“Mo-om!” He flushed bright red as he glanced at Preston.
Preston tried not to smile at his embarrassment.
Emma sighed. “Do you want me to put it in your arm?”
“No, that’s only for little shots.”
“Little shots?” Preston asked, unable to remain silent.
“The ones at lunch and dinner have less insulin in them,” Emma explained. She turned back to Max. “If you won’t let me do it in your arm, you’re going to have to try your leg.”
“Not my leg.”
“Max…”
“Okay.” The way he puffed out his cheeks and stared at the needle made Preston wish he could take the shot for him. He could tell by the empathy in Emma’s voice that she felt the same.
Pulling up the right pant leg of his shorts, Max pinched a roll of flesh on the inside of his thigh. “Here?”
“That looks good,” Emma said.
Grim determination claimed his young face. He aimed the syringe at the site—but pulled back before the needle could pierce the skin. “I can’t,” he said.
The dejection in his voice made Preston burn with guilt for his earlier reaction to the little guy. Max was a good kid who coped with a lot. He didn’t deserve Preston’s resentment, hadn’t done anything to earn it.
“Go ahead and put it in your stomach, then,” Emma said, and went back to her cooking as if she couldn’t bear to watch. “Just…just try to find a new spot, okay?”
Preston’s fork dangled between his mouth and his plate as Max stuck the needle in his stomach and pushed the plunger. The boy counted to three, then pulled the needle out and carried the empty syringe to his mother.
“Good job,” she said, giving him a hug. “You’re so brave, Max. I’ve never met a boy so brave.”
Preston kept his eyes on his breakfast, but he had to agree. Max might not be Dallas. But he was no ordinary boy.
“WHERE ARE YOU?”
At the sound of Rosa’s voice, Manuel sank onto the bed in the motel room he’d rented in Wendover and used the towel he’d draped around his neck to mop up the sweat dripping from his hair. Because he wasn’t even sure he was traveling in the right direction, he’d stopped to sleep and work out, hoping Hector would find Vanessa in Vegas. But Hector hadn’t seen any sign of her.
Could there be better news already? “Why do you need to know where I am?”
“I think she called again last night.”
“Then the question is, where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I—I missed her call.”
“How?” He tossed his towel aside, onto the floor.
“I couldn’t bear to talk to her. She hung up without leaving a message, but the number she was calling from came up on my caller ID,” Rosa added quickly. “Maybe you can call her, convince her to come back to you.”
The area code should tell him something, at least. And maybe he could reach her. Telephone contact was preferable to no contact at all. He’d been dying to speak to her ever since she’d left. What did she think she was doing? Did she really believe this would improve matters between them? Now he’d never be able to trust her again. She’d stolen from him, turned his own hired help against him, lied to him….
Closing his eyes, he took a cleansing breath. “What’s the number?”
Rosa gave it to him, and he quickly jotted it down.
“How—How’s my sister?” Rosa ventured.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he snapped, and ended the call. Once he found Vanessa and the son of a bitch she was with, Rosa wouldn’t matter anymore.
The buttons beeped loudly in his ear as he punched in the number he’d written down.
“Good morning. Thank you for calling Hilton Salt Lake City. This is Trina. How may I direct your call?”
The Hilton? Rage rose inside Manuel like a great tidal wave. She was staying at a hotel, a nice hotel, a high-rise. Which meant that whoever she was with probably wasn’t some trucker. Most truckers didn’t pull into a fancy hotel. They slept in the cab of their trucks or rented an economy motel.
“Where, exactly, are you located?” he asked.
“We’re at twenty-five fifty-five South West Temple.”
“Can you give me directions?”
“Let me transfer you to our concierge. I’m sure she can help you.”
Elevator music played in the background. Unable to sit still, he began to pace. Where did Vanessa meet her companion? Were they making love right now? Was she laughing at Manuel as she drew another man inside her?
“This is Megan. What can I do for you today?”
“I need you to tell me how to get to the hotel. I’m coming east on I-80.”
“No problem, sir.”
Manuel scribbled down the directions, which were simple enough, then tossed the pen aside. He shouldn’t have stopped last night. If only he hadn’t started second-guessing himself. “How long a drive is it?” he asked before the concierge could hang up.
“About two hours.”
Two. He felt fairly certain that if he hurried, he could cut that down to one and a half.
PRESTON SCOWLED at his wet toothbrush. There were a lot of things he was willing to share with Max and Emma, but his toothbrush wasn’t one of them. Not because he was worried about germs. Well, maybe he was worried about Max’s germs. There was no telling what a boy his age might put in his mouth. But with Emma it was the intimacy of sharing such a personal article that bothered him. They needed to safeguard the barriers between them, not pull them down.
He thought of calling her into the bathroom to tell her so, but when he saw her swimsuit hanging on the towel rack, he didn’t have the heart. She’d had to use his toothbrush. She didn’t have one of her own. She didn’t even have underwear.
Cursing the night he’d stopped at the Cozy Comfort Bungalows, he brushed his own teeth—and tried to pretend he didn’t actually like the idea that his toothbrush had been inside Emma’s mouth.
“Are you ready to go?” he called into the kitchen as he packed his things.
“I was hoping to give Max a bath before we left. Do you think we have time?” she called back.
He was anxious to get on the road, to get to Vince. But he supposed an hour wasn’t going to make much difference. He could do some work, catch up on his e-mail, make a few phone calls while he waited for Max. Or he could leave the room, and pick up the items Max and Emma needed so they wouldn’t have to stop later.