Certified Male (14 page)

She turned the couches and chairs on their sides, checking to see that the bottom fabric hadn't been cut or disturbed. She checked under cushions, along piping, between the springs in the back of the couch. Puffing a bit, she checked under and behind the television. She checked the corners of the carpet to see if it had been pulled loose.

No envelopes were to be found.

 

N
IGHTS COOLED OFF QUICKLY IN
the desert, Del thought, taking a deep breath of the chill air.

“Fucking dipshit bouncers,” Jerry groused, brushing sidewalk grit from his hands. He picked up his cell phone from where it had fallen from his pocket onto the ground.

“Rules say no touching the lap dancers,” Del said mildly.

“I didn't touch her.”

“Jerry, you had your hands on her tits.”

“She liked it.”

“You figure that was when she was smacking you or when she was calling for the bouncer?”

“Assholes,” Jerry mumbled. “Throw me out on the street. I was spending good money in there.”

“And I'm sure they loved you for it.”

“You coulda backed my play, y'know.”

“Sorry, buddy.” Del gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I make it a habit to avoid fighting bouncers with scar tissue around their eyes. It's not a real healthy pursuit.”

“Yeah.” Jerry stumbled a bit on the sidewalk, though it was perfectly even.

“So, what now? Want to stop somewhere else?”

“Nah. We go into another bar and they'll just pull the same bullshit. Let's go back to the hotel.”

Del pulled out his cell phone. “Gotta check my messages,” he said briefly and dialed his voice mail. He listened a moment, then cursed for form. “Frigging editors think they own you,” he muttered, skirting a man handing out handbills in front of an arcade. Dialing Gwen's cell phone number, he prepared to give her the code to flee.

And his phone beeped and flashed No Signal.

A shiver of alarm whisked down his spine.

G
WEN STEPPED INTO THE BEDROOM
and checked her watch. The bathroom hadn't taken long. She'd used a little over forty-five of her allotted ninety minutes. A half hour or less for the bedroom and she'd be out. Systematically she began checking under the mattress, under the box springs, on the back of the headboard, searching for an envelope taped in place. It wasn't underneath or behind the armoire, though she wasted precious minutes wrestling the piece away from the wall.

Did the fact that it was empty mean that he didn't have the stamps with him or that he'd hidden them somewhere else? It didn't pay to think the latter. She needed to search everywhere she could to be sure.

So she opened up the doors of the armoire, pulling out the first drawer with a sigh.

 

“W
HY DON'T WE DUCK IN HERE
and get a couple of bourbons?” Del nodded at a cocktail lounge as they walked through the casino.

Jerry shook his head. “Hell, forget that. I got a suite with a bar. We go up there, put some triple-X on the tube and have our drinks there.”

“Wouldn't you rather go see some live bodies?”

“Not if they're gonna toss me. Besides, I'm out of fives.”
He pulled his key out of his billfold. “I'm gonna go on up. You coming?”

Del pressed redial on his phone, but he couldn't get a line out. He glanced at his watch. An hour and a half, they'd agreed. An hour and a half after the start, she'd be out. It hadn't been quite that long, though. Now, it was always possible that she'd been hyperquick. She could have finished already, be riding the elevator down or even safely back in her room with the stamps. She could be safely out of harm's way.

Or she could be knee-deep in Jerry's things.

They were coming back without warning, earlier than he'd promised. If she were in the room, there'd be no good excuse and no telling what might happen. At best, security and arrest. At worst?

With a sense of increasing desperation, he followed Jerry onto the elevator.

 

G
WEN SLID THE LAST DRAWER
back into the armoire. Carefully setting the swinging upper doors back where they'd been, she backed away and gave a final check to the room. She'd taken care to put everything back in its initial position. Not that Jerry would even know, given his obvious tendency to throw things around and generally make a mess.

She wouldn't give in to dejection. Just because she hadn't found it didn't mean it wasn't there to be found. She just hadn't looked in the right spot.

Gwen walked back into the living room, mentally ticking off all of the places she'd checked. She glanced at her watch. An hour and twenty minutes. She could afford five more and still have a margin for error. Time for a tour of the room to see if she'd forgotten anything.

She walked slowly and carefully, stopping occasionally to double-check a possible hiding place. Then she passed by the bar, with its glossy marble counter. She glanced be
hind it and stopped. The refrigerator. She'd checked behind the televisions and behind the safe, but she hadn't checked behind the refrigerator in the bar.

And time was rushing by.

She hurried back behind the polished peninsula. Quickly she crouched in front of the refrigerator, sliding her hands into the nook that held it. It was a close fit, impossible to fit both hands.

Swearing, she struggled to grip it in the narrow cabinet and shift it enough to check one side at a time. She moved it half an inch, then an inch, easing her hand back. She felt smooth metal and polished wood. She inched her fingers back a bit more—

And touched paper.

Adrenaline sprinted through her. It might be just a piece of paper that had wound up there. It probably was. But maybe, just maybe, it was an envelope.

She licked her lips and bent to push the refrigerator again.

And something knocked against the outer door.

Her heart leaped into her throat. Wildly she looked around for a hiding place, then realized the lights were still on. She could hear it now, the rustling of someone working to get a key into the slot. Her heart slammed into her ribs as she careened across to slap down the light switches, cringing at the sound of Jerry's loud and drunken voice outside. She ran back to the center of the living room and stood like a hunted creature at bay. Not the bathroom, not the closet.

Outside the card key snicked into the lock.

And she dived behind the counter of the bar.

 

“H
ERE WE GO
,” J
ERRY SAID
drunkenly. “Is this a room or what? Just need a coupla chicks up here and we're in business.”

Jerry'd become more hammered as his last drink from the club had hit, Del observed. Unfortunately he appeared to be one of those drunks who hit a certain level of inebriation and just stayed there, soused but alert to a point.

And focused on a goal.

Jerry stumbled to the couch and fumbled for the TV remote, staring at it blearily. “Hey, we need a coupla beers over here. I'll take care of the ennertainmen'.” He managed to get the television on and squinted at the on-screen menu, trying to focus.

“I'll get the drinks.” Del walked past the couch toward the bar, every atom of his being on alert. He couldn't see a sign that she'd been there, but he knew she had. He wondered if she was still in the room—there was a better-than-average chance that she was. He scanned the room, looking for likely spots.

And froze at the sight of a silver cell phone sitting on an end table.

“Scopin' out m'digs, huh?” Jerry said from behind him.

Del looked over his shoulder at Jerry on the couch as he walked toward the bar. “I thought you were working on the entertainment.”

“Friggin' remote don' work.” Jerry's voice was petulant and slurred.

Jerry's alcohol saturated vision didn't work, more like it. “Let me grab a couple of beers, I'll see what I can do,” Del said over his shoulder. He deviated off course just enough to scoop up the phone, the back of his neck tingling as he waited to hear Jerry say something. Jerry was quiet, however, preoccupied with the remote.

She was still here, Del thought wildly, ticking off a list of possible hiding places—the shower, the closet, under the bed. He walked behind the bar.

And stumbled to a stop.

“Trouble walkin', thass it, y'cut off,” Jerry mumbled.

“You better hope I can walk well enough to get your beer to you,” Del threw back distractedly, staring at Gwen curled up in the furthest corner of the little U behind the bar. He pulled open the door to the little refrigerator mechanically, yanking out a couple of beers and setting them on the bar as his mind raced through his options.

One thing wasn't an option—getting Gwen out the door undetected.

“You growin' the hops back there?” Jerry looked blearily back from the couch.

Del turned to pick a bottle of Wild Turkey off the shelf behind him. The harder the liquor, the quicker he could put Jerry under, he calculated, mixing himself a weak bourbon and water and doubling Jerry's. “Beer's for wimps. How about some good old Kentucky bourbon?” He crossed to the couch and handed Jerry his drink. Grabbing the remote, he sat himself. “So, let's see, we want to check out some movies here?” He punched some buttons.

“Hey, turn on Beach Babes Gone Wild,” Jerry directed him. “It's got that Misty Mancos in it. She's hot.”

Del had an idea, but to carry it out he'd have to keep Jerry occupied. Porn and alcohol sounded like the ticket, and if Jerry passed out, so much the better. Del waited until the film was in full swing and half of Jerry's bourbon was gone before making his move. He rose. “Gotta hit the head.”

He crossed to the guest bathroom, off a small hallway just before the door to the bedroom. Focus, he thought as he flipped on the light and fan. Every second counted. As soon as he closed the door, he began unspooling toilet paper, bunching it into a wad bigger than his fist. When he judged he had enough, he shoved it down into the toilet, packing it in the drain. It would work, he hoped, and pushed the flush handle.

“Shit.” He didn't entirely have to fake his outburst as the water flowed up over the edge of the bowl and onto the floor. “Goddamn it,” he complained, bursting out into the living room.

“What are you bitchin' about?” Jerry looked over from the television, where two stupefyingly endowed women were wrapped around one another.

“Your plumbing. The damned thing is pouring all over the floor. Get in here and look at this.”

Jerry levered himself off the couch and stumbled over to the bathroom. “Ah, shit, what a mess.”

“Hey, not my fault.” Del stood at the door and glanced back to see Gwen peeking over the counter. He jerked his thumb toward the door and stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door. “Maybe if we flush it again.”

“No, don't—” but Jerry didn't get a chance to finish the sentence as the water overflowed again. The noise effectively masked the faint click of the door, which Del was pretty sure he heard only because every fiber of his being was attentive for the sound.

The sound of Gwen getting to safety.

 

G
WEN PACED AROUND HER ROOM
, too amped on adrenaline to even sit down. Nearly an hour had passed since she'd stumbled through the door. Still, her system stubbornly refused to level. She'd tried to pour herself a drink but her hands had shaken too badly. Had Jerry heard anything? Was Del all right? It had all turned out to be a nightmare, especially since she'd walked away with nothing.

During the nerve-wracking walk from Jerry's room to the elevators, she'd fought to remain relaxed, taking her time even as every fiber of her screamed to run to the exit. A smile and nod to the concierge, as though she had all the time in the world. When the car came, she'd stepped on
board, heart thudding, giving in enough to press the ‘close door' button.

It had only been when she'd shut the door of her own room, safely inside, that she'd taken a full breath. And another, and another, until she still felt in danger of hyperventilating.

The sudden knock on the door made her jump. It was probably nothing, she told herself, but her imagination painted security standing outside the door instead, ready to lock her up for breaking into a guest room. She looked through the peephole.

It was Del.

He burst through the door when she opened it and pulled her to him, his arms coming around her hard. “God.” He held her. “That scared the hell out of me.” He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled.

Held close to him, Gwen finally began to shake, really shake, as though she could let loose because he was there. “It did a number on me, too, when—”

His mouth was on hers before she finished, hard and demanding. And that quickly the adrenaline residue of fear flashed over into passion. All she could register was need. She wanted his skin against hers, his body on hers. She wanted him inside her. And most of all she wanted it now.

It wasn't about romance. There wasn't a vestige of anything soft or tender about it. It was pure passion, hard and rough and uncontrolled. All the anxiety, all the tension, all the frustration of the past several hours poured into the heat of their fused mouths. Magnified by fear, desire became manifest.

Gwen gloried in the feel of Del's hands moving roughly over her body. She wanted it fast, she wanted it urgent. Every atom of her body seemed supernaturally sensitive. His teeth scraped against her lower lip and she moaned. His
hands slid down to squeeze her breasts and she caught her breath. His fingers slid up under her skirt and she cried out. In that instant she felt supremely alive.

She tore blindly at his shirt, wanting it only off, not caring how. When he stripped her tank top off over her arms, she caught herself to him, nipping greedily at his shoulder, his throat. “I want you inside me,” she murmured feverishly, leaning over to the bedside table for the condoms they'd left there. “I want your cock. Now.”

With a noise of frustration Del turned her around and bent her over the couch, pushing her skirt up over her hips. When he saw and felt the warm curves of her framed by the red silk of a thong, it almost undid him. Gritting his teeth, he held on long enough to free his aching cock and roll the condom on even as Gwen reached back to touch him, stroking the lightly furred skin of his balls, the tops of his thighs.

And he thrust himself inside her.

Gwen cried out, her head arching back as she clutched at pillows, pushing herself back against him.

It was too fast, too hard, too rough, he thought in some sane part of his mind. But he'd stood by while she'd been in danger and now some primitive instinct drove him to mark her as his. Her tight, wet heat around him dragged him closer to the edge of control with every stroke. Her breasts filled his hands. She surrounded him, inflamed him. As he drove himself home, as he felt her shudder and contract around him, he pulled her hard against him and spilled his soul into her.

The silence was broken only by their breathing. When he thought he could stand without falling over, Del pushed himself upright. “Oh, man,” he muttered. “Oh, man.”

“You can say that again.” Gwen stood shakily, one hand on the couch.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm not okay.” His heart clutched as she turned to him. “I'm fabulous.”

It took him a moment to catch up. “Yeah, that was…you were okay with that?”

“It was incredible.” She sat on the arm of the couch and let herself fall back onto the cushions, stretching her arms out languorously. “Of course, if you wanted to give me some basis of comparison, I could give you a more accurate assessment.”

He grinned. “Coming up, ma'am.”

 

“W
ANT SOMETHING TO DRINK
?” Wrapped in a terry cloth hotel bathrobe, Gwen stood at the minibar.