Chapter Twelve
Late Sunday morning, Rafe and Moira awoke again to knocking on their hotel door.
“It’s Grant,” a voice called from outside.
“Shit,” Moira muttered and pulled a pillow over her head.
Rafe kissed her shoulder. She had bruises and scrapes all over, and her voice was raw from the smoke. But she was alive, and that was what really mattered.
“Come on, sweetheart, rise and shine. It’s nearly noon.”
Rafe got up and opened the door. Grant looked surprisingly rested. And he’d shaved. “Come in,” Rafe said.
“I can’t stay long, but I wanted to let you know that Tori is stabilized. Nearly four pints had been drawn. But the paramedics were on scene when you brought her out, and they started immediate fluids. She’s going to be okay. Right now, she doesn’t remember anything after she was kidnapped on her way to the gym early Saturday morning. At least, that’s what she said. I certainly am not going to push for more details.”
“Good.” Moira stretched, but didn’t get out of bed. “What about Carter?”
“He’ll be okay. They’re calling it food poisoning, and he still feels like shit, but they’re releasing him tomorrow.”
Rafe was relieved. He’d been harboring a load of guilt over leaving Carter at Defiance in the first place.
“So, what’s the cover story?” Moira asked.
“This one is a little tricky. The men in the cellar identified you as their attacker. I had to think fast. You’re now officially my CI.”
“Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?”
“Criminal informant.”
Rafe reddened. “Criminal?”
“I said Moira O’Donnell was your street name. I couldn’t unring that bell. Your crimes are drug related, you work with Carter, and if it weren’t for you we’d never have found this gang. But I need your gun, Moira. I filed the report that I shot the bouncer with my back-up weapon. Otherwise, even as a protected informant, you would have had to come in for questioning.”
Moira sighed. “I understand.” She reached into the nightstand and pulled out her gun.
Grant took it and wiped off her prints. “Thank you both. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Well, I suppose we should thank you as well. For trusting us.”
“You don’t always make it easy, but I understand more now than I did...before.” He hesitated, then said, “It’s been a rough month since Julie died.”
“We know,” Moira said. “How are you really doing?”
“Surprisingly, I don’t want to kill myself anymore. That’s a plus.” He changed the subject and asked Rafe, “What happened to Amy’s ghost?”
“She’s where she’s supposed to be.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“This time, it is.”
“When are you going back to Santa Louisa?”
“Today,” Moira said at the same time as Rafe said, “Tomorrow.”
Moira frowned. “But we decided—”
Rafe cut her off. Moira still looked exhausted, and she needed a day off. “One more day,” he said. “This hasn’t been much of a vacation.”
“I didn’t think we were on vacation.”
“Now we are. Twenty-four hours. No demons, no witches, no fights.”
He could tell she wanted to argue, but didn’t. “All right, you win.” She laid back down. “If I’m on vacation, I’m sleeping.” She pulled a pillow over her head.
“That’s a good-bye,” Rafe said and walked Grant to the door. They didn’t need to say anything else, but Rafe shook his hand. “If you need to talk, about anything, call.”
“I hope I don’t need you. But I will call, if something comes up. Thanks. I mean it.”
Rafe closed the door and glanced back at the bed. Moira’s head was under the pillow but she wasn’t sleeping.
He laid down next to her and tossed the pillow on the floor. “Wake up, gorgeous.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“You can sleep in an hour. First, I want to kiss you.”
She rolled over and stared at him. “You’re going to kiss me for an hour?”
He grinned. “Among other things.” He kissed her slowly, holding her with his lips for a long minute. “I love you, Moira.”
“That’s good. Because I love you right back.”