A Stolen Chance (18 page)

She quickly rinsed and dried her mouth and joined him. “He got cold in the middle of the night. He needs a bed of some kind, something thicker than that rug, between him and the cold floor.” She wasn’t about to tell him Hans had gotten on the bed without an invitation. The dog’s attitude toward his master this morning was rather condescending. She didn’t want to subvert any of his training and ruin Carson’s hard work. Before letting him stay on the bed again, she’d think twice, but she’d make sure he had a warm place to sleep.

“Look at his thick coat, Susan. He’s not going to freeze or get sick, but if it’ll make you happy, I’ll get him a bed.”

“Good.” She eyed the dog. Had he been trying to keep her feet warm last night or make himself comfortable? Oh, well, they’d never know. No doubt about it, though, the dog was smart and evidently knew how to work her. Carson was another story. And to be honest, to be dependable at his job, Hans needed a firm hand. “Yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t indulge him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” He squatted in front of the dog. “Will a nice warm bed make you happy, boy?”

Hans woofed.

“All right. Let’s get outside and take care of business.” The dog trotted to the door and waited while Carson turned back to her. “Can you be ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.”

Business was almost non-existent at the café. Few guests visited the motel. Carson stayed open in case travelers needed a place to stay and eat, but they worked with a skeleton staff. George and Gina needed the work, so Carson took time off. He spent much of the day in her cabin studying the fireplace mantel and every piece of tile attached to the adobe structure. His strong hands smoothed, poked, and prodded each ceramic piece surrounding the hearth and every groove in the wood.

He sighed and, hands on his hips, stood back and surveyed the entire wall. “This is the damndest thing. I think it’ll take a genius to figure this out.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to tear this wall up.”

Susan didn’t have a clue how to help. There had to be some simple trick, but finding it was a puzzle. They needed to know more about the man who’d designed and built it. Maybe they needed to go back to the storage shed and delve deeper into Mr. Riley’s past.

“Do you still have that box of memorabilia in your cabin?”

****

An hour later the contents of several boxes from the storage building covered every available surface in Carson’s cabin. Most of it belonged to his mother and aunt—high school yearbooks, report cards, and childhood odds and ends. The only thing belonging to his great-grandfather was the deed and the sales receipts for the land he’d bought to build the motel on.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Susan picked through a wooden cigar box filled with old advertising giveaways—pencils, a couple of metal cigarette lighters, a fingernail file, wall thermometer, three match books, a couple of bottle openers, and numerous other items. All carried the names of businesses along Route 66. She shoved the box toward Carson. “If you have any collectors in your family, they might enjoy these.”

He rifled through the contents and tossed the container onto a chair. “Uncle Buck will enjoy picking through them. He might want to put a few on display at the café.”

Carson dragged another cardboard box closer and unfolded the four upper flaps. He lifted a booklet out and studied the front. “Look at this.” He extended a hand from where he sat on the sofa and helped her up beside him. “I knew Sears and Wards had mail order factory homes, but this is home plans. Maybe Grandpop used these to build the first cabins.”

They flipped through the book. Susan tapped a page. “Not many of these have a bathroom.” She turned to the copyright page. “This was published in 1925! No bathroom. I can’t believe people would build a home without one.”

Carson shrugged. “Guess they were an extravagance back then.”

At the very back of the book, several pieces of folded paper slid out onto his lap. He unfolded the old pages to reveal hand-drawn floor plans. In the margins, cabinets and other structures were drawn in detail. “Look, here’s the tile configuration for the fireplace.” He turned the page around, and on the side Mr. Riley had drawn a rough sketch of the mantel. They studied it closely.

Carson looked at Susan. “Do you see anything that hints at a secret drawer?”

“No, nothing.”

****

The café bustled with activity. Susan watched as Carson, forearms crossed with elbows on the bar, chatted with a couple of regulars. The big biker, Joe, said something. Carson threw his head back and laughed. His pleasure in the exchange brought a smile to her lips. It was good to see him so happy and carefree, if only for a short while. He glanced up to see her watching and clapped the guy on the shoulder before starting toward her.

“What put that grin on your face this morning?”

“You. It’s nice to see you joking around with your friends. You’ve been rather restrained since our visit to Zuni.” Plus their search had proved fruitless.

His expression sobered as he pulled out a chair and sat. “Yeah, I’m beginning to think we’ll never find the fetishes.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “I hate to tear up the fireplace, but it may be the only way.”

His hand, brown and strong and twice the size of hers, lay atop the table. Dark hair lightly dusted the back. She placed her pale one over his and squeezed. He clasped it, and his thumb stroked softly up and down the length of her palm. For some reason the action jolted her emotions, set butterflies loose in her stomach. She gasped.

His gaze jerked to hers. Heat and longing radiated from the dark depths of his brown eyes. He cleared his throat. “Having you here, helping, has meant a lot to me. Thank you.”

“That’s what friends are for, Carson. Your support these past few months has meant the world to me.”

One dark brow rose. “Is that all we are to each other, Susan? Friends?” The deliberate use of her real name, though spoken softly, sent a shiver racing through her. She wanted to believe his passion, his desire for her, was something more than a passing fancy. Surely she knew his character, if not his heart, by now.

Heat rose in her face. She lowered her eyes to their joined hands. “No, we’re much more than friends.” She didn’t intend to hedge or be coy. It wasn’t in her nature. She’d not learned to play those games and didn’t intend to explore the art now. She raised her head and met his gaze. “Aren’t we?”

His growl rumbled softly from his chest. “Damned right.”

“Hey, Carson,” George called from the kitchen.

Carson frowned at the interruption, but turned. “Be right there.” He stood. Her hand still in his, he pulled her to her feet. Closing the short distance between them, he cupped her cheek. “We’re going to settle this tonight.”

Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. “Yes. Tonight.” Fearing he’d kiss her in front of his customers, she took a step back and smiled. “Hans and I are going for a walk.”

His hands dropped to cup her elbows possessively as if willing her to stay.

“It’s been a month with no sign of him.”

“I don’t know...”

“We’ll be fine.” Hans would alert her to any possible danger. “I can’t stay cooped up any longer, Carson.” She shrugged into her coat and patted both pockets. “I have my cell phone and my pistol.”

Brows drawn together in a frown, he studied her. His attention drifted to Hans, lying on the rug beside the front door. He patted his leg. “Hans.”

The dog rose and trotted over to sit in front of Carson, who voiced several commands Hans answered with a woof. Carson touched her cheek. “Be careful.”

****

A knit cap pulled down to cover her ears, Susan zipped her jacket against the cold March air. Rather than put on gloves, she stuffed her hands in her pockets. She set a brisk pace and headed in a roundabout direction toward the abandoned motel. Over the past month, she and Carson had walked often, their route becoming a delineated pathway.

Susan watched Hans. Gone was the playful dog that had chased rabbits. He was all business, staying fifty yards ahead of her and occasionally stopping to lift his nose to the breeze. A true professional, the dog trotted in a zigzag pattern back and forth across the trail, stopping here and there to sniff the ground. He took his job seriously.

Though the snow had melted, small patches hid beneath shrubs, waiting for the sun to melt it away. In another month, the dry desert would awaken and signs of life would push their way through the packed earth. Plants would put on leaves and cacti would flower, adding color beneath the blue sky.

Dewayne’s lack of attack was confusing. He’d never been one to let slights or wrongs go unpunished. He believed in evening the score. The longer he stayed away the more her stress increased. She was ready for the conflict to be over so she could go on with her life—if she had a life to worry about.

Tonight,
Carson had said
.
The sensuous timbre of his voice had revealed his degree of want and determination. Yes, tonight she would tell him she loved him. No doubt they’d make love, but she wouldn’t stay the night. She didn’t want to be with him if Dewayne broke in. She wouldn’t put him in danger. Susan couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to Carson.

Susan’s breath warmed the air in front of her face but not enough to warm her cheeks. The zippy weather invigorated her, and she lengthened her stride, making the muscles in her buttocks pull. She’d exercised more since coming to Siesta than she had since her teen years. Her body thrived on the activity. She slept well and had loads of energy. Her work flourished, also. Her client list had grown, and their websites kept her busy during the day. Of course, every free moment she spent with Carson. Much of that time they spent perusing his grandfather’s papers. If only they could find a clue to unlock the mystery of his great-grandfather’s hidden treasure...

Susan was almost to the abandoned motel, its caved-in roofs and ramshackle cottages stark against the azure backdrop of the sky. What had it been like in its heyday? Many such establishments along Route 66 had grown from mere overnight camping spots for weary travelers. Some provided no facilities, just a place to pull off the road, while a few had restrooms with showers. Regardless, they were a place to rest, build a fire and cook a meal, and visit with others on the road. She’d love to travel back in time and sit around the campfire with them, hear their stories.

Hans halted twenty yards up the trail, his snout lifted to the breeze, his attention fixed on the buildings ahead. What had caught his interest?

Light glanced off an object on the roof nearest them. Before she could react, Hans turned and moved in a blur of fur. He leapt into the air and flew, his paws catching her in the chest and knocking her to the ground just as a gunshot rang out. Her head hit a rock, and she lay there stunned, crushed under the weight of the large dog.

Chapter Seventeen

Carson chuckled at Joe’s antics. The big biker, tattooed arms bare even in this cold weather, entertained Gina with his tales of exploits during his years on the road. Carson had no doubt some of the outrageous tales were true, but Joe embellished the truth. He often played the buffoon, but in truth, he was as smart as they came. His street-smart savvy served him well in a variety of situations. He was a good man to cover your back in times of trouble. They’d served in Afghanistan together back in the early 1990s, before Carson joined the force, and Joe had saved Carson’s hide on more than one occasion.

Joe winked at him over Gina’s head. Carson shook his own and went back to scrubbing the counter, his mind returning to Susan as it had every sixty seconds or so since she’d left. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. The woman was stubborn, had a mind of her own, which he appreciated. He’d never liked clinging, needy women. Damn woman wouldn’t even commit to him until this ordeal was over...if it was ever over. If they didn’t catch or kill the oily bastard, he’d keep coming back like a cold sore lying dormant until you least expected it to crop up.

The echo of a rifle report startled him. Shoulders tense, he turned to Joe, hoping the sound had been his imagination. The startled expression on his friend’s face erased the thought from his mind. Carson dropped the rag and rushed to the back door, Joe on his heels.

He pulled his Sig Sauer from his hidden waist holster as he ran.
Please, God, don’t let me be too late.
Why had he let Susan go alone? She was an independent woman but would have listened to reason if he’d pushed the point. Would her death be another mistake to add to his conscience and haunt his dreams?

Susan liked to walk their circular route. From the amount of time she’d been gone, he calculated she’d be near the old motor court. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream, setting his senses on alert. The day was clear. He searched the horizon, looking for signs of Susan or Holt. A figure’s head rose above the scrub brush. It was Holt, his attention trained on them. Dammit! They’d been spotted. Carson’s military and police training kicked in. He signaled to Joe, and they widened the space between them and crouched low.

****

Susan lay stunned, flat on her back, her head throbbing from where it had struck the hard ground. A heavy weight lay atop her chest.
Dang! What had happened?
She lifted her head to see Hans stretched out on top of her. She wrinkled her nose at his stinky breath and the dirty odor of his coat.
It’s time for a bath, buddy.

Reality hit.
Hans! Dewayne shot him.
She folded her arms around the animal and gasped with relief to feel his rapid pants. She stroked his side and whispered, “Lie still, boy. Play dead.” Maybe he’d think he got them both.