Silent Masquerade Page 4

  The bus driver called out, “Keep moving, folks,” and Cara and Bill returned to the present.

  Cara soon found herself at the desk, and had to think a moment when the desk clerk asked her name. She went through the business of registering, finding her room and unpacking her few items of clothing with a soft smile on her lips. She’d seen a liquor store at the other end of the street, across from the motel, and decided she’d spend a little of her nest egg to provide a bottle of dessert wine as a way of thanking Bill for the dinner and the other meals he’d provided her. She tried not to ask herself why this particular meal felt like a date, after all the other, casual meals they’d shared on the trip. Bill had certainly made it clear that his only interest in her was as a seat partner for the duration of the journey. For herself, she wasn’t even sure Bill Hamlin was the type she would have dated if she’d met him under other circumstances.

  Yet the memory of that moment in the lobby, when they’d looked deep into one another’s eyes, still had the power to steal her breath away and bring heat to the surface of her skin. Her type or not, he was the most damnably attractive man she’d ever met, and for tonight, at least, she intended to enjoy the pretense that he was a real dinner date and that they were on the verge of something sweet and promising—not to mention something dangerous and compelling.

  * * *

  BILL WENT TO HIS ROOM, changed into swim trunks and headed for the pool. He’d always used swimming for his fitness regimen, since his career had entailed so much travel, and most hotels and motels had pools. This one echoed with the lack of bodies at this time of day, and Bill reveled in having the place to himself.

  He dived in and then found that it took him a few minutes to get oriented. For some reason, the warm, silken water on his skin made him think of Cara. He’d never thought of swimming as an exercise in the erotic, but now he found himself wishing that Cara had been able to join him. He envisioned her long-limbed slenderness in a French-cut swimsuit, and the fantasy shortened his breath and made his limbs tense with desire. He could see her stroking beside him, her arms golden as they flashed through the water, her head tilted to the side as they stared into one another’s eyes.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his breathing into a rhythm his body could follow. He had no business thinking about Cara Davis in that way. For that matter, when had he begun to think of her as a desirable woman, rather than a casual traveling companion? It must have something to do with the fact that this was a sort of reprieve in the midst of his desperate journey. One night, suspended in time, to allow them to pretend they were normal people who’d happened to meet on a bus and were drawn to one another because they were young, attractive and available.

  I’m not available, he reminded himself.

  And it didn’t matter when his perception of her had changed. The point was that it was self-defeating to allow himself the diversion, and he was going to have to get control over such errant thoughts.

  He did punishing laps for exercise and then leisurely breaststroked around the perimeter of the pool a couple of times. By the time he hoisted himself up onto the ceramic deck, his endorphins were humming and he felt physically better than he had in days.

  He didn’t know why, but he felt safe here. Safe enough to look forward to his evening with his lovely traveling companion. There would be time enough tomorrow to restore the necessary status quo.

  He whistled jauntily as he started down the carpeted hall to his room, and then he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Cara at the end of the corridor in front of the ice machine. She was talking to some man—a man Bill didn’t recognize from the bus—and the way they had their heads together, it was obvious to Bill that they were discussing something serious. Acting on instinct, he stepped back and flattened himself against the wall around the corner.

  He waited a couple of minutes and then eased out to the edge of the wall and looked down the hall. Cara and the man were gone.

  Bill took a deep breath and went on to his room. Okay, so his seatmate was talking to some guy. So what? She was a pretty girl; men were apt to notice her, hit on her. It was none of his business.

  It made him uncomfortable to realize that if the man had been young and good-looking, what he was feeling might have been dubbed jealousy.

  He made himself focus on their dinner date. He’d asked at the desk and been told there were actually four good places to choose from, since this was on a main route through the mountains, and many tourists stopped to enjoy the view.

  He was dressed in record time, and too restless to wait in his room. According to his watch, it was a good hour before most dining rooms would open for dinner. He decided to let Cara know he was going for a stroll around the grounds and would meet her in the lobby in an hour.

  * * *

  THEY DINED at a table in the corner of the dining room of the Mount View Inn, which was large enough to allow them some privacy, though there were other dinner guests scattered throughout the room. Candles flickered, flowers scented the air, and soft music played through speakers strategically placed on each wall.

  Bill and Cara faced each other across white linen, self- consciously holding large menus in front of them.

  “You look lovely, Cara,” Bill said at last, setting his menu down with a sigh.

  “I was just thinking that this room merits something dressier than a skirt and sweater,” Cara shyly replied, peeking around her menu.

  “I think it’s more than just your outfit. I like your hair like that, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She’d pulled her hair up into a cluster of curls atop her head and used slightly more makeup than usual. “You look nice, too, Bill,” she said, and ducked back behind the menu as she felt a warm flush move up into her face.

  Bill chuckled. “Must be the altitude,” he said.

  “What?”

  “This self-consciousness between us. Either that, or we’re just truck-stop people at heart.”

  “I’d never been in a truck stop before I came on this trip,” Cara said. She didn’t add that dining rooms like this were much more in her league.

  “No? Well, as a matter of fact, I’m more used to bistros and hotel dining rooms, myself.”

  “Bistros. That would be Europe, right?”

  Bill appeared to weigh his answer before nodding.

  “Yeah. Mostly.”

  “I’ve never been abroad, but I always knew I’d get there someday.” Her face fell. “Maybe not now.”

  “Why not now?”

  Cara shrugged. “I guess I just see a different kind of future than I used to expect.”

  The waiter came to their table just then, and they both ordered the crab legs. Bill ordered a sauvignon blanc to go with their meal, and Cara smiled inwardly, pleased to discover that he liked wine.

  “You like crab legs, too,” Bill said.

  “Mm-hmm.” Cara sipped from her water goblet. “I’m a true New Englander.” That raised a question she couldn’t help but ask. “Where are you from?” The look on his face caused her to amend her question hurriedly. “I mean originally.”

  She watched the play of emotions alter his face, and she thought he must be considering how much he could tell her.

  She could see he was telling the truth when he finally answered, “A small town in the Midwest.” It wasn’t much, but it was a start—an opening-up to her, which he’d obviously been avoiding.

  “Small towns are nice,” she said, reaching for a roll just to have something to do with her hands.

  “They are. There is something so rich about life in a small town.” His voice and eyes became dreamy. “People really live with one another, really share their lives. In big cities, people just live side by side, their lives not really touching.”

  “That’s...profound, Bill. And very true, I think.”

  She concentrated on buttering her bread for a moment before asking, “Do you get home often?”

  “Home?” Bill busied himself with a r
oll of his own. “There is no home any longer. My family was small and short-lived and—” He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Listen, do you mind if we change the subject?”

  “No, of course not, Bill. I’m sorry.” She frowned and looked away.

  She jumped and turned back when she felt Bill’s hand close around hers, where it rested on the table.

  “Hey, darlin’? Don’t take my bad manners so personally, okay?” His eyes beseeched understanding, and his hand was warm on hers. She fought the impulse to turn her hand so that their palms touched.

  She sought a new topic of conversation, instead. “This town reminds me of one of my favorite movies.”

  “Oh? Which?”

  “Continental Divide.”

  “Ah, John Belushi and Blair Brown.”

  Cara’s hand turned of its own accord.

  “You know the movie?” She felt their palms meet and started to draw away, but his fingers closed around hers.

  Bill grinned. “It’s my secret vice. Movies. And that was a favorite of mine, because of the ending.”

  “I thought the ending was a little disappointing.”

  “You didn’t think it was a happy ending?”

  “Yes and no. It didn’t really let you know how they were going to live out their lives, when her work kept her in the mountains and his kept him in the city.”

  “You like every t crossed and every i dotted.”

  Their hands seemed to have acquired a life of their own. It was almost as though their hearts were beating in unison, right there between their palms. “It’s not that,” she said, reaching for her water glass with her free hand. She took a nervous gulp. The glass wobbled as she set it on the tabletop again. “It’s more a need to know that the hero and heroine are going to make it.”

  “There’s more than one way to make it,” Bill said, leaning forward, his voice hushed and slightly husky. “And that’s what that movie says, and why I liked it.” The candlelight was reflected in his dark blue eyes, and it softened the planes of his face. Cara felt the pulse in her throat begin to quicken.

  “Salads, sir?” The salad cart bumped against their table, and Bill and Cara jumped apart.

  “Yes, th-thanks,” Bill stammered. Cara was delighted to discover that her sophisticated traveling companion was capable of being rattled. It gave her a slight edge, she thought.

  It was an argument about white hats and black hats that brought them back to reality. “No, it’s not always like that,” Bill said, when Cara insisted that the white hats were always the good guys and always won. “At least not in the real world.”

  He seemed to lose some of his energy after that and when he signaled for the bill, Cara didn’t protest.

  They were silent on the way back to the motel. I don’t want it to end, she thought. But she knew it had to, had known all along that this was never going to last beyond tonight, or at the most beyond their arrival in San Francisco, when they would go their separate ways.

  But tonight wasn’t really over, she reminded herself as they passed the now-darkened liquor store. She’d surprise him with the wine she’d purchased earlier, and maybe they could recapture some of the good feelings they’d shared during dinner. They could talk all night. It didn’t matter. They could sleep all the next day on the bus.

  They were just entering the lobby when the elevator doors opened, revealing a lone man within the car.

  It was the man from the ice machine. Cara started to raise her hand, but the man looked startled to see them and quickly jabbed the button that caused the elevator doors to close.

  “What was that all about?” Bill asked, a frown creasing his forehead.

  Cara shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess he thought this was his floor.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Know him? No. Why would you think that?”

  “Oh, no reason. I just thought you looked like you recognized him.”

  “Oh. Well, I did talk to him briefly at the ice machine. He needed directions.”

  “Funny, he didn’t seem anxious to recognize you just now.”

  “Well, I only talked to him for a moment. Maybe he didn’t recognize me.”

  “Maybe.” But Bill looked dubious. Cara might have questioned him, but she decided what she wanted most was to restore the mood they’d shared earlier. Just then the elevator car returned to the main floor and the doors drew apart. This time the car was vacant.

  “I enjoyed dinner, Bill,” she said, as they entered the elevator.

  “Yeah, that was fun. I’ll have to thank the desk clerk for suggesting the inn.”

  They got off on the third floor and walked down the hall to Cara’s room. Bill waited while Cara got her room key out of her purse and unlocked the door. She turned around and smiled. “See you later, Bill, and thanks again.”

  “Sure. My pleasure.”

  He hesitated a moment, and Cara thought he was going to kiss her. Her hand grasped the edge of the door nervously. But he merely nodded and turned away, headed for his own room.

  Cara went inside and closed the door. She’d give him a few minutes to get settled and then surprise him with the wine.

  * * *

  BILL WAS JUST PACKING his sport coat when a knock came at the door. He stood at the door and breathed deeply before asking, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Bill. Cara.”

  He opened the door.

  “Cara.” He stared at her, clearly shocked.

  She lifted her hands and he saw that she was holding an ice bucket in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Cara...do you think this is a good idea? I mean...”

  Cara laughed. “Gosh, Bill, you don’t have to look like I’ve come to strip you of your virginity. Here, I bought this earlier, thought we could extend the evening a little with a nightcap.” She moved past him, set the bag down on the desk and pulled out the wine.

  He should have been impressed that she’d made such a gesture. Instead, an image of Cara and the stranger came into his mind, followed by an image of himself drunk and Cara and the man bending over his helpless form.

  His mind went into overdrive. She was taking glasses from the tray on the desk, putting ice into them, and her back was to him.

  Swiftly he pulled his belt from the loops of his pants and banded it around Cara’s upper body, imprisoning her arms at her sides. The element of surprise kept her silent long enough for him to gag her with a washcloth. A moment later, he had her in the desk chair and was using his tie to secure her ankles to the chair legs.

  She attempted to speak, but the gag stifled the sound, and Bill kept working methodically, ignoring her pleas.

  She must have been a plant, he told himself. Al- varetti’s people must have somehow located him and sent her to make sure. The guy in the elevator was probably her contact.

  Bill’s hands trembled as he made one last knot. He hadn’t even been on the run a week, and already they’d found him. Alvaretti’s posse would probably be showing up next. He wondered how much time he had.

  He got to his feet and looked down at the girl. Her eyes were wide, dark with pleading. He forced himself to look away. “Sorry, darlin’, but better you than me.”

  He was packed and out the door in minutes, grabbing Cara’s room key off the desk, where she’d set it down when she started to fix the drinks. There’d be something in her things to show him who she really was, who her contact was, what their plans for him were. Something to show him what his next move should be.

  He made a rapid, efficient sweep of her room...and found nothing.

  Nothing but a journal. He opened it to the last entry, planning to read back as far as he needed to find out the truth. He read the letter to her mother.

  He sank to the bed as he read of Cara’s dilemma. Of the way her mother’s fiancé kept coming on to her, of how she loved her mother and couldn’t bear to see her hurt. He read that
she’d threatened to tell her mother the truth about Harvard and that he had warned her that he would say she was lying, speaking out of jealousy, that she was the one who wanted him. Cara’s mother would believe her fiancé, because she was so enamored of him and since she was already angry that Cara didn’t seem to approve of their upcoming nuptials.

  He felt numb as he replaced her notebook in the small gym bag, noticing how pitifully few things she’d taken away with her. He was going to have to go back and untie her, explain why he’d gone nuts like that.

  But he couldn’t really tell her everything. She might be exactly what she appeared to be—a kind of heroine who would sacrifice her own life to spare her mother’s pride—but he couldn’t confide in her. For one thing, it would only put her at risk to know the truth. If Alvaretti’s people connected him to her and began to question her, she’d be less of a threat if she knew nothing.

  Maybe he’d do better to just move on, leave her where she was. The maid would find her in the morning. It wasn’t like she was in danger. She’d be a little uncomfortable for a few hours, but that was all.

  He slipped down the hall, staying in the shadows, and eased out the back door. Once outside, he headed for the saloon across from the motel, going around back, where the parking lot was located. He’d find a truck, get in back, and hitch a ride without the driver knowing he had a passenger.

  There were no trucks back there, but it was early yet. By midnight the place would be jumping, and there were bound to be a couple of truckers among the revelers.

  He huddled near the Dumpster behind the bar, trying to keep warm.

  He must have dozed off. Male voices startled him into awareness. He smelled the unmistakable fragrance of marijuana smoke and heard one of the men inhale deeply and then exhale raggedly. “Don’t hog it all,” one of the men said harshly.

  Bill was afraid this was going to turn into a long, drawn-out affair, but after a little conversation and a lot of smoke he finally heard the screeching sound of a metal door opening. For a moment, the noise in the bar could be plainly heard in the dark, otherwise silent night. And then the door clanged shut, and Bill knew he was alone again.