When they walked back outside, Tristan immediately twisted free of Cade's grip.
"Did you really need to touch me so much in there?" he blurted.
Cade answered without any emotion. "Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable, so they avert their eyes. I didn't want him to look too closely at us."
Tristan conceded that it made sense, but was still reeling from his body's reaction to the unexpected embrace. And now he'd be sleeping beside Cade. In the same bed. He recognized that the choice was necessary to uphold their deception, but he was not at all sure he was comfortable with the situation. He was about to climb into bed — literally — with a stranger he met barely an hour ago. One who just killed a man, oh, and incidentally, not for the first time.
There were so many red flags, he may as well have been at a Chinese Communist Party rally.
But he had chosen this path and was sticking with it, at least for now. He just hoped Cade wouldn’t kill him while he slept, because then no one would be around to save Natalie.
They stopped by the car to grab a small bag from the trunk, then continued to a room not far from where they parked. Cade opened the door and flicked on the light, and Tristan took in a standard, dated motel room.
Cade plunked down the key with its large plastic fob with a giant number "5" and immediately began searching the whole place, behind mirrors, lamps, and furniture.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking for cameras or listening devices."
"In a random hotel room?"
Not bothering to look up, Cade answered, "Always."
"You're sort of paranoid."
"Comes with the job."
Tristan sat in the desk chair and watched the other man scour the room. He was quick, efficient, and thorough, as if he had done this dozens of times.
When Cade seemed satisfied, he offered, "You can shower first."
"Oh. I don't have clean clothes."
"Me either. We'll get some tomorrow."
"And also get the laptop to your associate?"
"Yeah. She'll get us some cash too. You know you can't use your credit cards, right?"
The brutal reality of the whole situation seeped a little deeper into Tristan's bones. "Yeah. I know."
"We'll get some sleep tonight. We'll get cash and info on the safe house in the morning."
"Oh, okay," Tristan murmured, his sluggish brain faltering with information overload.
Cade scowled at him as if he could see his thoughts sputter. "Go shower," he urged.
Tristan entered the bathroom and stripped. Stepping under the weak spray, he was thankful the water burned hot, even if the pressure was crap. After a quick wash, he wrapped the threadbare white towel around his waist and ran his fingers through his hair totame the thick waves. He reluctantly redressed in his boxers and black shirt, then exited the bathroom with his black pants in hand.
Cade was sitting at the desk with his disassembled gun and what looked like a cleaning kit. His phone lay nearby, and Tristan heard a deep voice on the other end saying they'd talk in the morning. Cade disconnected the call and turned around. His gaze skittered first to Tristan's bare legs and then up to his face, and some sort of emotion flashed in his dark brown eyes.
If he hadn't been tired, traumatized, and still vaguely nauseated, Tristan might have tried to decipher that look. Instead, he tossed his pants on a chair as Cade turned back to his work.
"Who were you talking to?"
"My boss."
"He's not happy, I bet."
