Rescue Me!

“Who was this man?” Mrs. McGann whispered, obviously referring to the stranger who had subdued the robber. “Why didn’t he stay?”

“I don’t know. But—but I thanked him. I—”

I don’t even know your name or how to thank you or—

Actually she hadn’t. She’d tried to, but she hadn’t.

“Well, he was an angel, protecting the two of you,” the older woman said. She eyed Jen. “Are you all right, hon? Would you like to come back home with us and have a cup of coffee or something? Maybe talk about it a little?”

When Jen didn’t answer, she said, “Do your folks live nearby? Is there anyone I can call to come and be with you?”

Another employee had arrived, ready to take over, as Johnny was clearly being given the rest of the day off. Jen hesitated. There had always been that part of her that had yearned for a mother, and Mrs. McGann was obviously a very good one, offering nurturing and support to her during the aftermath of this crisis. But Jen had a sudden intuition that if she didn’t get back on the road immediately, she might lose her nerve altogether and hightail it back to Chicago and the life her father wanted for her.

“That’s very kind, but I have to be in Phoenix later this morning.” Which was a lie. She had no one waiting for her in Phoenix. No one at all.

“I understand,” Mrs. McGann said, but Jen had the feeling she saw much more than she commented on. Funny how most mothers had that funny little sixth sense that clued them in to what was really going on. “But if you need to talk or anything, here’s my number. I’ll give you both home and work. And my cell. You can call me anytime. Anytime at all.” She scribbled the phone numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Mrs. McGann.”

“Laura. Call me Laura. And thank you for staying with Johnny until the police arrived. Until I arrived.”

“Of course.”

After making sure the police didn’t want her to remain for any more questioning and taking their card and giving them her cell number, Jen poured herself a large cup of coffee. She laced it with plenty of milk and sugar, took two of the glazed doughnuts, paid for her purchases over Johnny’s protests and walked outside to her Mustang.

The sage-scented desert air stung her nostrils as she breathed in deeply, and for one long moment she thought she was going to cry. There had been that moment, inside the store and on the floor, when she’d thought she’d never take another breath, and it felt so wonderful to still be alive. The sky, the air, the coffee—everything felt unbearably new, almost shimmering with life.

I’ll never take it for granted again.

Though little more than an hour had passed since she’d first entered the convenience store, Jen felt as if she were entering another lifetime. Though she was profoundly grateful to be alive, something crucial had been lost.

She’d realized how easy and inconsequential it was for some people to take a life, and that dark knowledge made her exhausted to her bones, to the depths of her soul.

And afraid.

As she unlocked her car, she thought of the man who had come to their rescue. He’d been tall and strong, and those blue eyes had been so intense when he’d silently ordered her behind the counter. And she’d obeyed, recognizing his strength and responding to it.

He’d been a hero in the true sense of the word. He’d acted in a heroic way with no thought for his own safety. He hadn’t had to come into the convenience store; he could have driven on or even considered himself a Good Samaritan by calling the police on his cell.

But he’d been a hero—her hero. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him; her memories of this man were so incredibly vivid. She felt as if they’d been etched on her soul, she’d been so touched by his selfless actions.

Jen knew she was being unreasonable, thinking of this man, spinning thoughts about him, wondering if…Most likely he had a family, a wife and a couple of children. She wondered if they all knew how lucky they were to have a man like that in their lives to protect them.

For an instant, as she slid into the driver’s seat and put her coffee and doughnuts down, she wished he was with her. She had a feeling if she could just lean on him for a few minutes, feel his arms around her, she wouldn’t feel so afraid.

But that was impossible.

CODY KNEW HE HAD TO LEAVE the parking lot, but he couldn’t seem to get his body in gear.

He was worn out. Perhaps weary was a better word. Soul sick, as his father would have said. He hadn’t had a whole lot of energy when he’d started out this morning, and the robbery had finished him off.

But he knew he had to get to work, so he set himself a limit of ten more minutes. Then he opened the van’s sliding side door and sat on the van’s floor, facing outside with his booted feet on the cement. He took in deep breaths of the cool, morning desert air. It felt fresh and open. Vast and timeless.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt glad to be alive.

JEN PULLED OUT OF THE PARKING lot, tried to take a sip of her coffee and found that she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking that badly.

Setting the takeout cup in the Mustang’s drink holder, she concentrated on driving through the small town, passing the first shopping center, driving by businesses and smaller, outlying houses surrounded by cacti and rock gardens. Trying to keep her attention on the road when her eyes were rapidly filling with frightened tears.

Aftershock. The shock was wearing off and she was starting to feel. And she didn’t want to. At least not while she was driving.

She was in no shape to be on the road.

The motel she finally spotted was on the far side of town, a small, pale pink stucco affair with a tiled roof. The neon sign, complete with a cactus, was turned off. But all Jen cared about was the black-and-white Vacancy sign prominently displayed.

She pulled into the parking lot, went into the main office and got a room, then drove a few more spaces down so she was parked in front of door number seventeen. Taking her coffee, the doughnuts and her overnight bag, she locked her car, then unlocked the motel room’s door and let herself in.

It was no resort, but the small room was pleasant. The queen-size bed had a clean, colorful green-and-cream-striped spread, and the room smelled fresh.

Locking the front door behind her, she dragged a ladder-back chair from the small table in front of the window and wedged it beneath the doorknob.

She knew this wasn’t normal behavior on her part, but she found herself suddenly scared, wanting to make the room secure, not wanting to be caught off guard. And she also knew exactly where those fears were coming from and that they were very normal after what she’d just experienced.

Jen sat on the bed. She forced herself to sip her warm coffee, then take bites of the doughnuts, chew and swallow. Automatically. Again and again, even though she didn’t really taste anything. She knew she had to go through these simple motions of living until she felt better again. Or at least until she got her blood sugar up.

The only thing she could compare the robbery to was a car accident she’d been in when she was sixteen. Her girlfriend had been driving when the car in front of them had gone completely out of control, smashing into the cement center divider. They’d plowed into the back of the runaway car. It had been over six months before she’d felt at ease in a car, either driving or as a passenger.

Now Jen knew it would take a while before she felt safe out in the world.

She stopped eating when the doughnuts and coffee threatened to come right back up, then walked into the motel bathroom. After a brief inspection of the small, utilitarian facilities, she turned on the shower, stripped off her clothing and reached for the wrapped bar of guest soap. It smelled of lemon.

If she closed her eyes, she could see the robber’s expression, the way he’d looked at her as she’d slowly taken off her pink sweater.

More than anything, more than even wanting to feel safe again, she wanted to feel clean.

CODY KNEW HE’D BE LATE TO THE set if he didn’t get it in gear. But his thoughts kept returning to the woman in the pink sweater. He wondered if she’d gotten to where she was going, if she had family waiting for her, a boyfriend or parents nearby. He wondered how she’d felt while being questioned by the police. He wondered if when she closed those extraordinary blue-gray eyes she saw the same images he did.

Forcing himself to finish the last of the lukewarm black coffee, he stretched, took a few deep breaths, then got into the van’s driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.

He drove through the desert town, intent on making good time until he passed a small, pink stucco motel and glimpsed that familiar candy-apple-red Mustang parked out front.

There couldn’t be two cars with that particular paint job in a town this size.

Before he had time to question his judgement, he turned left, across the two-lane highway, into the motel’s parking lot, and eased the battered van to a stop beside the sports car.

He stared at the motel room door. Door number seventeen. And as he studied that door, he knew that the woman with the gold bracelet was probably having as bad a time as he was. Worse, because she didn’t look like the type to have been around guns for most of her life. Or lunatics.

Again he thought of the image she projected and the fact that she was traveling alone on the road. It just didn’t fit. Women like her were cosseted and protected by their families, by their money. Not let loose on the road.

He thought of that red car and all the belongings piled in the backseat. Was she running away from someone? Did she need help? Whatever her life circumstances, having been caught in the middle of a robbery couldn’t have helped things.

He sat in his van, staring at the motel door, knowing he was only postponing the inevitable. Something had pulled him toward this woman from the instant he’d seen her. Then they’d been thrown together and shared a pretty horrific experience. Now something was telling him to knock on that door and make sure she was all right.

He’d see how she was doing. Make sure she called family, or at least had someone in her life who knew what had happened and could help her. Then he’d leave. But he had to see her, make sure she was all right. He had a feeling she was hurting and needed help.

He glanced away from the closed motel door, toward the red Mustang. Something about the woman made him want to protect her. Make life easier for her. He wanted to know who she was and where she was going. He wanted to talk to her. He couldn’t let it alone.

Hell, he wanted to know her name.

Knowing he would do nothing to hurt her, acting on deep instinct, Cody opened the van door and got out. He slammed the door shut and locked it. Then he walked over to the motel room door and rapped on it sharply three times.

3

JEN WAS COMBING HER WET HAIR back from her face, clad only in a short, ivory silk robe, when she heard the three sharp knocks. The sounds made her jump. She came up off the bed with her heart beating, her hands once again shaking so much, she dropped the blue wide-toothed comb.

She moved to the door, peered through the peephole. And saw the man who had saved her life. Not even hesitating, she moved the chair back, then opened the door a crack, the chain still in place.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi.” She didn’t know why, but she was ridiculously glad to see him.

“You okay?” He got straight to the point, and she had a feeling that this was his way.

She started to say yes—that automatic yes, that Everything’s fine so often said to the question How are things going? But her lips couldn’t form the words. She felt incapable of lying, of presenting that facade. Instead she felt her mouth tremble. She trembled. Her body felt as if it didn’t belong to her.

She couldn’t lie to this man. Though she hadn’t even known he existed a few hours ago, they had been through too much together.

Life and death had a way of bonding people.

“No.” The single word felt raw in her tight throat. She didn’t offer any protest as he stepped closer.

“Take the chain off the door.” That voice. So low and gentle, so soothing.

She did as he said, then seemed to watch from outside her own body as he opened the motel door further, stepped inside, closed it. He draped his jean jacket over one of the chairs, then he put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the bed. He sat her down on it and took her into his arms.

“Go ahead and cry,” he said. “I may just join you.”

His deep voice was all the persuasion she needed. The sobs came up now that she felt safe in the circle of his arms. Something about the way he held her made her feel so protected. No one could get her here, now. She wasn’t alone; she was touching another human being—the only person who could truly understand what she’d been through during those terrible moments looking down the barrel of that shotgun.

She cried harder, remembering how he’d stumbled through the door, drawing the madman’s gun, making sure it wasn’t pointed at her. She cried because her first thought on seeing him had been that he was a useless drunk, another complication. Another problem. Instead he’d saved her life with no regard for his own.

Somehow she had to make him understand.

“I thought—I thought—” her words hiccupped on a sob “—you were drunk.”

He continued to smooth her hair. He simply held her, offering no judgement concerning her crying, simply being there for her. It had been so long since anyone had truly been there for her, and Jen clung tighter. She couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Not now.

“But when—when you came in—” She choked on another sob, and he patted her back as if she were an infant needing to be burped. Then he rubbed her back, his hands soothing, knowing exactly how to release the tightness. His touch both soothed and comforted. This man’s touch was like none she’d ever felt before.

“I thought—I thought we were all going to die,” she gasped out, fresh tears filling her eyes, running down her face.

“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”

Still those strong arms held her as she buried her face against his chest, her cheek smashed flat against his blue denim shirt. He smelled of coffee and sugar—the powdered sugar that had spilled on the front of his shirt. She held on tighter as she cried.

“Honey, honey,” he said softly, his low voice almost crooning. “Tell me where your family is and I’ll get you safely home. You shouldn’t be alone—”

“No!” She clutched at his shirt harder, then, almost as if seeing herself and what she was doing for the first time, Jen felt embarrassment. Shame. She was out of control, in an anonymous motel room with a virtual stranger, dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe.

She pulled away slightly, gazed up at the man’s face.

He doesn’t feel like a stranger.

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn’t tear her gaze away. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. She heard the sound of a car drive by on the highway, then another. A door slammed.

She couldn’t look away from him. The strong line of his jaw. His mouth. Those incredibly blue eyes.

Why had he been put in her path? No, not merely put there. Flung there. She remembered the way he’d stumbled into the convenience store and suddenly realized—

“You knew,” she whispered. “Before you came in that door, you knew there was a robbery going down.”

He tried to look away, as if embarrassed by what he’d done, but she slid her hand up, cupped the side of his face, held his gaze. Her fingers seemed to burn where she touched him, almost vibrate with energy, it felt so intense between them.

“You did.”

He finally, almost reluctantly, nodded his head.

She continued to study him, knowing she would be able to see his face in her mind’s eye for the rest of her life. Those eyes. The dark brown hair with that spark of auburn shot through it. The slight stubble on his chin. His strong, warm, muscular body.

But it was his eyes…Something about them haunted her. More than the slight redness, more than the weariness she saw there. She sensed something inside him had died or had very nearly been extinguished. She studied him, and he let her look until his own eyes filled and he glanced away. Over at the window. Down at the floor.

Anywhere, she knew, but at her.

She didn’t know exactly how she came to the realization, but Jen knew he’d been ready to die for her and Johnny. Because this man who couldn’t look at her felt there wasn’t anything left for him. She’d seen it in his eyes. He was just marking time on this planet. He’d essentially kicked in that convenience store’s door this morning and begun a death mission. He hadn’t cared if he’d lived or died.

He’d saved her life, and now she knew he was suffering. A lost soul. And yet as lost as she sensed he was, he’d still helped her when that help had meant life and death to her. He’d still been a hero, his actions totally unselfish, his only thoughts to help her and Johnny survive that robbery.

She couldn’t stand the fact that he’d done such a heroic thing and was now suffering for it.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, stroking the side of his face with her fingertips. “No, don’t feel that way.”

He blinked, and it might have been as if those tears had never shimmered in his eyes. She watched as he slid the social mask into place. Almost like an actor’s mask. And she wondered if anyone close to him knew how badly this man was hurting.

“No,” she whispered, stroking the side of his face, then gently touching his split lip. Easing him back on the queen-size bed. Sliding beside him, all the while touching him. Her arms around him. Her body pressed against his. Simple human comfort. Simple touching. Letting him know he wasn’t alone, she was with him. She would be with him now and help him through this.

He lay back beside her, his boots still on, fully dressed. She snuggled against him, her cheek on his chest, and felt his hands in her hair. Stroking her, sliding his fingers through the damp strands.

“I don’t think either of us should be alone right now,” she said. How odd that she should recognize this stranger’s despair. Probably because it was so close to her own. She shifted closer, held him. Listened until his breathing became deep and regular and she knew he had finally found solace in sleep.

Just before she drifted off, a thought flitted into consciousness.

How strange. I don’t even know his name….

Then another.

But I do know him…. I do….

CODY CAME AWAKE ALMOST THREE hours later. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself, to remember how he’d come to this hotel room, to this time and place.

And this woman.

All of it came back to him, and he lay in bed, thankful to be alive. And thankful that this woman had been perceptive enough to know he was in no shape to hit the road.

He glanced at the bedside clock. He had just enough time to call Trevor and explain why he wouldn’t be at work today. Trevor would have to shoot around him, but unless Cody made that call, the director would believe he was out there, coming off a bender. The best thing he could do was clean up and be on time tomorrow, ready for work.

But he had to call him.

Cody reached for his jacket, found his cell phone and punched in the number. He waited, hoping to get Trevor directly but getting the director’s voice mail instead. At the beep Cody left a message, swiftly and succinctly explaining why he wouldn’t be on the set today. He told Trevor about the robbery attempt but asked him not to say anything to anyone. Then he made his apologies and hung up.

Perhaps he’d go to his director’s hotel room tonight when he returned and apologize for holding him up. He probably could have really pushed and made it back to the set, but intuition told him not to leave this woman alone today.

He eased himself out of bed, then looked down at the sleeping woman, her hair spread out around her head like a blond halo. She lay curled on her side in the large bed, the silky robe barely covering her. They’d both fallen asleep on top of the coverlet. Now he studied her, that fall of silky blond hair, those slender, perfect legs.

After a moment he eased the bedspread, blanket and top sheet down, then tucked her in. The air-conditioning in the motel room had kicked in as it had gotten hotter outside, and he didn’t want her to catch a chill.

He settled the bedding around her shoulders, up to her chin, and she snuggled deeper into the bed in sleep, then smiled. He watched her face, committing it to memory.

That hair. He’d loved touching it. Comforting her. And he wondered again how a woman so delicate came to be out on the road by herself. There was a piece to this puzzle he didn’t have or understand.

Yet for all that her appearance said she was delicate, she had a spine there, as well. She’d responded to his unspoken command back at the robbery site. She hadn’t gone all hysterical or fallen apart until they’d been alone together in this motel room.

She would get through this. He was just thankful he could help her along.

She was also perceptive as hell, and that scared him a little, if he were honest with himself. She’d looked at him, and within minutes of their being alone, she’d seen far more than all the tabloids and newspapers, than all the reporters and talk-show hosts had ever noticed.

She’d seen him. And she hadn’t been afraid.

Cody closed his eyes and took a deep breath, considering how he felt. His legs felt a whole lot more solid beneath him. Just that short amount of sleep and that human touch, that contact, had grounded him. He remembered reading an article that had said sleep was the brain’s way of organizing and making sense of data, and the short nap he’d taken with—

He didn’t even know her name.

Cody smiled down at the sleeping woman. The short nap he’d taken with this angel had allowed him to make sense of some pretty horrific data. As his mother had always said, things look a whole lot better after a solid meal and a good night’s sleep.

And, in his case, a shower.

Not wanting to disturb her, he moved as quietly as possible, picking up the blue comb at the foot of the bed as he headed toward the small bathroom.

Small wasn’t the right word. Miniscule was. And already crowded with her toiletries. Just enough room for a toilet, a sink and a shower. He was a big man and would barely have room to turn around in the small shower stall.

So as not to crowd it even further, Cody swiftly took off his boots and peeled off his clothing just outside the door. Entering the bathroom, he closed the door gently, then turned on the shower, already anticipating the feel of hot water on his tense shoulders.

The water was good and hot and plentiful. The small sliver of guest soap was lemon-scented, and he used a generous amount, lathering it over his body, feeling as if he were washing away the scent of fear, washing away all that had happened just that morning.

He ducked his head beneath the sharp, hot spray, then used some of the woman’s shampoo. It had an herbal smell, not too bad. Cody rinsed his hair, enjoying the feel of the hot water working the tension out of his body.

Outside the shower, standing by the sink with a white towel around his waist, he risked one more loan. One that was more personal but necessary. He searched through her toiletry bag until he found a plastic razor. Lathering up with the lemon-scented soap, he shaved, swiping away at the weekend stubble covering the lower half of his face.

When he finished, he wiped his face with a hot, wet washcloth, then combed his clean hair with the blue comb he’d found at the foot of the bed.

Feeling pleased with the way he looked and feeling so much better, confident that he could drive back to the set without breaking down, all he needed now was a good meal. Perhaps he could ask this woman—after making sure he finally found out what her name was—if she’d join him.