Page 61 of Master of Lies

It was frustrating as hell. Confusing, too.

I couldn’t understand Jed’s behavior. Last night, I’d helped him. Demonstrably, measurably, materially, not just with sexual favors. Real help. A new lead, a new line of inquiry, a big step forward. At least, I hoped it would be. Please, God.

I suppose I’d thought that would automatically change my status, but it hadn’t. If anything, Jed was behaving worse than he had before. More rude and grumpy, more scowling, more uncommunicative.

And I was getting my feelings hurt, which I had sworn I would not do. But damn it, the sex last night had been so intense. I thought that we’d turned a corner together. That our souls had touched, and nothing could ever be the same again.

I was embarrassed at my own foolishness. This had been a disaster begging to happen, and surprise, surprise, it had happened sooner, rather than later.

Clearly, last night hadn’t meant anything to him. So I needed to grit my teeth and grow up. Right freakingnow.

It was a good thing we were only about a seven-hour drive away from Portland. He’d shaken me awake at four to tell me to get ready. On the long, silent drive, he’d been even more cold and unreachable than yesterday, which was saying a great deal.

We were on the outskirts of Portland slightly before noon. Jed stopped at a coffee shop, ordering sandwiches and coffee at the drive-thru without asking my preferences. He glared over at me as he pulled up to the window to pay.

“Get your head down,” he said sharply. “Pull down the hat. And slump.”

I oozed downward on my seat with bad grace as he paid, waiting again when we picked up the food. He passed the bags to me and pulled back out onto the freeway.

“Where are we headed?” I asked him.

“Our hotel,” he said.

“I’ve seen a bunch of them already,” I said. “They’re everywhere, right off the highway.”

“I already picked one out last night,” he said.

“Oh, really? Which one? And where? And why not tell me?”

“I didn’t feel like discussing it.”

I tried not to grind my teeth. There was no point even trying to be civil to that man. I pulled out one of the coffees, popped a hole in the plastic lid, and sipped.

Oh, God. Tongue-scalding, black as night, bitter as gall. Jed hadn’t asked for sugar or cream, or anything contemptible and frivolous like that. I had nailed his vibe. The beverage was meant to be both bracing and punishing. A drink to kick your ass.

Dickhead.I let out a breath and braced myself. “So. What’s the plan today?”

“What part of ‘I don’t feel like discussing it’ did you not understand?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe the part where you fuck me until I can barely walk and then treat me total shit the next day.” There was no way to keep that one under wraps. It had to burst out, or it would eat me up from the inside.

Jed didn’t look at me, but his jaw tightened under the beard. “That was a mistake,” he said.

Oh, wow. That hurt more than it should have. I’d been trying to grind through all the inconvenient feelings provoked by this rude, oversexed dipshit for the last four hours, and he had just undone all that hard work in a hot instant.

“Yeah, that’s clear,” I said. “All ten times, or however many times we did it. I lost count. That was a whole lot of mistakes, Jed. One might actually start questioning your judgment. Maybe even your sanity.”

“I’m sorry if you’ve decided to get your feelings hurt, but that can’t be my focus right now,” he said. “I’m working.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said. “Like, the plan.”

“Just shut up, Freya. I’m concentrating.”

Oh, man. I clenched my fists, imagining my fingers wrapped around his throat, but looking at that thick, sinewy, corded neck of his, I could probably do my absolute worst and he would barely notice the pressure. Shooting him would be more efficient.

I abandoned my attempts at conversation as we took a smaller highway which led us out into an industrial district, full of factories and warehouses, the occasional forest and field still scattered between them. He slowed down and pulled into a parking lot, with a run-down motel. “Houlihan’s Motel & RV Park. Cabins. Vacancy.”

“Is this one of your prepared houses?” I asked.

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