Ava Gray - Skin Game

She’d loved the hint of danger about him. Of course, she could never have imagined what he did for a living. What kind of person went around killing people? It was sick and insane, and she hated him for making a fool of her.

The scenery along the highway didn’t vary much. First it was green, scattered with trees. Sometimes there were cows and horses standing near barbed-wire fences, watching the cars with dim disinterest. Sometimes the lanes were clogged with trucks, all trying to make a delivery before deadline. Numb, Kyra drove on.

It was a long day. She played the radio and tried to ignore him. He was smart enough to be quiet, not bothering her with rationalizations. Reyes knew she wasn’t interested in hearing it. They stopped once for food, bathroom breaks, and gas, then she stopped once more for some replacement clothing. Then she drove another four hours.

By the time she stopped for the night, it was late. She chose a cheap motel off the interstate from a billboard with flickering lights that claimed rooms started at $29.95. The place had been painted at some point; maybe it was intended to be terracotta, but sun and wind had faded it to a pale peach with dirty streaks.

The man at the desk had to be a hundred if he was a day, and he was hard of hearing. She shouted her request for a room three times before finally getting through to him. After that, things went efficiently enough. She filled out her card with a flourish, signing the name Rachel Justice out of pure defiance. At this point she wanted to leave a trail back to Vegas. This would end now, one way or another. No more running, no more hiding.

Kyra took the key card, and let Reyes manage his own business. God, how humiliating. All this time, she’d been giving him a cut of their take, trying to show him the ropes, as if he needed it. Paid killers made top dollar; he hadn’t been interested in the crumpled bills they collected at all. Everything he said—everything she felt —had been orchestrated to earn her trust, trick her into turning over the money. If she’d been a little less wary, she’d have a bullet in her head by now.

Kyra straightened her shoulders as she walked out of the dark, musty office. She limped, taking it slow. Her leg was sore, but nothing she couldn’t handle. With Mia’s life on the line, she wouldn’t let it slow her down.

The cracked sidewalk had buckled, so she watched her step in heading for her room. This motel was shaped like a squared U with rooms on two levels. The upper balcony ran along the interior of the structure with the office in the middle. At the center of the U sat a neglected pool; in the guttering fluorescent lights, the water gleamed an oily black and littered with leaves. It didn’t look as though anybody had used it in years.

The room was much as she’d expected, except smaller. There was only a double bed and a dresser, then beyond that, the tiny little bathroom. The beige carpeting was worn and stained, but what could you expect for thirty bucks? Kyra tossed her bag beside the bed and decided it was better she didn’t have an ultraviolet light to find all the semen stains.

After wrapping a plastic bag around her calf, she took a long shower as if she could scrub away the memory of his touch. It didn’t work, but she was more than clean when she stepped out onto the small, scratchy towel she’d spread on the floor. A second towel sufficed to dry off, though she could probably have used it as a loofah. Maybe she could use a vacation when this was all over; she’d go somewhere warm, where everything was clean and luxurious.

Kyra dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, left the light on, and curled up in the center of the bed. Silence made things worse, somehow. Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes, but she refused to cry just because she’d been stupid. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She just had to tolerate him until they finished with Serrano. It was idiocy to imagine she could handle things alone. Sleep took a long time coming, and her dreams were full of an onyx-eyed man who carried a gleaming knife—and who kissed her with the sweetest longing, just before plunging the blade into her heart.

In the morning, someone tapped on her door. Kyra came awake, shivering and sweaty, but she couldn’t remember anything. Caution made her tiptoe to the window to look out, despite the chain on the door. She found Reyes standing there in the early chill, his breath puffing out in smoky wisps. If she hadn’t glimpsed the white bakery bag, she might’ve flipped him off through the glass and gone back to bed. With a mumbled curse, she let him in. He brought with him the scent of fresh coffee and fried dough.

Her stomach growled, but she fixed a hard stare on him, trying to seem cool when she wanted to go for him with her nails, hurt him a fraction as much as he had her. Unfortunately, her talent didn’t work on him anymore, so he’d subdue her all too easily. Kyra regretted his immunity whole heartedly.

“You can’t buy me off with food. I despise you.”

“I know,” he said. “But you still need to eat.” Reyes set her coffee cup on the chest along with a few sugar packets and two tiny cartons of nondairy creamer, then he put the pastry bag down as well. “Half a dozen mixed doughnuts. Enjoy.”

“How do I know you didn’t tamper with them?”

A flicker of something—anger, frustration?—rippled over his harsh face, the first visible emotional reaction since she’d found out the truth. Christ, she’d thought he was made of iron and obsidian. “Do you want me to taste the coffee? Take a bite out of each doughnut?” he asked, caustic. “But wouldn’t that be worse than poison?” He paused. “A few days back, you were begging for my mouth.”

She tried not to flinch. “I didn’t know who you were, then. Now, for all I know, you intend to drug me and turn me over to Serrano. Maybe you’re double-crossing me , not him, and this is the easiest way to get me and the car back to Vegas.” As the hot, impulsive words poured out, she began to feel sick.

How could she be sure that wasn’t the case? Maybe Mia wasn’t even in Vegas, although how Reyes had found out about her was anybody’s guess. She might be in Fargo, working, as she’d mentioned last time they talked. Kyra had her friend’s cell number, but she never called. Those records could be subpoenaed, and she had warrants out. Mia didn’t need law enforcement leaning on her. If she refused to cooperate—and she would—they could slap her with obstruction of justice, at the very least.

Should she risk calling from a pay phone? It might be worth the risk to check out Mia’s situation for herself. A number of things could go wrong, but anything was better than not knowing.

Reyes regarded her, his dark face inscrutable. “You aren’t going to believe anything I say. So just keep a close eye on me until actions establish what is true.”

“I will.” Kyra willed herself to stone and not remember how he could be fierce and gentle by turns, how for too brief a time, he’d given her everything she ever wanted. “Take a sip of the coffee and a bite from three random doughnuts for me, please.”

He did as she asked. His stoicism gave the impression of masking a deep and brutal wound—and doubtless that was calculated as well. Sure, he was probably scarred for life over being found out. It must suck to find himself sleeping alone after so much pussy on tap. Kyra suppressed a bitter laugh over the idea she’d meant anything more than a job to him, more than convenient sex.

“I’ll be in my room when you’re ready to go,” he said, letting himself out.

Her stomach rumbled. With a silent curse for the man who’d brought them, she devoured the doughnuts. Oddly, she couldn’t make herself eat the part where he’d taken a bite. Instead she broke the pastry with her fingers and dropped it in the trash. Then she made the coffee pale and sweet as she liked it, guzzled it in a rush. When the sugar and caffeine hit her system, she felt almost equipped to face the day.