Page 121 of Where There's Smoke

It was almost an hour before Anthony texted me with an address and a room number. With guilt and nerves and arousal vying for dominance, I silently begged Simone for forgiveness as I picked up my wallet and room key. I glanced at her luggage once more, that still, silent symbol of the woman who deserved better than this.

Please forgive me, Simone. He needs something. Something’s wrong. I have to go to him.

On my way to the elevator, I paused. I didn’t have a rental car this time, nor did I have my own with me. We were only a couple of hours out of LA, and I’d ridden in this morning with Ranya since her car was less conspicuous and used less gas than mine.

I went to her door, hesitated, and then knocked.

When she answered, I said, “You mind if I borrow your car for a couple of hours?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You? Drivemycar?”

“Oh, come on. All that stuff I said about your car, I was kidding.”

“It’s not that. I’ve just seen the way you drive.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you have said some pretty unflattering things about my car…”

“Please?” I lowered my voice. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless—”

“Jesus, Jesse.” Her eyes widened. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I waved a hand. “I’m fine, I just…I really need to get out of here. Discreetly.”

“Okay, okay.” She glanced over her shoulder, then looked at me again. “Why don’t I go get it instead of having you walk out there?” She grinned. “I’ll park it out back by one of the service entrances. Then you can leave all incognito and James Bond-like.”

I snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

She giggled. “Let me get my keys.”

As promised, Ranya brought her car around to one side of the hotel, and I slipped out through an employee entrance.

Pressing the keys into my hand, she gave me what almost passed for a stern look. “Be nice to my car, Cameron, or there will be trouble.”

“So no drag racing, peeling around corners, and—”

“Do it, and you’re a dead man.”

I put my shoulders back. “You know, threatening a governor is a federal offense.”

“You’re not governor yet.” She nodded sharply at her car. “That thing comes back with a scratch on it or any less than a full tank, you won’t live tobegovernor.”

“Ooh, I’m scared.”

“As well you should be.”

I laughed, then started toward the car. “Thanks, Ranya. I really appreciate it.”

She smiled. “Anytime.”

As she disappeared into the hotel, I got in the car, adjusted the seat, put the address Anthony had texted me into the GPS, and got the hell out of there. I hadn’t lied about taking care of her car while it was in my possession, but it was tempting to peel out of the parking lot and see just how fast this thing would go once I hit the highway. Not because I needed to drive fast or be reckless, but because the hotel wasn’t fading fast enough in the rearview.

All the way there, though, I drove closer to the speed limit than I ever had in my life. Every car waiting to turn onto the highway was a Crown Victoria waiting to pull me over, and every motorcycle was a CHP who’d clocked me at way faster than I was actually driving. Just what I needed: a speeding ticketand aso wherewereyou going that night in another woman’s car without your wife and in such a hurry, Mr. Cameron?They’d know. Everyone would know. I was a speeding ticket away from all of California knowing I was en route to an adulterous liaison with my secret gay lover.

Nerves, paranoia, and anticipation had me gripping the wheel for dear life as I drove through the night. I swore the odometer was rolling backward, that every mile I gained was ten miles in the wrong direction. Ranya’s GPS assured me I was on the right track, though, and it finally told me to turn off the highway onto a badly paved two-lane.

Shortly after that, a sign came into view: MOTEL in blue block letters on a glowing, dirty white background. Below that, red neon formed the skeletal letters spelling out VACANCY beside an indecisively flickering NO.

A pair of weak streetlights illuminated a gravel parking lot in front of a run-down, single-level building with maybe a dozen rooms and an office. It looked like one of those motels where people came to make illegal transactions and secret love children. Wouldn’t have surprised me if a body or two had been found here. The place was creepy, sleazy, and about the unsexiest locale I could think of, but I just didn’t care because Anthony was here and something wasn’t right. This place was discreet, and given the choice between spending time here and not finding out what had Anthony so rattled? Sign me up for a night in the Bates-Roach Motel.

Heart pounding, I turned off the road. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, and my headlights arced across pale blue exterior walls, curtain-shrouded windows, and numbered doors. Weathered railroad ties on the gravel divided the parking area from the building, each six-foot beam indicating one parking space. Most rooms had one or two cars—everything from beaters that I couldn’t imagine had moved recently to a gleaming black Cadillac Escalade—parked out front.

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