Thirteen
Page 22

A distant knock startled her. She turned off the water and listened. It must be housekeeping or pizza delivery—hell-beasts and evil sorcerers don’t knock—but she wasn’t taking any chances.
The knock came again.
“Is that our door?” she called.
No one answered. Jaime wrapped a towel around herself, stepped out of the tub, and cracked open the door.
The beds were empty. She pushed the door. The whole room was empty. She heard a muffled man’s voice outside. As she strained to listen, the phone by the bed rang.
She looked around. Weapon. She needed a … She grabbed a glass from the sink and went to break it, then realized it was plastic. “Goddamn cheap motel,” she cursed.
She looked down at her clothing, left in a puddle on the floor. She tugged out her belt and held it in one hand. As she eased from the bathroom, she clutched her weapon and prayed that Eve wasn’t out there or she’d never live this one down. Eve still liked to remind her of the “sock puppet” incident, when Jaime had used a sock to hold onto a glass shard in case she needed to fight off a cult of crazed humans who’d discovered magic. Jaime had considered the makeshift weapon rather ingenious, but admittedly, it did pale next to Eve’s sword.
The phone was still ringing.
“Ms. Vegas?” the man outside the door called. “Could you please answer that?”
Jaime looked at the phone. She’d never heard of them being used as a method of instant death, so she crept toward the nightstand, gaze fixed to the door. Then, still holding the belt, she lifted the receiver with the same hand.
“Jaime?”
Just that one word and she dropped to the bed, sighing in relief, weapons falling. It was Jeremy.
“Jaime? Are you there?”
“Yes. Alone. In a motel room. With a stranger knocking at the door. Care to tell me what’s going on?”
She tried to put a little edge in her voice, but she wasn’t very good at edge. She was mostly just relieved to discover she wasn’t going to need to defend herself, dressed in a towel, armed with a belt.
When Jeremy explained that she’d been abandoned by her friends, and that Lucas had sent a baby-sitter, she did feel a spark of righteous indignation, but only a spark. Yes, it pricked her ego to be left behind, but she knew she was better off out of it. What did annoy her—really annoy her—was that Eve hadn’t given her the opportunity to make that decision herself.
“I know,” Jeremy said when she complained. “She felt this was better.”
“Not better. Easier. She’s quick to wield that damned sword, but not nearly so brave when it comes to personal confrontations. All those messy emotions. Blood is so much easier to clean up.”
Jeremy chuckled—that rich, deep chuckle that made her insides flip, and she yearned to just stretch out on the bed and talk to him. Forget everything that was going on. But there was still a man standing outside her door and she should probably get dressed before she let him in.
“Yes, I would prefer that,” Jeremy said when she said as much to him. “He might not, but I would.”
She laughed. “All right, then. My adventure is over, thank God.” She paused. “But if you hear from Eve …”
“You’re mortally offended at being left behind.”
“Exactly.”

The poor guy had been waiting long enough. So, wrapped in her towel, Jaime opened the door an inch, told the man she was just popping into the bathroom to dress, then scampered off. At least a minute passed before she heard the motel door close. Anyone smart enough to be assigned as her escort would have the sense to realize that a sneak peek at Jaime Vegas in a towel wasn’t worth the risk of offending the werewolf Alpha. She was almost finished dressing in her hastily wiped clothing when she heard another knock at the outside door. She frowned. The guard had come in—she was sure she’d heard him moving around the bedroom.
A high-pitched voice. “Mommy? Why’s the door locked?”
A sigh from the bedroom. The guard called back. “You’ve got the wrong room.”
“Mommy?” Louder pounding. “Is that you, Mommy?” Jaime threaded her belt through her slacks, then opened the bathroom door. The guard—a dark-haired guy in a suit—was staring out the window, his lips pursed.
“It sounded like a little girl,” Jaime said.
He glanced her way. “It is. I’ll get rid of her. But I’ll ask you step back in there until I do.”
 
Jaime nodded and retreated. He waited until she’d shut the door. She heard him undo the chain.
“Who’re you?” a girl asked.
“Not your mommy. Now, if you’ve forgotten your room number, go down to the office—”
“What did you do with my mommy? I heard her in here.” Jaime sighed. The girl sounded old enough to know better, but she kept insisting that her “mother” was in there and the more the guard argued, the more distressed she got.
Jaime stopped fussing with her wet hair and reached for the door handle. She could clear up this “mommy’s voice” problem by just sticking her head out.
As she twisted the knob, the guard yelled, “Hey! What do you think you’re—”
“I’m looking for my mommy. You’ve got her in here. I know you do.”
“Get back here, you little—”
A growl. Then a gasp of pain.
“What the—?”
A crash. Then the patter of footsteps on carpet. The guard’s cry, muffled, then garbled. Jaime yanked off her belt, wrapped it around her hand, and turned the knob slowly, her bare foot braced against the bottom. She eased it open, just enough to peer through and see—
Something flew at the door. It hit with a patter, like rain, some of it falling to the carpet. Bright red drops of blood sprayed across the wall and carpet.
Jaime shut the door fast and locked it. Then she looked around frantically for real weapons.
Weapons? Against something that was killing a trained Cabal operative? Her gaze rose to the window.
Was it big enough? It better be. She wrenched the towel bar, stumbling back in surprise when it actually came free in her hand. Thank God for shoddy construction. She wrapped the bar in a towel to muffle the noise, then smashed out the window. She managed to get most of the glass cleared, then someone—or something—began yanking on the door.