Chapter Seven

"Soooo…" Ginger rocked on her heels, hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, and regarded her brother and her ex-boyfriend with no small degree of trepidation, voicing the inevitable. "Where do we bed down for the night?"

Immediately, she regretted her choice of words, turning away quickly to avoid the two pairs of eyes she could feel settle on her. She couldn't help it. Words like Adam and bed still did funny things to her insides.

"Excellent question." Chris cleared his throat and turned the key in the lock. "Ladies and gentlemen, you've got your choice of a Super Eight and the Motor Inn."

"Oh, so hard to decide." Adam smirked, leaping from the concrete porch and striding to the car in one fluid motion.

"According to my GPS, a couple of the neighboring towns have motels as well. This one place even has an inn that's supposed to be haunted." Chris jokingly nudged his sister.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

"It's just as well. We should stay in town in case Peter or Elizabeth need to meet with us again tonight. Not to mention the deer are thick around here this time of year, especially at night, and I carry a five-hundred-dollar deductible on the SUV. I'd rather not hit one of the things, if you don't mind."

"Fine with me."

"Super Eight it is, then."

The warmth and light cast by the late evening setting sun cheered Ginger considerably. This was her favorite time of day and had been for as long as she could remember. Although she wasn't what anyone would call a night owl, she loved evenings whether they were hot, cold, or anywhere in between. Twilight was such a versatile time of day, she thought, smiling to herself as they wound through small town streets charged with energy and heat. People milled about in an attempt to capture and hold the last rays of another day gone by, the promise of night a whisper that sang through the trees on the first cool breeze of the day.

In the night, a person could find whatever they were looking for, peace and solitude, a good time, or the chance to simply relax after a long day. Despite the absence of light, things seemed brighter at night. Dress casual turned to sexy. Demure morphed to vixen under the cover of a black sky and silver starlight.

To Ginger, the transformation was fascinating, even if all she chose to do on some evenings was lounge around in ancient sweatpants, a package of raw cookie dough at the ready and a remote control by her side.

"Hey, look at that!"

"What?"

"It's a bar."

"The kind you drink in?" Ginger's brow furrowed.

"No, the kind you do ballet on." Adam rolled his eyes.

"There's no need to act like a smartass."

"I'd rather be a smartass than—"

"Adam Nash, if you call me a dumb ass, I swear I will climb into that front seat."

"Now, that might prove interesting." He had the nerve to wink at her before turning back around in his seat to ignore her, his invitation having been issued.

"Guys, is this really necessary?" Chris sighed.

"Talk to him, not me." Ginger crossed her arms tightly over her heaving chest.

"I just meant I was shocked to see an actual bar in this town."

"And I still fail to see what is so remarkable about a bar on the corner."

"I was surprised to see one in a town this size."

"Well, there you go. You learn something new every day. Maybe one day you'll even learn to shut up, but I doubt it." Ginger mumbled the last part of her mini-tirade, focusing her gaze on the stoplight they were coming up on.

It took only another moment or two for Chris to make it to the hotel, which was next to empty. The woods at the edge of the property might have been a little on the eerie side, considering the hotel's current lack of guests, but after the long day she'd endured, Ginger was just happy to get a good parking space and the opportunity for a hot bath.

Chris booked two separate rooms, one for himself and Adam, and a separate room for Ginger. They walked down the long first-floor hall, their footsteps echoing in the dim corridor.

"I don't know about you, Gin," Chris lowered his voice, "but I keep expecting to see two little ghost girls at the end of this hall."

"Tell me about it…" Ginger rubbed her arms and exhaled, unsure if the rising goose bumps were a product of the startlingly cool temperatures in the hotel lobby, or the feeling that she was being watched. Which, come to think of it, she probably was. Ginger was certain she would find Adam's stare trained on her rear end if she spun around fast enough. The pervert. Even if she had let him fondle her in a laundry room.

"Here we are, you two, one-oh-seven and one-oh-eight."

Chris and Ginger swiped their respective keys in the automated door locks, watching as the little red lights flashed green to allow them entrance. Each carried only one small overnight duffel, all three opting to leave the bulk of the gear locked in the Outlander for the night.

The overnight temperatures weren't supposed to be stifling, so heat damage to the sensitive electronic equipment wouldn't be an issue. More importantly, it would save them the hassle of carting everything back and forth and inevitably forgetting a piece of it in a hotel room.

Their rooms were on the small side, Ginger noted, but they were clean and comfortable, even if the temperature was a little warmer than she would have liked. She twisted the knob on the air-and-heat unit beneath the large window overlooking the street and tossed her bag into a green, diamond-print upholstered chair. She paused dramatically when she spotted the door directly behind the tiny round table and chair. Chris had booked adjoining rooms!

The realization had just begun to sink in when the door swung open a crack, her brother's head visible in the narrow opening.

"How's your room?"

"It's … fine. I didn't know the rooms would be connected." Her lips thinned.

"Is that okay? It looks like we have this place to ourselves for the night, so if you want to move to a different room, we can do that."

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Chris searched her face, one hand resting on the doorframe.

"I'll be fine," she repeated with shrug.

"I've got pizza coming for dinner. It should be here within the hour. You want some ice or anything from the vending machine? I'm on my way up there now."

"There's not one on this floor?"

"There is, but it's out of order."

"Ah, bring me some ice if it's not too much trouble. I'm going to take a quick shower."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks," she murmured on a sigh, closing the door behind him and securely locking both the main door and the adjoining one before trudging to the bathroom to fill the tub with hot water. She found the complimentary bath salts on the back of the commode and sniffed delicately—lavender—before liberally adding some to the steaming water.

She double-checked both doors, not caring that it was overkill, before she dared to strip out of her jeans and fitted t-shirt. It wasn't that she didn't trust her brother or Adam, although under normal circumstances she wouldn't have put it past Adam to do something so sneaky as to casually find his way into her bathroom—imagine that!

No, the main problem was that she didn't trust herself anymore. She knew the whole point was moot, after all; Adam couldn't very well wander into her room with her brother there, but that didn't stop her from depressing the tiny circular locking mechanism on her bathroom door for good measure. The memory of the heat she had let transpire between them in Atlanta was still too fresh in her mind.

What had she possibly been thinking to let him hold her, touch her that way? Had she lost her mind? Surely that was the only logical explanation in what had begun to feel like a world gone mad. Underneath the shame of what they had done, lurking just below the surface, was a thick layer of humiliation when she thought of how he had managed to drive her completely over the edge without even taking her clothes off—or his for that matter. It had been like that between them before, when they were two impulsive teenagers sneaking off to explore each other every chance they got. Apparently Adam hadn't changed much since those hot and heavy days. Maybe she hadn't either.

She frowned, trying to work the thin bar of standard-issue hotel soap into a lather on the plain white cloth in her hand. No, she had changed plenty in the time she'd been away.

"You've got to be stronger than this," she reminded herself, leaning back to submerge her body beneath the lavender-scented water. She would have to call Aiden, too, and soon. Ginger squeezed her eyes shut and tried to formulate what she would say to the man who waited for her in Montana, trying on a variety of excuses.

"I'm sorry I haven't called you, but I've been busy … getting naked with my ex. No," she said, "that's probably not the best way to start the conversation." Besides, no one had technically gotten naked.

"I won't be home for another few weeks. Something's come up," she tried, quickly covering her face with her wet hands. "No," she groaned between her fingers, "that's no good either."

"I meant to call you earlier, but I forgot" sounded marginally better, she decided. Yes, she would go with that. At least for now, over the phone. She sighed. As soon as she got back to Montana, though, she would have to tell him the truth. Ending things would be the fair thing to do. Aiden didn't deserve what she'd done. If the situation were reversed, she might not want all the details, but she knew she would appreciate a little honesty. Maybe something along the lines of "I have a lot going on in my life right now, and this isn't working out for me" would even suffice. Then again, was that taking the easy way out? She bit her lip, wondering how much she should tell Aiden.

An hour later she climbed from the tub, wrinkled and still no closer to an answer than she had been before and ravenously hungry to boot. Her hotel room was dark and cool enough to make her shiver when she emerged wrapped securely in a thin white towel. Why couldn't hotels splurge a little on some better terrycloth, she mentally groused, upending her red duffel bag onto the tightly made bed and digging through the pile until she found a scrap of cotton that she assumed was a pair of panties, a sea-green beaded top with a modest neckline, and a pair of boot cut jeans. Unable to locate a blow dryer in the room, she made do with wrapping her hair in a dry towel before knocking on the door that connected her to room 107.

"There she is—the woman of the hour. We thought you'd drowned." Adam grinned, unfolding his length from one of the room's two twin beds and offering her a seat.

"You're not that lucky," she quipped without thinking.

"Really," he drawled.

"We saved you some pizza," Chris said, quickly moving past Adam, reaching out to hand her a paper plate.

She accepted the offering and grabbed two slices of what could only be called "everything" pizza. Leave it to a man to try to cram as many toppings as was humanly possible onto a sixteen-by-one-inch slab of dough. Ginger made a face as she picked large sections of pineapple from her slices before snagging a lukewarm Pepsi and the only chair in the room—a green-upholstered monstrosity that matched the one in her own room.

"Why's it so dark in here?" she complained.

"There's no bulb the overhead light," Chris told her.

"I'll go get one from the reception desk," Adam offered, heading out the door before anyone could protest. Not that Ginger would have ever thought to protest his leaving a room. In fact, she wished he would do it more often.

"So. How are you really? Are you still okay with all of this?" Chris leaned in close the minute the door closed behind Adam.

"I'm holding up and I wish you wouldn't worry so much. I'm a big girl."

"There's tension between you and Adam," he pointed out, taking a swig from his own bottle of Pepsi.

"You're just now noticing that?"

"Ginger."

"I'm sorry. Yes, there is … tension. But that's to be expected, don't you think?" She kept her eyes carefully averted.

"Maybe," Chris hedged, then regarded her in silence.

"It's nothing, really. I can handle this, and Adam and I will stop arguing so much, okay?"

"Yeah, right," Chris snorted. "But if you've changed your mind about doing this…"

"I haven't changed my mind—about anything." She sighed, reaching for a napkin.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No." Her response was automatic, borne of guilt more than anything else, and she prayed Chris wouldn't press her for answers. Answers she didn't have at the moment.

"Sometimes it's okay to change your mind, you know. I'm pretty sure girls are supposed to do that anyway, change their minds."

"Well, I haven't."

"Just so I'm clear we're talking about Adam, right?"

"No. Yes. God, I don't know what I'm saying right now."

Chris nodded. "That's my cue to drop it. It's none of my business anyway. But … you could do a lot worse than Adam Nash."

"What? Has Jack the Ripper gotten married?"

"Oh, I'm not that bad, am I?" Adam spoke from the open doorway behind her.

Ginger bit back a groan, eyes closed, thoroughly mortified. How much had he heard? She didn't dare ask Chris, who at that moment happened to be enjoying a good laugh at her expense.

"Well, gentlemen, that's my cue to go to bed," she intoned, hoping she sounded steadier than she felt. "And yes," she snapped when she passed Adam, "you are that bad."

"I'm worse than Jack the Ripper?" His eyes twinkled.

"For all I know, yes. If you'll excuse me, I would like to go to my room now."

"By all means, Your Majesty." He made a wide, sweeping gesture, holding the door with one hand and motioning for her to pass with the other.

She was still tossing and turning on the thin hotel mattress when Chris knocked on the adjoining door.

"There's a phone call for you over here."

"For me?" she repeated, as though he could have been speaking to anyone else.

"It's a man. I don't know how to transfer the call to your room. You'll have to take it in ours."

"Sure. Okay, I'll be right there." Who would have been calling her at the Super 8 motel in Falcon County, Illinois? She was certain she hadn't told anyone where she would be, hadn't even known herself that she would be spending the night at this particular motel until a few short hours earlier in the afternoon.

Adam was holding the phone, a shuttered expression in his blue eyes, when she walked into the room a minute later.

"It's for you."

"Thank you," she said cautiously, searching his face as she took the receiver that dangled from his hand.

"Hello?"

"Ginger," a smooth baritone came over the line, "I know it's late, but I've been worried about you."

"Aiden." Her eyes closed briefly, her hand tightening around the telephone. "How did you know I was here?"

"I'm glad to hear from you, too."

"I'm sorry. You know that's not what I meant. It's good to hear your voice, too."

"Your cell keeps going to voicemail. So I called your aunt, who called your grandmother. Imagine my surprise when she called back to tell me you and your brother were in central Illinois on a job. I thought your grandmother was sick. Is she better?"

"Sorry, I left my phone in the car. And no, Gran's the same as always. She made up that story about being sick to get me to come home to Atlanta for a visit."

"So, no family emergency…?"

"Not at the moment, thank God. But I'll be staying on for a few weeks yet. I'm filling in for an employee of my brother's at the moment."

"That's good of you."

"Thank you. Ah. Aiden, you know that I miss you," she stammered, acutely aware of Adam's presence on the other side of the room. "And well, the thing is, I don't know how long I'll be here. I mean, I'll be here in Illinois for two weeks or so, but after that, I don't know how long I plan to stay in Atlanta…" she said, lowering her voice.

"Oh… I understand," he said after a long pause.

Ginger could almost see him nodding on the other end of the phone. Relief flooded her system—he understood what she was trying to say. "Maybe I can call you when I have a better handle on things." She spoke quietly, deliberately. Later, they could have a more in-depth talk. At least for now she wouldn't feel like she was leading him on, which at least somewhat eased the guilt she was feeling.

"I know you must have a lot going on right now. If there's ever anything I can do… Anytime. You know that, Ginger."

"I know, and you mean so much to me. You know I'm here for you, too."

"I'm going to take a walk," Adam interrupted from across the room.

Ginger winced as the door slammed shut behind him. "Sorry, Aiden, I missed that. What were you saying?"

"Just that I'm here for you, whatever you need."

"Thank you … maybe I could call you when I'm done with all this?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"Thanks for calling, Aiden." She disconnected the call and turned to face her brother, who was whistling and appeared to be deeply engrossed in the latest issue of TV Guide.

"I'm staying out of it," he told her without looking up.

"Damn it. It's his own fault."

"Okay."

"I mean, I never promised him anything. If he hadn't come into the laundry room in the first place, none of this would even be happening right now," she argued, pacing the floor.

"The laundry room?" Chris looked up, clearly puzzled.

"Never mind, that's not important. I'm going to go try and find him."

"Okay."

"No, I'm not."

"If you say so."

"Damn it. Yes, I am."

"Take a flashlight," Chris called out a split second before the door slammed shut behind her.