Room
103 is
a romantic suspense book set in Pittsburg, Kansas. Why, you might
ask? Because that's where I was when I thought of it.
Marice
Houston is a Deputy Marshal stationed in Kansas City, Missouri. She's
back in Pittsburg for her tenth college reunion. Staying at a small
motel, she becomes friendly with the owner, a man who used to teach
at the college, Todd Englund.
Events
spin wildly out of control after Marice leaves her weapon and badge
in the motel safe for security purposes. Todd is accosted by Orson
Roberts, who believes that Todd killed his daughter. Using her
weapon, Todd kills Roberts in self-defense. Or did he? Marice dives
right in to investigate, determined to find out what happened in Room
103.
Excerpt
from Room 103
"I
don't want the money!" the loud male voice boomed out from the
motel owner's apartment.
Eavesdropping
shamelessly, I waited to see if it turned ugly, hand on my phone in
case I needed to call someone. There was a lot of anger radiating
from that room.
"I
just want a letter of apology, acknowledgment of what they did to
me."
"Come
on, Englund, he wants you to have the money for pain and suffering. A
public apology...."
"Would
simply open old wounds—mine. I do all right here. I make a decent
living. If it's all over the papers, it makes it fresh. Regardless of
the apology, people are stupid and superstitious. I'll be
ruined—again. Only I won't bounce back a second time."
"At
least take the money."
"It
feels like blood money."
"It
is. Yours. It took a lot of convincing to get old man Roberts to open
his tight fist and give you this. I had hoped for more, would have
settled for less. Please." The other man's voice was calm,
conciliatory. "Please. You deserved a better shake, Todd. I
couldn't get it for you then, but you have it now."
There
was a quiet rustle as if an envelope were being opened. A sharp gasp
followed.
"This
much?"
"It's
still not enough. I tried to convince him that your salary would have
increased over the years, but he determined a flat rate, based on
your pay at the time. He's not the most astute businessman in the
state for nothing. Your salary, times ten. But I did get a bump to an
even six."
"Even
with this money, I can't afford to pay you, Regan."
"The
judge made Roberts pay me. I earned nearly as much as you, but I
refused to take even a penny over. You're the victim, you deserve the
most. Oh, by the way, Roberts wants you to sign a letter of receipt."
"Not
on your life. Not until I get my apology."
"Exactly
what I said. To that end, he wants to meet at his office tomorrow."
"Not
on his turf. I don't want the officious bastard to sneak in cameras
for a photo op."
"Also
what I told him. So, he agreed to meet here, tomorrow at ten a.m."
"That's
checkout time. Everyone will see him and I'll be busy. Tell him
either six a.m., or ten p.m. His choice. We're making this easy
for me, not him. And he can hand me the check personally,
along with my letter."
The
paper rustled again.
"As
you wish. I'll call with the time."
Their
voices sounded closer. I rushed to the inner lobby door and opened it
as if I'd just come in. Two men walked out of the back room, looking
grim and determined. One was about six foot one, dressed in jeans and
a Bob Marley T-shirt. His hair was black and carefully mussed to look
casual. Or maybe he simply didn't care how it looked. The other man
was slightly shorter, broad shouldered, blond, clean cut, wearing an
expensive suit. Both appeared surprised when they saw me, especially
when their eyes took in details and noticed I was sporting a gun. It
was clearly visible with my jacket open and my hand on the doorknob.
Stopping in their tracks, they each took a step back. T-shirt guy
started to raise his hands, his blue eyes riveted on my shoulder
holster.
"I'm
Marice Houston. I have a reservation. Sorry I'm late. Traffic from
Kansas City was a bear."
T-shirt
guy relaxed, smiling. He moved easily to the computer on the counter.
"Of course, Ms. Houston. Your room is all set. No feather
pillows or duvet and no pets, as well as non-smoking."
"Thank
you."
"The
chairs are vinyl in this room. The blankets are washed weekly and the
pillows are fluffed in the drier after every guest. I hope you'll be
comfortable." He flashed a dazzling smile, his bright blue eyes
twinkling behind black framed glasses.
I
handed over my driver's license and credit card.
Tall-Dark-and-Blue-Eyes talked easily as he worked, his long, lean
fingers stroking the keyboard as he typed. He was breathtakingly
handsome and I wondered if he was aware of his own appeal.
The
other man stood still, in the relative safety afforded by the
counter. His hazelnut brown eyes watched every move I made. I
nicknamed him Slick in my mind. He was also good
looking and completely aware of it. He dressed for success and that
probably carried over to the bedroom. I got the distinct impression
that people never said No to this man—especially
not women.
Blue-Eyes
handed over my license and credit card, flashing another blinding
smile. "You're in room one forty-seven, in the next building
down. Third room from this end." He pulled over a laminated map
of the small complex. "You're here." He pointed to my room.
"The ice machine and laundry are here." He pointed to the
front end of the building. "If it's out of ice, there's also a
machine here." He pointed to another area of the map.
I
wasn't looking at the map, but at his hands. He had long, strong
fingers, broad palms with a scattering of black hair on the back, and
a dash on the lower knuckle. His nails were short and clean—not so
much manicured as neatly clipped and filed. I looked up from the map
to see him eyeing me questioningly.
"Have
we met? You look really familiar. I have this feeling of déjà-vu,
like I knew you long ago."
I
cleared my throat, shaking back my hair. I could hardly breathe when
those blue eyes focused fully on me. "I—uh—I was in school
here. Seems like ages ago."
"College?"
"Yes.
Go Rillas!" I giggled, sounding like a little girl. Suddenly,
I'd reverted to the breathless, silly co-ed of nearly 15 years ago.
He
chuckled. "I know I've seen you before. A face like yours... I
couldn't forget."
My
fingers fluttered to my burning cheeks. His scrutiny was too much for
a woman like me. I never did well with male attention. Even though I
carry a gun and badge, a handsome, confident man can still make me
revert to the shrinking violet.
"I
hope that's a good thing."
He
handed me my key card with a gentle smile, his blue eyes caressing my
face. "It's a very good thing. It will come to me. Enjoy your
stay, Ms. Houston."
"Thank
you."
The
other man cleared his throat. "You got a license for the weapon,
Miss?"
Slick
struck a nerve. Glaring keenly, his square jaw jutted forward. He was
ridiculously handsome, but cold. Not like Blue-Eyes, not at all. This
was a man of authority who wielded it like a knife.
"I
have something better." I flipped open my jacket, showing the
opposite side of my belt. A marshal's badge glittered in the
fluorescent lights of the office. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I
want a shower and a meal."
Blue-Eyes,
slightly taken aback by the badge, rallied quickly, handing me a
menu. "If you want to order in, the places with a gold star give
our guests discounts. Everything from pizza to Thai."
"Thank
you." I gave him a tight smile, glared at the other man and
turned on my heel, marching to the door.
"Did
you have to do that, Regan?" I heard Blue-Eyes say as the door
closed.
Todd,
I reminded myself. Todd Englund. The name resonated in my
memory for some reason. Vaguely, faintly, but with an abiding
assurance that it wasn't in a good way.
©
2017 Dellani Oakes
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