“Sometimes that’s enough.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes it is.”
There was a short silence.
“By the way,” Clare said after a moment. “We need to watch for the Indian School Road exit.”
“Why?”
“Because my motel is on a street off Indian School Road,” she said patiently.
“Thought you said your hotel was out at the airport.”
“I lied.”
Chapter Four
The best that could be said about the Desert Dawn Motel was that it made no pretense of being anything other than what it was: a run-down, low-end, budget-class establishment from another era. The two-story structure was badly in need of a coat of paint. Rusted air conditioners thundered in the night.
Most of the landscaping had died back in the Jurassic. Only a few hardy barrel cacti and one wilted palm had survived. The letter s in the red and yellow neon sign snapped and crackled and blinked annoyingly.
Clare felt a distinct pang of embarrassment when Jake eased the BMW into a parking space near the entrance to the shabby lobby. She suppressed it immediately.
Jake turned off the engine and regarded the limp palm tree that graced the cracked concrete sidewalk.
“You know,” he said, “if you had mentioned that you were coming into town this evening the Glazebrook travel department would have been happy to make reservations for you at a slightly more upscale hotel. I’ll bet they could have found you something where the bathroom isn’t down the hall.”
“There’s a bathroom in my room, thank you very much.” She unclasped the seat belt and opened the door.
Jake got out and took her wet clothes out of the trunk. Together they walked toward the lobby.
“Mind telling me why you chose this place?” he asked politely.
“Maybe you didn’t know that I was fired from my job six months ago. I haven’t had much luck finding a new position. So I’m on a strict budget these days.”
“Your father is one of the wealthiest men in the state,” he pointed out mildly.
“I don’t consider Archer Glazebrook to be my father in anything but the biological sense.”
“In other words, you’re too proud to take any money from him.” He shook his head, amused. “The two of you sure have a lot in common.”
He pushed open the grimy glass door. Clare went past him into the postage stamp–sized lobby.
The desk clerk stared at Clare, taking in the sight of the bathrobe and towel turban.
“You okay, Miss Lancaster?” he asked uneasily.
“Late night swim,” Clare said.
“I’m going to see Miss Lancaster to her room,” Jake said.
The clerk sized him up and then shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. Just keep it quiet, will you? There’s a couple from the Midwest in the room next door.”
Clare frowned. “What are you talking about? Why should I care if there are people next door?”
The clerk rolled his eyes.
Jake grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the stairs.
“What’s going on here?” Clare asked, bewildered. “Am I missing something?”
Jake waited until they reached the next floor and started down the dingy hall before answering.
“The guy at the desk thinks you’re a call girl who is using this motel to entertain clients.”
“You being the client?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose the bathrobe gives a poor impression.”
She stopped in front of room 210. Jake took the key from her and inserted it into the lock.
The door to room 208 opened. A middle-aged woman with a helmet of graying curls peered disapprovingly through the crack.
Jake nodded politely. “Evening, ma’am.”
The woman slammed the door shut. Jake heard voices through the walls. The door opened again. This time a balding, overweight man dressed in a pair of plaid Bermuda shorts and an aging white T-shirt looked out. He stared hard at Clare through the opening.
Clare inclined her head. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
The man shut the door without speaking. Jake heard the loud snick of the dead bolt sliding into place.
“I don’t think the night clerk is the only one around here who is wondering about your career path,” he said.
“Little do they know that I don’t even have a career at the moment.”
Jake opened the door.
The interior of the small room was as unprepossessing as the exterior. At the far end cheap sliding glass doors opened onto a tiny balcony that overlooked a small pool. Clare switched on the weak overhead light.
Jake glanced at the single, roll-aboard suitcase sitting on the stand.
“Doesn’t look like you packed for an extended stay,” he said.
“I’ll give Archer one day to explain why he dragged me down here. As long as I’m in town, I’ll spend some time with Elizabeth. But after that I have no reason to hang around.”
“Going back home to San Francisco?”
“I’m job hunting. Six months of unemployment has put a major dent in my savings. I don’t want to have to start borrowing from my mother and my aunt. I need to find work.”
He nodded. “Probably for the best.”
He was obviously looking forward to getting rid of her. Why was that depressing?
“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “It has been an interesting evening, to say the least.”
“My dates say that a lot.”
She smiled. “In case you didn’t notice, this wasn’t a date. You were just doing your job. Taking care of problems for Archer Glazebrook.”
She closed the door very gently but very firmly in his face.
Chapter Five
Jake drove back to Stone Canyon and parked in the garage of the house he rented. He opened the trunk of the BMW, took out the computer that was never far from his side and went indoors.
He had intended to spend the night prowling through a couple more homes belonging to members of the Glazebrooks’ circle of acquaintances, searching for some indication of what he had been sent here to find. It was how he had spent most of the other nights in Stone Canyon. Thus far he had managed to rummage through the closets, drawers and wall safes of twelve residences.
But the arrival of Clare Lancaster had changed his plans for the evening. Ever since his first sight of her, his hunting senses had been on high alert. She was important. He could feel it. And not just because he wanted to take her to bed, although that was pretty damn important, too.
In the kitchen he flipped on a light and set the thin laptop on the table. He poured himself a glass of scotch, sat down and powered up the computer.