The Protector

5

The Albany motel, called the Day's End Inn, was on a side street five blocks off the highway, in a cut-rate district away from the Holiday Inns and Best Westerns. Two bars, a transmission-repair shop, and a hamburger joint were typical of the adjacent buildings. With the lowering sun casting shadows, the transmission shop was closed. A few men got out of pickup trucks and went into one of the bars. Otherwise, there was hardly anybody on the street.

En route, Cavanaugh had used some of the bottled water to rinse blood and soot from his face. He'd put on the sport coat, jeans, and pullover that Jamie had bought for him, concealing the duct tape on his shoulder. A baseball cap that Jamie had thought to include covered his singed hair, allowing him to sit up without attracting attention. He studied the drab street while Jamie went into the office to rent a room.

Holding a key attached to a large yellow plastic cube, she returned to the car.

"You paid cash?" he asked.

"Yes. I told the clerk our credit card had been stolen." "As good an explanation as any."

"He's probably used to couples paying cash. Maybe he thinks we're having an affair." Jamie drove off the street, heading toward the back of the motel. "I understand why you don't want me to use a credit card. No paper trail. But in theory, no one knows about me, right?"

"In theory," Cavanaugh said. "I never told anybody at Protective Services, not even Duncan." In a flash of memory, Cavanaugh saw Duncan's mutilated face. His grief and rage intensified.

Jamie parked near a Dumpster at the next-to-last unit. "Then aren't you being more careful than necessary?" She shook her head. "I know what you're going to say. There's no such thing as being too careful."

Despite how he felt, he managed a smile. Jamie got out of the car, went over to the motel unit's door, and unlocked it.

Simultaneously, Cavanaugh opened the car's rear door, picked up several packages, which would distract anybody glancing in his direction-people love looking at packages-and walked as steadily as he could into the shadowy unit.

Two regular beds had faded covers. A table had scratches. A small television was bolted to the wall. The carpet was thin. The mirror over the bureau had a crack in one corner. "You said you wanted seedy," Jamie said. The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. "There weren't any nonsmoking units," Jamie said. "It's fine." Cavanaugh set the packages on a table, eased onto the bed, and sank back, closing his eyes, hoping for the unsteadiness in his head to lessen. "A good place to hide. You did great."

"I'll get the water and the rest of the stuff from the car." After Jamie finished, she shut the door and locked it.

On the bed, keeping his eyes closed, Cavanaugh sensed her studying him.

"Should I leave the lights off?" she asked. "Yes."

"What can I do for you?" "Bring me more water. Give me more Tylenol." "Is the wound infected?"

He swallowed the capsules and the water. "I guess"-he man-| aged to rouse himself-"we'd better find out."