Slut - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 7

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A young girl smiled at me, closed a file drawer, and walked toward me.

“Hello, welcome to Coast Inn West. How may I help you today?”

“Well, I have a room reserved, but I’m not sure whose name it’s in. I forgot to ask,” I said, my smile fake and stressed.

“I’m sure we can figure it out. What name is the credit card in?”

“Um, try Lane, Lane—oh, it’s ninety-four. That’s what he said, ninety-four,” I said again, just in case she didn’t get it the first time.

“Hmmm, ninety-four is reserved for Pierce.”

“That’s it. That’s me. Gabriella Pierce.”

“And you’re Paxton’s wife, correct?”

The instant confusion was hard to hide. “Yes, but that shouldn’t be the name on the credit card. It should be Lane.”

“That’s what I have for ninety-four. No worries, you’re good. I don’t need anything else. Do you have more things?” she asked, neck stretching to see my one and only shopping bag. She spoke a polite hello to the couple behind, and got my key-card.

I wanted to ask more questions, but I refrained. That made no sense at all. How did Lane get Paxton’s credit card? Why would he get Paxton’s credit card. Lane was in on something. That was the only explanation, but what?

“Ma’am?”

“Oh, sorry. Thank you.”

I took the elevator to the third floor in a daze, oblivious to the business chatter going on between the three other guests. Two girls, both in corporate attire, and a guy in a suit. He smelled like Paxton, a clean, subtle smell. Not too strong, yet sexy.

The hotel room had one bed, a large TV, and a horrible shower. The water was warm, I could barely turn around without hitting my elbows, and it had a bleachy smell. My lavender shower gel barely masked it, and my cheap shampoo did little for my hair. I sputtered water from my mouth and laughed. I was being accused of horrible accusations, and I was worried about the way the economy shampoo made my hair feel.

With my head wrapped in a not so soft towel, I sat at the little table with my salad, and a heavy sigh. The street below the window was on the opposite side from where I’d come in, but just as active, people busy with their normal lives. An elementary school set on the corner, a drug store right across the road, and—

“Oh, my God,” I exclaimed aloud when I saw him, my heart beat in my chest thumping hard.

This was perfect. This was an omen. We were meant to cross paths. A fancy apartment building with a doorman sat directly across from my hotel. I took a bite of wilted lettuce and watched him shake the doorman’s hand, and then talk to him, like they were old friends. What was his name again? Another bite of salad and a crunching crouton distracted me from remembering while I watched him. He walked through the double doors, and I wondered why. The clock told me that it was just after one in the afternoon. Maybe he was on his lunch break.

“Nick!” I yelled when it came to me. That was no coincidence. Everything happened just as it was supposed to happen. I sat down to eat my bland salad at the exact same time Nick entered the building across the road. I continued to somewhat enjoy my lunch while I waited. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Nick returned to the sidewalk with a dog. Not a manly Rottweiler or a German Shepard either. This was a prissy little hairless dog. A Chihuahua with skinny legs. Rowan and Phi would have loved the little brown mutt.

Nick walked his beloved pet around the fence of the school yard, and crossed the road. I finished my entire salad, minus the cucumbers before I saw him again. He walked the entire block, but the dog didn’t. The sissified thing rode in Nick’s arms with its tongue hanging out the right side of his mouth.

The thought to run outside and grovel at his feet crossed my mind for a second. I had to know what happened the night I wrecked, where my sister was, and the biggest question of all—did I kill her? Nick was the only person I knew who might be able to give me some answers.

Regardless of which twin I really was, I had to know what happened that day. Award-winning Nick Benson would be the one to help me with that. Whether he wanted to or not, how? He had to. Nick was my only shot. Even the doctor told me I may never regain my memory.

As soon as the nerves settled from Nick, they started right back up from Paxton and Lane. Why was Paxton’s credit card on file for my room? Reverting back to the days when you had to use a phonebook, I flipped through the pages in search of the number for the counseling center Lane worked at. A secretary answered the phone, but refused to put me through. She wouldn’t give me his cell number either, not that I thought she would, but anything was worth a try. I left a message for him to call, but he never did. I didn’t know his cellphone without mine, and all I could think about was the time wasted. He would be home soon, around Candace where he couldn’t talk.

I laid sideways across the bed and turned the television on for the noise. My eyes closed at the same time my lungs took in a long breath of air, and I tried my best to relax. Concentrated feelings about my childhood permeated my mind, but that’s all they were. Feelings, no memories. Trying my best to summons the recollections, I fell into sleep.

No thoughts. One hour and fifty-one minutes of nothing but needed sleep. Not one memory to help with my puzzling situation. My eyes opened to a rerun of ‘House Hunters International.’ An instant grunt from pain in my ankle echoed throughout the hotel room when I stretched my legs. I still forgot that I couldn’t do that, not yet anyway. I did that exact same thing at least three times a week, cursing myself every time. Other than that one pain, caused by my own stupidity, I was physically all better. If I could force my mind into catching up, I’d be in a much better place. At least I could have stopped looking for puzzle pieces that didn’t fit.

Sitting up, I shook my hair out with my fingers, using them as a makeshift comb, and looked at the time. Lane’s office would close in fifteen minutes and he still hadn’t called.

I took in a deep breath of air, spiking myself up with needed courage. My lips puckered and my fingers drummed off my kneecaps, debating on a strategy. I knew I wouldn’t get through the gatekeeper by saying I was a patient. Cleverness was required for a job like this.

I watched the TV while the newly married lesbians argued over the layout. The blonde would win in the end, and they would purchase that one. The same one I guessed the first time I’d seen it. Could I be clever? That was the question.

“Aaah,” I called out as I stood. I could be crafty. Right after a quick pit stop to the bathroom, I sat on my bed and flipped through the yellow pages for a name. My finger glided down the list of ads and an unplanned smile formed on my lips as soon as my finger landed on the needed information.

“Westside Counseling Center, this is Maya, how may I be of service?”

“Yes, this is Carrie from Gilford’s Garage. We have Mr. Arlington’s car over here. I’m afraid we have an issue.”

“Hold please.”

And just like that, I was clever. I boasted, blew on the tips of my fingers, and cockily swiped them across my chest.

“I only asked for an oil change. Nothing else,” Lane answered, armed and ready for a high-pressure mechanic, assuring him of an expensive repair that he didn’t need.

“Lane, it’s me.”

“Gabby? What? Oh, my God. Will you stop?”

An instant frown took over my expression. What the hell did the guy expect? “I want to know what is going on. You know, Lane. I know you do. How did you get Paxton’s credit card?”

“What? I don’t have Paxton’s credit card.”

“The room is in his name. Why?”

“Jesus, Gabby. I said ninety-four. That’s all you had to say. Just ninety-four. Everything else was handled.”

“What the fuck, Lane? Did Paxton pay for this room?”

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