"Killer Legs"

Marc sat in the only chair in the small motel room. Amber, now fully clad in jeans and a simple top, sat on the bed with her leg tucked underneath her.

Try as he might, he couldn't shake the sight of her smooth dark skin against the furry white towel. She had stood there, all silk and softness, and it had been like a jolt to his senses. He almost forgot his purpose there.

But her exasperated sigh quickly drew him out of his daze.

“Look, I'm sorry I left the station like that but like I said, I had no choice.”

“Yeah you do. But you choose not to trust me.” 

She shook her head, resigned. “You don't understand.”

Marc sat back and studied her. She appeared anxious. And defeated. Taking another look another around the room, he couldn’t suppress the frustration that rose in him.

“Is this the life you want for yourself? Being holed up in a seedy motel, constantly on the run?”

The rustic bedside lamp illuminated the faded wallpaper and brown carpeting that decorated the small room, further validated his words.

“I’m not running. I only want to find my brother.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Then let me help you.”
“No offense, detective, but our definition of helping my brother differ greatly.”

He couldn’t deny it so he kept quiet. He couldn’t let himself forget that there was still a little girl to find. And keeping Amber close was his best chance at finding the one man that could lead to a huge breakthrough in the case.

“I know you think you're helping me, but how can I hide away in a safe-house when my brother’s life could be in danger.”

“And how do you plan to help him, if you end up getting yourself killed.”

She was silent for a heartbeat and he took advantage of her uncertainty. “You need to give me the chance to find out who’s after you and what has your brother on the run.”

She looked at him as if she was looking right through him. “How can I trust you?”

He thought of his plans to draw her brother from his hiding spot and guilt of his manipulation left him feeling like a certified bastard. But the situation went beyond them and needed to stay focused. He couldn’t afford to let himself get blind-sided by doleful eyes and shapely legs.

  Before he could say the words that would reassure her, his pocket began to vibrate followed by low ringing. At first he thought it was his phone and then remembered he had brought along her cellphone, which she had left behind in her haste.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the number. He had also hoped whoever had called from that number in Nevada would call again.

He was in luck. The tingling of awareness spread up his back. He held out the phone to her and said more sharply than he intended, “Answer it.”