Page 13 of A Ruthless Bargain

“Jax Smith.”

“Let me check.” The clacking of keys followed.

I waited not so patiently. Would I get lucky with my first call?

“I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s no one staying with us under that name.”

Shit. Wait! “You know, I didn’t think to ask, but maybe he’s staying with someone else,” I stalled, as I considered the possibility he registered under a fake name. An even faker name than Smith.

“I can’t keep checking names, ma’am,” the woman warned.

“Of course not.” I tapped my nails on the table. “He’s distinctive. How about if I describe him?”

“Sure, why not?”

“He’s huge. Nearly seven feet tall. Dark hair. Extremely fit. Like an athlete. Oh, and almost always wears sunglasses,” I added, realizing that was distinctive.

“He sounds good,” the woman unexpectedly joked.

Ah, the familiarity of a small town. “You’re not wrong,” I confided, shocked by the admission.

“You’re right, he’d definitely stand out. I haven’t seen anybody who looks like that here.”

“Thanks for your help, anyway,” I said, and ended the call.

One down. Twenty to go. Ugh.

I needed to consider a way to hasten the process. A better cover story would do the trick. Maybe a one-night stand? Hmm, it was a small town, maybe not. Although it was also a college town, so maybe yes.

I laughed at my ridiculousness and decided to try that with the next call.

“Hello, thank you for calling Spring Suites of Sandy Creek. How may I help you?”

It was a man’s voice. I wondered if that would help or hurt my cause. “Hi, I hope you can,” I said in a simpering voice. “I met a guy last night who’s only visiting, and I lost his number, so I’m trying to figure out where he’s staying. I know you can’t give me a room number or anything. But I’m hoping if I give you his name and description, you can at least tell me if I’m on the right track,” I assured the man, smiling widely since I’d read that people can hear a smile in someone’s voice.

“Well, let me see what I can do,” he said. “Lay it on me.”

Bingo! I gave him the same description I’d given the first woman. With the same result. Well, at least I’d streamlined the process to bupkis. I thanked him for his time and continued down my list.

On the thirteenth call, I struck pay dirt.

“Oh yeah,” the woman said. “He’s staying here. The sunglasses thing is weird, but he’s yummy.”

Mixed emotions flooded me at her words. As expected, she didn’t give me the room number. She offered to leave him a message and, since I couldn’t think of a non-suspicious reason to decline, I gave her a fake name and number before ending the call. I sat immobile in my kitchen, considering my next steps.

I wasn’t familiar with his choice of lodging, but camping out in the lobby of the Sandy Creek Motel did not sound like the best way to determine his room number. Fuck it. I’d drive there and figure it out when I arrived.

The Sandy Creek Motel wasn’t as seedy as I’d guessed it would be, appearing to have been recently painted and having nice, well-kept landscaping. It must have been one of the older motels in town, though, as it matched the classic design of a motel. Two stories, bland u-shape building, wrapping around a single parking lot. Maybe that was why my probable-alien picked it. I swung my Volvo sedan into the parking lot and parked near a covered entrance to the motel.

At least it would make staking out the place easier if I failed to get his room number. That’s what I’d chosen as my goal on the drive over. I’d finagle a way to get a desk clerk to provide me with Jax Smith’s room number. I still wasn’t sure how to do it.

Should I find the younger-sounding woman I’d spoken to on the phone? Or find someone different? I briefly considered asking Sherry to reach out in her official capacity as a law enforcement officer, and then discarded that idea. There was no way she’d do that. A quick records search was the limit of her unofficial help.

I slammed my car door and crossed the lot to the entrance. Upon entering, the solo man behind the counter made my decision for me.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the short, mustachioed older man greeted me. “How may I assist you today?”

I dropped my voice as if sharing confidential or embarrassing information. “So sorry to trouble you with this, but my friend checked into this hotel and I’m afraid he may have plans to harm himself. I don’t want to call the cops, in case I misunderstood, but I still wanted someone to check on him. He didn’t give me his room number, or I’d check on him myself.” When he opened his mouth, I held up a hand. “I’m not asking for his room number. I was wondering if you could try calling him, and tell him I’m here.” At the end of my statement, I widened my eyes and bit my lip. It worked.