Drea was like a magpie, going for the shiny and colorful. She was messy, careless, and childlike in her enthusiasms. She deserved better than to die a brutal death at the hands of men to whom she meant nothing.
His vision clouded, and to his dismay he realized he was getting teary-eyed. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, so he forced himself to walk farther into the room, to look into her bathroom where the vanity was littered with cosmetics and the air was even thicker with her scent, a feminine mixture of perfumed bath gel, scented candles, lotions, and sprays. Drea loved-had loved-all the frills of being a woman.
There was a huge weight on his chest, and an emptiness inside. He could barely breathe under the pressure, and even his heartbeat seem labored, heavy and slow, from his misery. He’d never before felt such pain, as if he would never be free of this ache. She was gone. It wasn’t fair; he had realized he loved her only to lose her the very next day. He resented her for being upset with him yesterday, for forcing him to really see her, resented her for the weakness she’d caused in him, resented her for being gone. Damn her-and damn himself, for being such a fool.
DREA WOKE IN the middle of the night, gasping for air, fighting the sheet as if it were a rope twisting around her. She bolted upright, looking wildly around the room. Enough streetlight seeped in around the edges of the curtains that the room wasn’t truly dark; if it had been, she might have had heart failure, but as it was she could plainly see that no one was there. She was blessedly alone.
She’d dreamed of the assassin, dreamed he somehow found her here in this motel and got inside the room, and that this time, after he had sex with her, he really was going to kill her. She couldn’t see him, but she’d sensed him there in the shadows, watching her. In the weird way of dreams, she knew that as long as she stayed awake he wouldn’t be able to do anything, but in spite of her best efforts to keep her eyes open she got sleepier and sleepier until finally she couldn’t resist and fell asleep-now, there was something she’d never done before, dreaming about trying to stay awake and falling asleep instead-only to wake with him on top of her, inside her, and with his hands wrapped around her throat.
That was when she woke up for real, struggling against a phantom, freezing cold from the panic that held her in its icy grip.
Even dreaming, even knowing he was going to kill her, the feel of his penetration had been so real that she’d been close to climax. Fully awake now, angry and humiliated even though no one knew what a fool she was, Drea got out of bed and went to the sink to get a drink of water.
She flipped on the light and stared at herself in the harsh fluorescent glare. She was naked, because she had no clothes other than the ones she’d had on. She had washed her underwear out by hand, and draped it over a clothes hanger to dry.
Normally she wore pajamas; was the abnormality of sleeping nude what had triggered the nightmare? Because that’s what it had been, a nightmare. Even knowing she was alone, she looked behind herself in the mirror, as if expecting him to appear there.
The layout of the room was typical of motels, with the sink and vanity area in an open alcove at the rear of the room, and the toilet and tub/shower in a tiny room by themselves. There was no rear exit, she realized; if she was caught in here, she had no way out. Knowing that made her want to immediately bolt, but common sense kicked in. She was relatively safe here; even if Rafael had found out about his bank account so soon, which would be unbelievably bad luck, and somehow got the security video from the library so he had a current description of her, she had changed cabs often enough, and done enough zigzagging across the city on foot, that it would take time for him to put all of it together and follow her trail.
She could afford to wait until she had her money, until she got her hair cut and colored, until she had a chance to buy more clothes and a secondhand car. She shouldn’t let herself panic. The dream had her spooked, that was all.
Still, though she turned out the light, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She didn’t want to dream about him again, didn’t want him close, even in her subconscious. Lying awake in the dark, she endured the slow tick of minutes slipping away, bringing dawn and her new life closer and closer. Thinking about the past was useless; she focused instead on what was ahead of her. She was a millionaire now; maybe she’d buy a house, her very own house. She’d never owned a home before. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been anywhere she thought of as home, not for a very long time anyway.
Morning came, and Drea ventured out to get something to eat. She was starving, having made do the night before with crackers and chips from the vending machine next to the stairwell. She found a small diner that was so crowded she had to stand and wait for a stool at the counter, rather than having a booth to herself. Finally she was sitting, crammed between two burly guys who looked like construction workers, or truck drivers maybe. She didn’t make eye contact, and they didn’t speak, just devoted themselves to emptying their plates.
She ordered sausage and eggs and toast, a meal she would never have eaten if she’d still been with Rafael, out of fear she might gain a few ounces. Once the first bite hit her mouth, Drea forgot about watching the clock and lost herself in what was maybe the first complete meal she’d had in…she didn’t remember how long. Since way before she’d met Rafael, so…years. She hadn’t eaten a complete meal in years.
Screw men. She didn’t need a man now. She was rich, and she’d eat whatever the hell she felt like eating.
Finally, filled with a sense of well-being that went beyond food, she walked back to the motel. It was almost time for the bank to open. Sitting in her shabby little room, she waited until nine-fifteen, then turned on her BlackBerry, which immediately buzzed an alert that she had messages, which she ignored, and accessed her account. Nothing. The transfer hadn’t been posted yet. Transfers should have been handled first thing. There was no point in even checking the Kansas account, because Kansas was on Central time and it would be another hour before she could realistically expect anything there.
Had something gone wrong? A chill ran down her spine. Legally there was no way Rafael could have stopped the transfer, but illegally…yeah, hold a gun to the bank manager’s head and maybe he could have done it, if Rafael had somehow found out almost immediately.
He didn’t, as a rule, write a check for anything he wanted to buy; he used plastic. For that matter, Rafael didn’t normally write a check at all, even to pay bills. Orlando had told him not to get a debit card, that someone could get the number and wipe him out, so Rafael still paid bills the old-fashioned way, but he didn’t actually do it himself. His accountant, the legal one, did that for him.
No, she was almost certain Rafael couldn’t have found out anything.
Ten minutes later, she tried again. This time, her account showed the hundred-thousand-dollar deposit.