Popping a fry into my mouth, I risked a glance at my companion and couldn’t keep the longing off my face as he lifted a fork laden with chicken fried steak and thick sausage gravy towards his mouth. It was a toss-up as to which one I craved the most—his food or his lips. Catching my look, he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and, after rolling his eyes at me, set it down. I watched, confused for a moment, as he reached across the table to grasp the edge of my plate, pulling it towards him.
“Hey!” I started to protest, falling silent a second later when he pushed his own plate towards me. “Thanks,” I murmured as I lifted the fork and took the first bite of warm gravy with just the right mix of pepper and sausage.
I hummed aloud in bliss as I chewed. It wasn’t as good as my grandmother’s sausage gravy had been, but it came damned close. Holbrook didn’t say anything, just nodded, smiled, and took a bite of his sandwich.
I was relieved when the rest of our dinner conversation was limited to whether the food was okay and how bad we thought the snow might get. Nice safe topics that didn’t include anyone getting eaten or naked.
***
The tightening of Holbrook’s shoulders let me know something was amiss before I caught the ashtray and sour sweat smell of Johnson approaching our table. Thick flakes of snow dusted his shoulders and clung to his slicked back hair, melting into the white strands. His face was flushed from his quick jaunt across the parking lot, but he seemed oblivious to the cold, his eyes narrowed with tension and something else that sent tendrils of dread curling through my middle.
“We have a problem,” he said, his voice tight as bright blue eyes settled on me with anger and a hint of what looked to be disgust.
“But I just ordered pie,” I said, my gaze lingering on the approaching slice of apple pie, the big dollop of vanilla ice cream on top just starting to melt into the crumbly pastry.
“So?”
“What do you mean?” I began to protest, falling silent at the minute warning shake of Holbrook’s head in the corner of my eye. “Never mind,” I sighed, gathering up my scarf, and digging a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of my pocket.
My longing for pie was soon forgotten once we got back to my motel room. In fact, I doubted I’d ever want to eat again.
Chapter 5
I SAT ON the edge of the bed in the motel room, the food from the diner sitting as a greasy, leaden weight in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the fuzzy, off-color picture on the small TV screen. I’d turned the volume down after the first few minutes of the report, unable to listen to the gruesome details recited in the cheery voice of the young, pretty anchorwoman. Besides, the images flashing across the screen pretty much spoke for themselves.
Samson had escaped from prison just over forty-eight hours ago, leaving three guards dead and another two in critical condition. The doctors thought one of them might pull through, but it didn’t look like the other would live more than another day. And now, two more bodies had been found close to the Colorado border in New Mexico.
The scene shifted to a dour-faced man reporting from the scene of the latest attack, the garish neon sign of a gas station making the blonde wisps of his hair gleam green and yellow. Something about the out-of-focus background niggled at a half forgotten memory in the back of my mind. The more I tried to reach for it, the more it seemed to slip away, sinking into the darkness.
Johnson and Holbrook stood huddled next to the door, their heads bowed close together as they talked in hushed tones, unaware that my wolf hearing could pick up what they were saying. They’d been arguing for the last ten minutes about whether or not we should move on to another location.
As I watched the camera pan back to the polished blonde anchorwoman, an expression of professional and detached empathy plastered across her perfectly applied makeup, I suddenly felt each and every second of the last twelve hours. It was as though the grime covering my body was sporting its own layer of dirt and sweat.
“I’m taking a shower,” I declared to no one in particular as I rose from the bed and fished a pair of sweat pants and a faded t-shirt out of my bag. “Let me know if you guys decide to hit the road again.”
I grabbed my toiletry bag from the counter as I ducked into the bathroom before either of the agents could respond. For a moment I thought about locking the door, but what was the point? I was getting the distinct impression that Johnson didn’t even like me, so I didn’t think he try and peek at me in the shower. If Holbrook wanted a look, well, I’d gladly let him do that. And more.
Besides, let’s be honest, if Samson wants to get his teeth in you, a flimsy door isn’t going to stop him, my inner voice added.
Stubbornly pushing down the stab of fear that lanced through my chest, I turned on the water and wriggled out of my clothes, noticing that they definitely bore the aroma of fear and arousal.
If I keep this up, all Samson will need to do is follow the stench.
Mumbling curses under my breath, I contemplated just burning my clothes and buying new ones each day.