Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(46)

And now?

It was like God was shining a light down from the ceiling right onto that duffel bag. Tempting me, maybe even taunting me.

Everything I needed to make a clean break.

Right there.

And who's money could it be, anyway? It sure as hell didn't belong to  anyone good … and if whoever had killed the person under the bed hadn't  seen fit to take the money with them, I was pretty sure it didn't belong  to anyone at that point.

Except me.

It belonged to me.

Once that thought came into my mind, I acted like it was true. Propriety  be damned. With that sort of money, I could make straight for Mexico,  or Canada, and change my name, and no one would ever find me …

Not Jeremy. Not the cops. Which, by the way, was pretty much the same thing, since he was a cop.

I scuttled forward towards the duffel bag, hands itching to get around  that money. But I stopped myself; be smart, Gabriella. For once in your  stupid, pathetic life, use your fucking brain.

See? I even thought in Jeremy's voice and tone. I'd never thought I was  stupid before getting involved with him, but he'd had me so beat down  that I believed him when he said I was a dumb bitch.

I straightened up, grabbing two gloves from my cart and snapping them  on. I took all the cocaine from the bag. Where … where … I thought, looking  around the room. My eyes lit on the dresser; throwing a drawer open, I  threw all the little bundles into the drawer and then closed it, though I  left it slightly ajar.

I didn't need the drugs, just the money.

And, I figured, it would probably help the detectives or whoever to know  that whatever happened was a result of a drug deal gone wrong.

As for the money …

And the body …

I leaned into my portable laundry basket, pulling out the sheets and  comforter I'd just stripped. Working quickly, I made the bed in a way  that looked as though someone had slept in it. Not too messy, not too  neat.

I needed it to look like I'd never been there.

But the key … I thought to myself. The keys at the hotel were automatic,  and wireless, and they recorded whenever anyone came or went into the  room.

I threw the duffel bag into the laundry, covering it with sheets and comforters.

I took a series of deep breaths, grabbing my walkie-talkie and preparing to lie like my life depended on it.

"Rosa, Melanie, come in," I said, actually happy for the quiver in my voice, hoping it would make me more convincing.         

     



 

"Go ahead, Gabriella," Rosa's voice came over the other end, her heavy accent hard to understand over the crackly radio.

"I was just about to go into 303, and I just got sick everywhere. Had to  run right to the bathroom. It smells funny in here but I think it's  something else. I'm gonna come down, I need to go home," I said. It  wasn't the best lie in the world, but what else could I do? They would  know I went into the room when they checked the logs. The best thing I  could do was pretend that I only went into the room to throw up, that  I'd never seen the body or even touched the bed.

Of course, once I never showed up back home, and once someone discovered  the body in the room, there would be a lot of questions. And, with  Jeremy on the force, those questions would probably be broadcast across  America once he figured out I wasn't coming back. I could only hope that  by the time those questions were asked, I would be safely on my way to  Mexico.

"Make sure you flush," Melanie's voice came over the walkie-talkie. "Clock out and go home. Come in tomorrow?"

"Maybe, I'll see," I said, letting the walkie-talkie fall to my side once more.

I looked around the room once more, but knew I needed to get out of  there as soon as possible. The longer I stood there, the more I'd freak  out, the more I'd rethink what I was doing, the more I'd overthink how  to cover my tracks.

Pushing my cart out the door, leaving the lights on, the way they had  been when I got there, I made my way down to the basement, praying no  one else would be down there. No one should have been down there. Rosa  was still doing rounds, the laundry room was a separate building, and  Melanie would be half-tossed and chain-smoking in the courtyard by that  time of day.

And, as though God was still smiling upon me, no one was.

I tossed my load of laundry into one of the huge baskets, the sheets  mingling together. Grabbing the duffel bag once it fell, I didn't bother  to put my cart away or even change into my regular clothes before going  to my locker.

I had my own duffel bag in there, my gym bag, for the three times per  week that I went to the gym after work. Today was not a gym day, but I  kept a change of clothes in there all the time in case Jeremy made one  of his "suggestions".

That was another thing, by the way, about that marriage. When Jeremy  didn't want me to come home, so he could do whatever  –  or whomever  –  he  did when I wasn't around, he'd "suggest" that I go to the gym, and God  help me if I didn't take him up on that suggestion.

Now, I was thanking God for his little "suggestions". I shoved the  duffle bag full of money into my larger gym bag, throwing my running  shoes into my locker to make room. I grabbed my purse as well, and threw  my street clothes, which had been hanging up, into the duffel bag.

I didn't clock out.

I didn't look back.

I was on the highway, pedal to the floor (though not speeding), mind  numb as I began to unravel what I'd just done, what I was going to do.

Which, I realized, was a total mystery.

I didn't know how to start over with a duffel bag full of cash. I didn't  know how to create a new identity. I wasn't wise in the ways of  criminal behavior.

Jeremy was, but I couldn't exactly turn to him for help, could I?

Well, all I had to do, for then, was get to Denver. Just get to Denver, I thought.

Wait, no.

I didn't realize I was slowing the car down until I heard frantic honking all around me. I pressed my foot on the gas once more.

Not Denver, not Denver, Utah, go to Utah, I thought. I was driving the  wrong direction for Utah, but I knew it was the smarter choice. It had  to be. Jeremy had friends in Denver, cop friends. Utah? A whole new  state? A wild sort of state? Lots of open land, not too much in the way  of cell phone towers …

Utah.

I took the next exit, feeling my stomach flipping as the car swerved  around one of the mountain highway's many looping, high-octane turns,  got back on the highway, going the other direction.

Utah, Utah, go to Utah, I thought, over and over again, my mind only  able to focus on that one word, that one destination. It was all I could  do not to throw up in my lap. The duffel bag, tucked underneath  driver's seat, seemed to pulse and throb behind my feet.

Holy shit, what the hell are you doing, Gabriella, you stupid bitch,  you're never going to get away with this, you better fucking turn this  car around right now and go home before Jeremy gets there and wonders  where you are. That voice, I realize now, was Jeremy's voice in my head.  But it sounded like mine at the time. And it was loud.

Keep going, you're never going to get another chance, this is it, this  is it, you have to go now, another voice was saying, a voice that  sounded strange at the time but which, I've learned, is actually my  voice. And it was louder.         

     



 

It was 4pm. Another hour and a half and Jeremy would be home, wondering  where I was. Just as I had that thought, my cell phone dinged.

Shit, I forgot about that fucking thing, I thought, panicking, knowing  that cops could trace you by your cell phone signal. I reached down,  keeping my eyes on the road, and grabbed the phone from the pocket of my  maid's uniform. It was Jeremy texting me. Shit, shit shit, I thought,  my heart starting to race once more, my mind leaping to imaginary  scenarios  –  all of which ended in blood. It would be my body tucked  underneath a bed this time.

Hey. You should go to the gym after work. Just a suggestion, the text  read. I nearly slammed my foot on the brake in utter bafflement.  Instead, I started laughing. A psychotic sort of laugh, hysterical and  high-pitched.

What a fucking day for one of Jeremy's suggestions.

Fucking rat bastard, you finally threw me a fucking bone, rot in hell  you wife-beating piece of shit, I thought, loudly, that same strange  voice overwhelming Jeremy's in my head. I stopped laughing. I had no  idea where those thoughts came from. I'd never thought that way about my  husband before.

But it wasn't just a thought … it was a feeling. I was mad. Mad as hell.  And … free. I pressed the pedal harder. Now, it would be 7:00 or later  before Jeremy realized I wasn't coming home. I had three hours to make  time before he even suspected anything. The mountains around me were  already gradually falling lower, preparing to make way for the high  deserts of Utah.

Everything inside me was at war, it seemed. Fear and rage, sense and  whimsy, love and hate, self-defeat and encouragement. I plastered a  smile on my face as I sped past a state trooper. Obviously, the guy  couldn't see it, but it made me feel a little better about the duffel  bag under my seat.