He and Rachel were in danger, and not just from the cops or the guy who had found them twice in less than an hour. All of which was bad enough, if you considered normal scenarios. But there was another factor as well. He and Rachel were on the brink of what she’d called a Vulcan mind meld that was either going to save their lives or fry their brains.
He wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he was prettysure it was true. Maybe from the headache that had tinged his pleasure when they were headed for the bedroom.
He cut off those thoughts as he strode into the motel office. It had appeared empty, but a guy popped up from behind the counter. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a wiry build and narrow shoulders. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and Jake would bet he’d been taking a nap in his chair.
“Help you?”
“I hope so.” Jake cleared his throat. “My lady friend and I need a room for the night. Trouble is, her husband is starting to wonder where she’s been disappearing in the evenings.”
The clerk nodded.
“He could be out looking for us. Or he could have . . . you know . . . gotten some friends in the cop department to beat the bushes for us.”
“Uh huh.”
“If anybody comes around asking questions, I’d appreciate your keeping your mouth shut about it.”
When the guy looked at him expectantly, Jake got out a roll of bills and peeled off a hundred. “If somebody does show up lookin’ for us, could you give me a heads-up after they leave the office?”
“Sure thing.”
“Do you have a room around back?”
“Yup.” He turned and detached a door key off the hook. It was to room fifteen.
Jake took the key and signed the register as John Smith. He wrote down a license number at random and strode back to the car where Rachel was waiting.
“You told your nasty little story?”
“Yes. Better than saying we’re a pair of murderers.”
“There’s that.”
He drove around the back of the motel and they both gotout. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, she followed.
It was a pretty minimal place, but no worse than he had expected. There was a double bed, A beat-up dresser with an old TV. A sagging chair. A small bathroom.
He looked at Rachel, sensing her uncertainty.
“Sorry,” he said.
“None of this is your fault.”
“Or yours.”
She swallowed. “Back before Evelyn Morgan came in for that reading, I thought I knew what I was doing. I mean, my life had run along familiar lines for years, and I was happy with the way things were going.”
“Were you really happy or did you tell yourself you were?”
“I was as happy as I could be.”
“And now?”
“I’ve leapt into the unknown.”
She laid her hand on his arm, and he knew she was thinking they were wound up in a situation that they still didn’t understand–except that they were being chased by a murderer and the cops. But that was only part of it. They still had to deal with whatever was happening on a very personal level.
“Sealing the connection between us is our best shot. Or maybe if we go any farther, we blow our brains out. I don’t mean with a gun,” she said in a strangled voice.
