handed over a clip board with a printed form attached and told her to fill it out while he took her cash. Since she was flying under the radar and avoiding a paper trail, she’d appreciated his lackadaisical approach right up until he’d casually asked her how many “hours” she wanted the room for and reinforced the innuendo with a leering up and

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