“Sure is.” The robust man hooked his thumbs through the loops of his jeans, where a belt really should have resided, if the droop in his pants was any indication. “Course, that won’t be open until morning, either.”
And she was back to wanting to scream. “Then what do you suggest we do until morning?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I can hook up your trailer, drive you out to the motel in town.”
The motel. As in, only one. She wasn’t far off with her BumFuck Nowhere comment. Then again, they were driving through Wyoming. What was she expecting?
“That’d be great.” Red laid a hand on her shoulder, and though she’d rather chew her arm off than admit it, the weight of his hand was a comfort. “We’d really appreciate the ride. Wouldn’t we?” He squeezed gently.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, feeling something like a puppet whose strings were pulled. Peyton waited while Red and the mechanic hitched the small trailer to the mechanic’s truck, then climbed into the dusty cab next to Red. When the alternative was to scoot closer to the man in the overalls, Peyton chose the lesser of two evils and slid until she was all but cuddled up against Red’s side.
He chuckled low in her ear and looped an arm around her. The infuriating man would enjoy this . . .
Chapter Twelve
The mechanic’s truck pulled into a poorly lit parking lot in front of the—singular—motel in town. The parking lot was shockingly full, even though there was nothing Red had seen of town to recommend it to travelers. The L had long-since burned out from the motel’s neon sign. As he and Peyton slid out of the truck, she muttered, “I think this place was featured as a crime scene on 48 Hours last week.”
“Remember which room number?” he asked, then laughed at the face she shot him. They grabbed their bags from the back of the truck and picked up directions to the rental car company in town before waving good-bye to their mechanic.
As they walked in, Peyton coughed a little at the smoky interior of the lobby. “I thought it was illegal to smoke in public places like this.”
“I don’t think it is in Wyoming.” Red glanced around, wondering how a dump like this could actually be a stopping ground for anyone. “Let’s just see what’s available.” He walked to the front desk, looked for a bell, then rapped his knuckles on top of the scarred wood when there wasn’t one in sight. “Hello?”
A skinny man with slicked back hair and red, glazed eyes popped his head around the wall. “Yeah?”
Nice customer service. “We need a couple of rooms. Hoping you’re not full up.”
The man, probably in his forties, slid around the door frame. “Not quite full yet.”
“Thank God.” Peyton dropped her bag on the ground and slumped against the desk. “Two rooms please.”
“Singles?” the man asked, his hand poised with a pen over a registration book. But the glance he gave Peyton was anything but service-like.
“Yes, two singles.” Looking relieved, Peyton sagged against the tall counter. Red’s back teeth ground together as the clerk’s eyes zeroed in on her breasts, now squished against the wood.
“I have a couple of singles left. One on the north side”—he pointed toward the left—“and one facing the back parking lot.” He motioned behind him, then gave Peyton a slow smile. “For you, I’d recommend the one in the back. It’s more private. What name can I register it under ?”
“Muldoon. M-u-l-d—hey!” Peyton yanked against Red’s hold as he grabbed her arm and tugged her over to a worn, ripped couch on the other side of the room.
“Just a second,” Red said, smiling widely at the desk clerk, who wore a startled expression. “I want to run something by my . . . business partner.” She scowled at him but said nothing. Red dropped his voice. “We should get one room.”
She stepped away, breaking his hold and crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to worry about forking over the big bucks. It’s a work expense. M-Star is footing the bill, Callahan.”
“Fantastic. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
His mind was thinking of security, or lack thereof. Judging by the look of the lobby, the rooms likely didn’t even have a dead bolt. No way in hell did he trust the security in this place. And with the motel so full, there were a lot of people to account for.
But Peyton slid him the side eye, not following his train of thought. “Red. You can’t be seriously using this as a way to . . .” She waved a hand between them. “You know.”