Chapter 8
1059 Words
I slept fitfully, waking every now and then with a start. It was still dark, but dawn wasn"t far away. Far in the horizon, where desert met sky, there was a shifting of colors, a deep bruise in the sky, as if sunrise hurt the dark before it became.
I shifted stiffly and stretched as best as I could. Somewhere along the drive Logan had fastened the seatbelt for me. I grimaced at the stabbing pain on my side. Would it ever go away? How long would my ribs take to heal? Were they cracked or broken? There was a way I could block the pain, but pain was a good reminder of limits.
“Which base are we going to?”
Logan didn"t answer, but a few minutes later we stopped in front of a lonely stone building with a huge lighted sign that read `La Estrada Hotel"—not a PSS base but a hotel.
Rest time. Hallelujah.
Without a word or a glance my way, Logan climbed out, picked my duffle bag, came around and surprised me by opening the door for me.
A gentleman… Or just impatient.
The redhead receptionist scrutinized Logan"s shiner, then my bruised cheek. She didn"t even try to be discreet. She probably thought we"d beaten each other up. She gave him a key and a cheerful smile, asked if we needed anything, to which he politely declined.
We made our way to the bank of elevators, passed a fountain of a marble statue of a swan with open wings—poised to take flight. Water swooshed from its beak, followed by soothing music of something with strings.
We emerged at the sixth floor, made our way to the last room in the corridor. Still worn out from the beating and lack of proper rest, I found myself anticipating a hot shower and clean change of clothes. I"d think better about my predicament after that. Even better after a nice hot cup of coffee and scrambled eggs. My stomach growled in agreement, and I looked sideways at Logan, who was polite enough to ignore it.
I took first dibs on the bathroom. After I relieved myself, I undressed, gasping at the sight of my bruised and scabbed upper half. My skin was spotted all over with purple, green and yellowish splotches, along with angry, raised, red scars. It looked like someone dropped a gallon of rainbow on me. I knew the beating had been bad—the constant pain had been enough indication—but I hadn"t realized, or imagined, how ghastly it looked.
The swelling on my face had gone down, leaving behind a bruise the sick color of green and yellow, and even if that particular bruise was the least severe, it was the one that bothered me the most. Perhaps there was still a piece of that vain teenager inside.
The hot spray eased some of my aches, and I let the water soothe the abused muscles for a moment before I washed my hair, using the shampoo and conditioner the hotel provided. I also used the small bottle of lotion I found by the sink—even though the strong scents overwhelmed my olfactory sense—then put on one of the plush bathrobes.
Without another look back at the mirror, I came out of the bathroom—to the wonderful aroma of coffee and an array of breakfast on a small table. Logan occupied one of the two chairs, a mug of coffee steaming between his large hands. His head came up and his eyes checked me out, a clinical once over before he got up and pulled a chair for me. Surprised and ridiculously touched, I hesitated a second, self-consciously aware that I had nothing underneath the robe. He didn"t comment or wait for me to sit, but resumed his cup of coffee. Well, at least I was in no danger of being ravished by him. Still, I looked around for my duffle, but it was nowhere in sight.
“My bag?”
“In the closet.” He motioned with his head, and through the slightly parted closet door I saw the corner of my duffle.
After I got dressed in jeans, a red sweater and running shoes, I joined Logan at the table, watching as he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. I was almost salivating at the aroma. Next he slathered cream cheese on a bagel and passed it over. After an awkward pause, I took it and ate with gusto. He prepared the remaining two bagels, grey eyes sparkling with humor at my famished state. I ate it all, wolfed down all the mango and strawberry slices too, not worrying if I looked like a slobbering pig.
“I"m not going to let you take me back, you know?” I said after my second cup of coffee.
He sipped from his cup, eyes assessing.
Clenching my jaw, I leveled him a steady gaze and added, “I"d kill you if you tried.” I was proud at how firm and confident my voice sounded. Logan"s eyes sharpened with interest as if just now realizing I was a wolf dressed in a doe"s skin. I managed not to squirm at his intense scrutiny, and I didn"t back down. I raised my chin defiantly and added, “I didn"t warn the others, but I owe you for saving my life back in the motel.”
He nodded once, acknowledging the truth in my words, got up and went to the bathroom. I didn"t realize how tense I"d been until the shower started. I exhaled a sigh of relief. I debated escaping while he showered, decided against it when I couldn"t find the key to the Range Rover. He wouldn"t be but a few minutes behind me and I needed a head start if I didn"t want to get caught again. Besides, I needed rest to recharge my energy before trying to run. Every instinct and common sense I possessed told me to wait for better odds. Rested, I"d be stronger, and have a better chance at success, and my wounds would be better healed.
And I bet he knew that too.
Exhausted, I crawled under the sheets and wondered vaguely, not really alarmed, where he was going to sleep.
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