Page 69 of Taking Care of the Target

He shouldered his bag and reached for Cassie’s hand, but she was focused on trying to tug her skirt closed. The seam had ripped all the way up, exposing most of her thigh. “As if I needed to show any more leg in this dress.”

“Personally, I like it.”

She looked up at him. He wanted to see in her eyes that they were okay, but he’d settle forherbeing okay. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t get a read on her. She had to be close to breaking—he figured it’d come out as either anger or yelling or tears—but her face was blank, only a hint of exhaustion in her pretty features.

They walked to the office, and Vince held the door open. Cassie pushed past him, her bare shoulder brushing his chest. The room was tiny and warm with a pamphlet-filled stand on nearby activities. As luck would have it, the motel clerk at the desk was female—that’d make this a lot easier.

The brunette’s gaze remained fixed on the phone in her hand, but when Vince cleared his throat, she looked up. Her eyes went wide, and then a smile spread across her face.

“We need a room for the night,” he said.

The clerk glanced at Cassie, seeming to notice her presence for the first time. Cassie ran a hand down her hair. After being shot at, fleeing for her life, and a long drive, she was still the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. His gaze moved to that slit and the creamy exposed skin of her thigh, and then he got distracted, thinking about running his hand up her leg.

“Name?”

Vince jerked his attention back to the girl behind the desk. “Mark Jones,” he said, producing a driver’s license with that alias. They only had two vacant rooms, both with king beds.

He told her he’d take one without checking to see how unhappy Cassie looked about the news. If he had to, he could sleep on the floor. When the clerk asked for a credit card, he handed her cash instead.

“I’m sorry, but we need a credit card for incidentals,” she said.

“I’ll pay a cash deposit if I need to. I don’t have a credit card.”

The girl glanced around nervously, as if someone would appear out of thin air and tell her whether or not that was okay. Then she looked at Cassie, and understanding lit her eyes—thewrongunderstanding. Vince flinched, hoping Cassie wouldn’t notice.

“Room seven.” She slid a key card across. “Have a nice…stay.”

He and Cassie exited the office and walked down the sidewalk, checking the numbers on the doors as they passed them.

“Too bad she didn’t ask formyname,” Cassie said. “Because then I could’ve told her it was Bambi and confirmed her assumption that I was a by-the-hour-type date.”

Vince stopped in front of their room and shot Cassie a smile. “Don’t worry, Bambi. I just wanna talk.”

She shoved him in the chest, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.

The room wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Outdated but clean, with a sturdy second lock. Careful to not move too much, he shook off his jacket and rested it on the tiny circular table in the corner.

Cassie lifted his shirt, grimacing when it stuck before slowly peeling free.

“It’s really not that bad,” he said.

“I saw a grocery store across the street. You get in the shower and clean it out. I’m going to get some bandages and supplies.”

“Whatever you say, Bambi.”

Cassie shook her head. “I think I preferred Rambo.”

“I’m comfortable with my masculinity and all, but I’m afraid that crosses a line for me.”

He got the smile he was hoping for. As long as he could keep her joking and happy, maybe he could stop the reality of the situation from crushing her. Now to break the news that he couldn’t actually follow her demands. “It’s not safe for you to go anywhere alone. I’ll come with you.”

An involuntary grunt came out as he reached for his jacket, his hand automatically going to his injury.

Cassie nudged him toward the bed, and his knees buckled ridiculously easy once they hit the edge of the mattress. “We’re miles away from anywhere and that wound needs taking care of.” She gave him her hard stare. “Don’t make me stab you again.”

He wanted to fight her, but lightheadedness set in.

“Small problem…” She twisted a pale strand of hair around her finger. “I don’t exactly have any money.”

---