CHAPTER 12
Grace
“You’ll be in rooms 240 and 241. They share an adjoining door,” the bubbly front-desk receptionist says with a smile. I’m sure she smiles at every customer, but I doubt like that. Like she wants to hop over the desk and throw her giggly self at Noah.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s tall and built and, now that I don’t think he’s one of the skeevy guys pumping my mother full of heroin, I can appreciate his angular jaw and his full mouth, and every other detail that makes it hard not to stare at him. He doesn’t fit the preppy-rich-boy image that I accused him of, but he definitely does have the well-put-together thing going for him.
And if I had to guess, this girl—with her fluttering fake eyelashes and French-tipped nails and skin as smooth and creamy as a porcelain doll—is exactly his type.
Either oblivious or used to the attention, Noah merely offers her a “thanks” as he slides his credit card into his wallet, his arms naturally flexing with the movement. I didn’t think he was serious about getting me my own room, but I plan on leaving as soon as I have my hands on whatever he has for me anyway.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the clerk asks, tucking a strand of her silky blonde hair behind her ear.
My stomach decides that’s the best time to growl, loud enough to echo through the empty lobby.
Noah grins. “Is there a good pizza place nearby?”
Front Desk Flirt’s eyes light up as if he’s asked her out to dinner. “Enzo’s. It’s cash-and-pick-up only, but I promise you, it’s so worth it. Here’s their info.” She hands him a flyer.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He turns to regard me, and grins.
“What?”
“I was wondering if you knew how to smile.” His eyes drop to graze my lips. “Looks like you do.”
I am smiling. And blushing, from the way he’s looking at me. “That’s because your Texas is showing.” He’d dropped more than a few “yes, sirs” and “no, ma’ams” at the hospital, and for the paramedics. Apparently my dad used to say things like that all the time. Mom said it was one of the first things that made her fall in love with him.
Now I can see why. It’s charming, especially coming out of Noah’s mouth.
He reaches down to collect his bags, the grin firmly in place. “I’ll try harder to hide my Texas.”
I bite my tongue before “don’t” slips out and follow him out the door, my eye on that gym bag, which he hasn’t let out of his sight.
Whatever Jackie Marshall wanted me to have, it must be in there.
I follow him past the pool that fills the center of the courtyard, with two floors of rooms overlooking it, wishing I had a bathing suit. I can’t remember the last time I swam. I was lucky that I had enough cash to pick up a cheap pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and underwear, along with laundry detergent. Hopefully I can get the smell of smoke out of my work shirt before tomorrow’s shift. I’ll have to swing by the trailer after to see about salvaging clothes. And then . . .
My stomach tightens with the reality that I have no place to go after tonight.
“I’m sure the rooms are nothing great, but it’ll be safe and clean. Here, you take this one.” He hands me a key card. “I’m gonna drop my stuff off and run out to grab that pizza. What do you want on it?”
“Whatever it is you came here to give me.”
He smiles, but it’s not with the same ease as earlier, in the lobby. “Too bland.”
“I’m serious.”
His jaw muscles tighten. “You need to eat.”
“You’re stalling. Why?”
He passes his room key over the lock. “So . . . what do you want on it? Mushrooms? Green peppers? Bacon?”
I glare at him, but I get the feeling that my stubbornness isn’t going to persuade him.
“Come on, Gracie. Grace.” He pleads gently. The way his deep voice slides softly over my name, the way his blue eyes weigh on me . . .
The bastard used that to sway me at the hospital, too.
I sigh. I guess I can wait twenty minutes. “Crispy bacon,” I admit reluctantly.
“Pepperoni?”
“Who doesn’t put pepperoni on their pizza?”
He shrugs. “Crazy people?”
“Exactly. I’m not crazy. Are you crazy?”
He shakes his head, and amusement dances over his face again. “I’ll knock on your door when I’m back.” With that, he disappears into his room.
I sigh at the feel of the fresh, cool air as I step through my door. It’s a newer hotel, decorated in soft whites and grays, with a rich charcoal padded headboard and black-and-white patterned bedding that contrasts with the crisp white sheets. The bathroom is bright, with white subway tiles in the shower and a lemon-yellow curtain.
Despite everything, an unexpected wave of giddiness washes over me.
This may be “nothing great” by Noah’s standards, but it’s the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at. Sure, I had friends with normal families, who lived in normal houses, and who invited me for sleepovers. But for tonight, this place is all mine, and I can’t think of anything I need more than a quiet space to try and deal with today’s turn of events.
Dropping my purse on the dresser, I head for the shower.
A soft knock sounds on the adjoining room door. Twisting the towel around my wet hair and piling it on top of my head, I unlock the deadbolt and open it. The delicious scent of bacon and cheese hits me.
“She wasn’t lying. This is amazing,” Noah announces between mouthfuls, sucking a glob of tomato sauce off his thumb as he backs up to let me in. His room is an exact replica of mine, only in reverse. He pulls a handful of clothes from his backpack. “I’ll be out in five. Eat as much as you want.”
I watch him as he heads into the bathroom, sliding the pocket door shut behind him. And then I do a quick scan. The gym bag is nowhere in plain sight, which means he hid it. There aren’t that many places to hide a gym bag in a hotel room.
Maybe the dresser?
My hand is inches from the knob when the door slides open and Noah pokes his head out. I smoothly divert for the pizza, tearing a slice free.
“Forgot to tell you, there’s Coke and beer in the fridge.”
“ ’kay. Thanks.” He must think I’m twenty-one. Or, more likely, he doesn’t care. He also either thinks I’m not the type to raid his room while he’s thirty feet away in a shower or that I’m not clever enough to find his hiding spot.
When you’ve grown up scouring your trailer for your mother’s drug stash, you know a thing or two about playing hide-and-seek. Noah’s in for a rude awakening.
The shower starts running. I want to be sure that he’s not going to pop back out to catch me red-handed, so I occupy myself with my slice and a can of beer, accepting that I’m both famished and thirsty. I hardly ever drink—watching my mother’s dependence on drugs and alcohol has given me an unpleasant perspective—but I need something to take the edge off.
A minute later, I get the signal I’m waiting for—the sound of curtain rings dragging over a metal rod.
I go straight for the dresser, yanking all four drawers open. Empty. Next, I throw open the closet door. Nothing but extra pillows and a small safe that sits open. I move over to the nightstand drawer, even though I already know it’s too small to hold anything but a Bible.
There’s nothing under the bed, either.
And nothing tucked behind the curtains.
“Dammit . . .” I survey the room again. This should be easy, but maybe he’s smarter than I think he is and he left that gym bag in his car. Why else would he trust me in here alone? He’d have to be an idiot to—
The mattress.
It’s been shifted down slightly, just enough to see that it’s not lined up with the box spring.
Adrenaline pulses through my veins as I dive for the headboard, sticking my hand into the unknown. My fingers graze the nylon material and I smile with nervous satisfaction. The mattress is heavy and it takes full-body effort to push it, and then serious tugging on the strap.
But finally I pull the bag free.
And unfasten the zipper.
Whatever anticipation I felt gives way to pure shock. “Oh my God.”
The bag’s full of money.
So much fucking money.
What is Noah doing with all this money?
I drop down onto the edge of the bed. Is this what Jackie Marshall wanted me to have? A bag full of cash? My hands shake as I fan through wads of it.
There’s only one explanation that I can come up with for him showing up here with this a week after she died, and for being so evasive about it.
It’s drug money.
Was this Dad’s cut from whatever he and Jackie Marshall had going on? Did she feel some twisted sense of duty to pass it on to me? Fourteen years later, after she’s dead and no longer has to answer questions?
Noah must know my father’s story. And he did say whatever he had to give me might have something to do with my dad.
How much does Noah know, anyway?
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a few deep breaths. For the second time today, my temper rears its ugly head, and that’s never good. I don’t think straight when I’m this angry. I do things like wave knives at strangers on my doorstep and antagonize slimy drug dealers. I need to calm down.
But when I open my eyes and see all that money at my fingertips, my rage only flares hotter. And mixed in with it is a healthy dose of pain and disappointment.
Somewhere, deep inside, I held the tiniest sliver of hope that my mother isn’t delusional, that the police had it all wrong about my dad.
I glare at the bathroom door, imagining Noah behind it.
That coward. This is why he was stalling.
He was afraid of how I’d react.