High Tide by Jude Deveraux Page B

anything stupid.”
    â€œStupider than what’s already happened to me, you mean? Stupider than the last two days? Stupider than—” Breaking off, she put her hand to her forehead. She was still so tired that she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. In fact, she was dizzy with fatigue. “I, ah …” she began butcouldn’t remember what it was that she was going to say. She put her head back and closed her eyes.
    Minutes later, she was vaguely aware of a garish pink motel sign flashing on and off over her head and the car pulling to a halt. She thought that Ace got out, and she even thought that she should try to run for it, but her body wouldn’t move. Instead, she kept her head resting against the back of the seat, her body limp with fatigue. Someone could have cut her feet off with a chain saw and she wasn’t sure she’d notice.
    But as though she were in a dream, she seemed to feel strong arms lift her and carry her through a doorway, then place her in the heavenly comfort of a real bed—a bed that didn’t undulate with the whimsy of the waves. As she lay there, sinking even deeper into what was surely more a coma than sleep, she seemed to hear someone stumbling about. Drunk, she thought, then smiled and gave herself up to sleep. She didn’t feel the bed sag as a heavy body got between her and the door.

    A terrific headache woke Fiona. It was that kind of groggy, empty headache brought on by too little food, too little sleep, and too much to drink. With every muscle in her body aching, she swung her legs off the bed and sat up. For a moment she didn’t know where she was and especially not why she was there. She had a vague feeling that something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what it was. But she was sure it had to do with Kimberly, so she’d better get to work and sort it out.
    A noise behind her made her turn. There was a man sound asleep in the bed beside her. What was Jeremy doinghere? she wondered, but as the man turned over, his face toward her, she knew that Jeremy had never had a head of hair that thick in his life. Nor lips that full, or a nose that strong, that aquiline, or—
    â€œHoly—!” Fiona said aloud as memory came back to her with the force of a tsunami hitting a beach.
    In the next second, she’d grabbed her backpack from the rickety chair by what passed for a desk and she had her hand on the doorknob. But in the following second, a larger, darker hand covered hers.
    â€œI don’t think you should leave,” Ace said; then he rubbed his hand over his face. “And please don’t hit me or kick me. I’m not in the mood for one of your assaults this morning.”
    â€œMy—” she began, then calmed herself. “You are not my keeper, and you have no right to hold me here.”
    Ace didn’t seem to hear her. Yawning, he stepped back from the door but not far enough to give her space to flee. “You think that diner over there delivers?”
    â€œHow would I know? I was drugged and carried in here against my will, remember? What do you think they give you in this state for kidnapping?”
    â€œYou weren’t drugged, and you weren’t held against your will. You were asleep,” he said without emotion. The truth was, Fiona was beginning to wonder if he had any emotion except anger. “Do you want the bathroom first or me?”
    At that Fiona looked toward the cheap wooden bathroom door speculatively.
    Ace yawned again. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t have a window. I asked for a windowless bathroom.”
    â€œYou’re sick, you know that? And I
was
drugged; I know the feeling too well.”
    â€œOh? Personally, I don’t do drugs, but if you—”
    She didn’t bother to listen to the rest of his sentence but slammed into the bathroom, her pack over her shoulder. Twenty minutes later she emerged, showered and made up.
    â€œAh,”