All the Way (16 page)

“Ready?” he asked.

She looked over at him quickly. Then saw
what he actually meant. She gave a nod.

The lights went out.
She lay in the dark, eyes closed, aware of every shift
in the mattress coming from the other side of the bed. She had no idea when she had drifted off to sleep, when suddenly the bed bounced and woke her.
Her heart pounded.

It matched the sound of Blake’s fist beating the wall above the headboard.

She jumped at the burst of clamor. “What are you doing?”

Then she heard it, coming from the other side of the wall.
Eee-err
…
eee- err
…
eee-err
…

He pounded the wall again.
“Hey, will you knock it off?
We’re trying to sleep over here.”
Eee-err, eee-err, eee
—
“Thank you.”

But the silence didn’t last. For this round, the racket of lousy bedsprings intensified with a banging headboard. She heard Blake’s voice muffled by the pillow he pulled over his head. “The fates are conspiring against me, I swear it.”

After enduring another few minutes of listening to other people having sex, he cursed and leaped out of bed. “Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

“Out.”

“Now?
But it’s late,”

“Better than staying here.
Unless you want to take your chances sleeping next to a guy with a raging hard-on.”

If there had been one ounce of warmth in his voice, a hint of sexiness or desire, her answer might have surprised him. Instead, she kept it to herself.

She listened to him fumble around in the dark, curse when he couldn’t find his boxers, grunt as he pulled on his jeans and boots. The heavy crinkle of leather as he slid into his coat.
The door rattled on the hinges when he slammed it. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked away, leaving Layla alone in the hotel room, in the dark.

She
was surprised to feel a weight of sadness on her heart. She felt Blake’s absence like a physical loss, a tangible emptiness that filled the room.

The rumble of Blake’s motorcycle burst the still night air. He revved it and roared off. Layla burrowed under the covers, plugged her ears, and pretended she wasn’t jealous of the people on the opposite wall.

It took half an hour, but finally sleep claimed her. Until a loud ringing snapped her awake. She bolted upright in bed. She saw the other side of the bed was still empty and blinked at the blurry red numbers on the digital clock. Last she looked it had been ten after ten.

“Who’s calling at eleven-thirty?”
She felt heavy and groggy, like she was still wading through dreamland, unable to process anything.

The phone rang again, jarring her a second time. She picked it up from where she’d replaced it after Blake had torn it from her and sent it across the room. The sudden thought of him made her warm inside.
“Blake?” she said into the receiver.

Static greeted her. Then she heard loud breathing that resembled the grunts of a bull right before he charges.

Her heart choked on its own beat. She slammed the receiver down, going cold.

It was the sound she heard
whenever Jack called, when he wanted her to know it was him, but wouldn’t identify himself. It always
unnerved her because he seemed to be keeping tabs on her. His twisted way of telling her she couldn’t escape him.

A ruthless game of power—and Jack always won.

“No, you sick jerk! You’re not going to do this to me anymore.”

Layla heard her voice echo and realized she was talking to herself in an empty room.
Maybe it’s all a dream
, she reassured herself.

“Or maybe it’s not…” she said in a suffocated whisper, staring at the shadow of a man in a cowboy hat at her window. He
stared right at her. She heard a scraping sound, like someone was trying to pry the screen out. And the window stood open a crack. It would be easy to yank it the rest of the way…

“Go away,” she shrieked. “I’m calling the police!”
She reached for the phone, dialed 911. But the call waiting beeped incessantly. She could barely hear the dispatch. Then the line went dead. “Hello? Hello!”

A sinister chuckle filtered through the glass.
“Too late for that.”

The shadow disappeared. She shook all over, this real-life nightmare paralyzing her, plunging her to depths of her very own hell. Because the voice sounded like Jack’s.

No, he can’t be here.
He can’t!

Her eyes widened to the size of the doorknob where her gaze fixed.
Someone tested it from the outside.
The knob jiggled loosely, the flimsy lock ready
to give.

Could she make it to the door in time to throw the bolt? No, that wouldn’t stop Jack. But she could be ready for him when he broke in. Layla wrenched a chord from its socket and stood with a porcelain table lamp poised like a baseball bat.

Layla’s whole body clenched, prepared to swing at whatever came through that door.

Blake turned the last corner on his way back to the motel. He couldn’t believe how many cops were out, swarming the streets. All for the sake of tracking down the three bikers who’d started the fight at the bar? Seemed a little excessive.

Still, he hadn’t been in the mood to get pulled over and apprehended. He’d taken back roads and side streets. So he could feel the wind in his hair, the freedom of riding, and get his head screwed on straight.

He’d reached a decision.

If philosophy had taught him anything, he knew that whenever something in his life seemed off, he needed to check his premises. One of them would be wrong.

It had taken him over an hour, but he’d come to a conclusion: men needed to be shown, whereas women needed to be told, then shown.
Simple, he realized, once the logic fell into place.
Men put little stock in words.
Show me, don’t tell
me
was a masculine creed. So what was the feminine?
Tell me, then show me
.

Layla didn’t trust him because he’d never told her what she needed to hear. Sure, he’d made it clear he lusted after her, but
that wasn’t the extent of his feelings for her. Not even close.

Hands tightening on the handle bars, his gut twisted as he recognized how shallow he must have appeared between the night of their fight, the lies Jack had told, and the way Blake gave up on Layla with half a fight. He’d missed so many chances to prove to her that he was not the selfish bastard Johnson had portrayed him as.

If she’d consider letting him in again, he’d do things right this time. He wouldn’t let her push him away when things got uncomfortable. He’d take her into his arms any
time fear clouded her mind. He’d wait out the storm of her doubts until she realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

A sigh left his chest as he approached the motel parking lot, downshifted, and thought back. That had been his concern at the start of this trip—that he’d fall for her again. In truth, he’d never stopped. So from now on he’d quit trying.

That had been his revelation.

A police car whipped past him, lights swirling and siren screaming.
Almost knocked him off his bike. The squad car turned into the motel lot and screeched to a halt behind the second row of buildings.

Our row
.

A cold chill swept over him. He revved the motor hard and shot forward. Slanting the bike steeply, he took the corner like the track bend in a motorcycle race.

When he saw what lay on the other side of the motel parking lot, the blood froze in his veins. It expanded like ice, threatening to fracture him.

Half a dozen people were clustered outside their motel room door. Two other cop cars came tearing in on the heels of the one that’d almost mowed him down. Blake barely got the kickstand down before he leaped off his bike and raced to their door.

“What happened?” he demanded, shoving his way through.

“Stand back!” The police barred his progression. “We got a nine-one-one call. And these folks here say they heard screams.”

“Holy hell,” he seethed. “Let me through! This is my room.”

“Where were you, then?” one cop questioned.

“Out riding. I left Layla alone. Shit, it better not be those assholes from the bar. Those guys might’ve seen us. Followed her…”

“Who? What guys?”

Blake wrestled himself beyond their physical blockade. “I need to get to Layla.”

He shoved the key in the handle, threw the door open and barged in. He flicked on the light in time to see the butt end of a lamp careening toward his head. Leaping back, he barely missed being its target.

Though he’d come to some conclusions during his ride, none included getting crowned over the head with a blunt object.

But Layla was okay. Thank God, she was okay.

To diffuse the moment, and the adrenaline raging through him, all he could think to say was, “Mrs. Peacock, in the motel room, with the lamp?”

Layla didn’t get it. She stared with wide, unblinking eyes. The fear on her face wrenched his insides. Her lips trembled. “Blake?”

“I’m right here.” He crossed the distance between them. The lamp slipped out of her nerveless grasp. Blake caught it, returned it to the nightstand and then took her in his arms. “Baby, what happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

There wasn’t time to answer. The police filed in, weapons drawn.

The moment she saw their uniforms
a shriek of fearful panic filled the room, a sound Blake hoped he’d never have to hear again. It sliced through his nerves, grated his protective instincts raw.

Scrambling to get away from the officers, she pulled free of Blake’s grasp. But the exit was blocked by the onlookers. The wild aggression of a cornered animal swirled in her eyes.

One cop approached her. She threw her arms over her face and twisted away. Like she expected him to raise a hand to her. Or reach out to grab her
and take her away.

Blake sliced his arm through the air to stop the officer’s advance. “Not now.” He went to her, dropped to his knees, and reached out to
grasped her gently.

“Baby, no one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.” Jesus, she was hunched and shaking like crumpled ball of paper battered
about by the wind. “Layla, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

“No.” The gasp scraped from her throat. “He can’t…I won’t let him—”

“Who, Layla?”

“Someone was there…a shadow…a face…his voice…” An unsteady finger thrust toward the opposite wall. “The window!”

“You want me to check the window?” He stroked both her chilled hands between his, keeping his tone gentle and controlled. Standing, he went over and searched the window and the night beyond. “There’s no one,” he told the police, who came up behind him. “But that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t here a few minutes ago.”

“We’ll check outside and secure the perimeter.”

Blake nodded gratefully. Guns still drawn and ready, they filed out.

The dark fear ebbed from her eyes. She blinked and came fully into the present.
She dropped to the edge of the bed, touching her pale forehead with one trembling hand. He hunkered down in front of her, setting his hands on her knees.

“Blake,” she murmured, her breath coming in shallow spurts. “He was at the door trying to get in.”

“Who was?”

She shook her head as if she couldn’t reveal it.

Hugging herself, she scrubbed her upper arms with her palms like she couldn’t get warm. A telltale sign of shock, he recognized. He abandoned the quest for the assailant’s identity for a moment. “Need a hug?” he asked.

Tears gathered in her eyes. She looked up at him like he’d just offered her dawn after the dark of an endless night.

When he opened his arms, she dove into them.
Blake pulled her in tight, liking the idea of being the safest place on earth.
A pang of tenderness reverberated through his body. His arms came
firmly around her. He
pressed his lips to her hair.

Smoothing a hand down her back, he noticed her trembling had lessened as he held her close.
“Better?” he murmured.

“Yes.” She sounded like she felt safe, like she trusted him to give her that. At least for the moment.

Blake forced himself to take s step back from the scenario and her reaction. His words would sooth her more than his actions. Right in line with the revelation he’d come to during his ride.

Coaxing her to open up, he paused and waited, giving her whatever time she needed. Gradually, she filled the silence with the series of events that nearly resulted in him getting clobbered with a lamp.

An officer had returned, and now stood off to the side, scribbling Layla’s words onto a spiral notepad. Blake’s fingers dug into the bedspread to keep from reaching for her. “Did his voice sound like anyone from the bar across the street?”

“No. Not like them.”

Something triggered his memory. “You said you saw a cowboy hat?” She nodded. “I saw that guy. He was sitting at the far end of the bar. Kept to himself. Except…” Blake stood and began to pace, biting his thumbnail.

“Except what?”
Layla asked warily. The officer looked up, awaiting Blake’s answer.

“He caught my attention because he wore his hat low, like he wanted to go unnoticed. Until you walked in. He stalked you with his gaze. I was too preoccupied for it to register. I had a bad feeling when I walked in that bar. Should’ve trusted my gut.”

“You think it was him?” she asked, her eyes pleading for confirmation.

“Do you?”

She glanced away, as if hiding something.
“I don’t know.” A tense sigh left her as she fidgeted with the drawstring of her striped cotton pants. She shifted uncomfortably.
“Actually, I don’t think it was anyone from the bar. Blake…the man at the window…he sounded like Jack.”

“He was here?” Blake bellowed.

“He—who?” the officer demanded.

Layla raised damp eyes to Blake. “I don’t know for sure. It sounded like him. I mean,
I never thought he’d take it this far. But now I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe he would,” Blake acknowledged.

“He must’ve left right when the police pulled in,” Layla said.
“I thought it was him coming through the door—where are you going?” Blake was halfway out the door.

“To have a look around.”

What Blake found raised the hackles on his neck.

In the rectangle of dim light that came from their motel window, he saw the shapes of footprints crushed into the bed of pine needles. Fury spiked his blood pressure when he looked up and noticed gashes in the rusty screen-in window.

Peeling back the screen at the longest slash, he stuck his hand through. His fist easily fit through to the slit. So would the stalker’s.
It wouldn’t take much effort to unlatch the screen, pull it off and crawl in through the window.

“Someone was here, all right,” said a voice from beside him.

“I can see that,” Blake replied through clenched teeth.
The biker—Jack—whoever he was, he could’ve hurt Layla…or worse.
And I wasn’t here to protect her.
Blake suddenly found it hard to breathe.
He glanced at the officer, whose police cap sat snug over his closely shaven blond hair, the black brim accenting a pair of alert blue eyes set wide in his Scandinavian face. Blake relaxed under the reassuring clarity in the man’s stare. He asked him, “What’s the procedure from here?”

“We collect evidence, take it to the station. Along with her written, sworn statement.”

“And then?”

“We keep an eye on the streets like we have been all night. Earlier we got a call from the bar across the way reporting some riffraff had rolled into town.”

Blake aligned his stride with the officer’s as they headed back to the front of the motel. “Can you check the plates registered to an Officer Jack Johnson? I’d wager he’s driving an Ohio State-registered, unmarked police car.”

“Will do.
Any other information that might help?”

“Not that I can think of. Thanks for responding to the call.” Blake returned the officer’s nod in a moment of shared respect.

Then Blake headed to the room, his strides heavy. He slowed as he approached the cement slab bearing a yellow ribbon of light that came from the open door.

He moved toward it until he stood within its glow.

Layla felt his return before she confirmed it with her eyes. She looked up from the clipboard in her lap to where Blake stood in the doorframe.

She feared what he might’ve found—proof that her worst nightmare had nearly come true. She
gripped the pen until the white
plastic cracked.

His closed expression offered little comfort. “The coast is clear.”

“Really?” she asked, nervous and hopeful, yet curious over his cryptic answer. “But someone has been at the window, right?”

He nodded stiffly. “The police are handling everything. Nothing more that we can do except to get some sleep. We’re in for a long ride tomorrow.”

After scrawling her signature at the bottom of the lined sheet of paper, she handed the clipboard and splintered pen back to the officer. He bid them goodnight, took his leave, and she watched Blake shut the door behind him. When he turned to her, Layla spoke without hiding the worry in her tone. “Blake, I won’t be able to sleep after what just happened.”

He rubbed his neck, his expression conciliatory like he should’ve thought of that. “I guess not.” His eyes melted her with their compassion. “I’m pretty wide awake myself.”

“What do we do?” she asked. “Just go on to the next motel?”

His features softened as he suggested, “Why don’t we head out for a ride?”