He winked, hoping the dumb kid got his drift. “I’m sure the lady would be most appreciative.”
“I’d be happy to hold the camera for her here at the desk. If you’d like to include a note, I’ll be sure she gets it.”
Ziggy bit back a coarse oath. “Just tell me her name and room number, kid. I want to handle this myself.”
Ziggy took another breath as the kid hesitated, deciding whether or not to tell him. Ziggy felt like punching the little creep in the puss. But instead, he pulled a roll of bills from his hip pocket and peeled a C-note from the top. “Here, Harold,” he said, slapping the bill on the counter. “Take your girl out tonight on me.” He winked again, then smiled when the clerk’s eyes widened at the prospect of keeping the hundred-dollar bill.
Harold glanced around the empty reception area, then looked at the crisp bill. He snatched at the cash and slid it into his back pocket. “Just a minute, sir. I’ll print out a copy of her registration form.”
The clerk spun around and punched in some keys at the computer. Within a minute, the printer whirred as the report appeared from the top of the machine.
“Here you are, sir.” The youth darted another glance around the empty lobby before he slid the copy across the counter to him.
Ziggy read her name and room number, then smiled. He pulled out a white card he had previously prepared. “Don’t you forget to give this number to Sara before she checks out, you hear?” He couldn’t quite keep his face straight as he handed the card to the clerk.
“Yes, sir.”
Ziggy’s smile faded and he suddenly glowered. “If she doesn’t call me, I’ll be back, and I’ll collect every dollar from your hide. Understand?”
Harold’s eyes widened, and damn if his skinny face didn’t turn chalky white. Ziggy chuckled as he turned and made his way toward the glass entrance. “Have a nice day, kid!” he yelled over his shoulder before he pushed open the door.
Vinny was playing the car radio when Ziggy climbed back into the front seat. “Shut that off,” he ordered, pulling out his cell phone.
“You’re not the boss,” Vinny muttered, his attention on the numbers that his brother was punching into the phone. Damn, why hadn’t the boss given his phone number to him, too? Vinny scowled, but turned off the radio, more interested in listening to his older brother’s conversation.
“Yeah. It’s me,” Ziggy said into the receiver. “I found her.”
Vinny felt a rush of excitement. He was glad his brother had chosen him as his partner. But he couldn’t let Ziggy know how much this job meant to him. Vinny needed a chance to show his big brother how clever he was. And this job was big. So big that it would sweep them into the big time. When this was over, he’d be known as Vincent Ziegler, not Ziggy Ziegler’s little brother.
Ziggy’s eyes glowed with satisfaction as he nodded. “Sure, boss. You got it.” He looked at Vinny and smiled as he snapped the lid over the phone and slid it in his breast pocket. “We get to whack her.”
Vinny took in a deep breath to cover his excitement. “How?”
Ziggy almost beamed. “Boss says he doesn’t want to know.” His smile widened, white teeth shining. “Still got those jack-in-the-boxes in the trunk from your last job?”
Vinny tried to act cool. “Yeah.”
Ziggy nodded. “Then let’s get to work.” He glanced at the printout, then at the blue Ford Sedan parked at the end of a line of cars behind the motel. It took him only seconds to confirm the license number. “Come on, Vinny. Let’s see how good you really are. I’ll give you three minutes to wire that bomb under the hood.”
“SARA REGIS? You’re saying that’s my name?” She felt a rush of hope.
Liam’s dark blue eyes looked almost black when he shot her a sidelong glance from the driver’s seat as the red convertible tore down the road. “You tell me,” he said finally.
His answer confused her. Earlier, the man had seemed willing to help her. Now it seemed as if he didn’t trust her.
“I—I don’t know who I am. If you know anything about me, please tell me.” She studied him, her hands fighting the long windblown strands of red hair that blew in her face. Finally she wrapped her hair into a thick rope, aware of his darting glances as she tucked the coil inside the neck of her T-shirt.
The way his eyes darkened as he watched her made her breath catch. Sara became aware that the T-shirt she wore seemed snug against the full rise of her breasts.
His hands tensed at the wheel, but he kept his voice even. “I called the motel where you’re staying. It’s down the road about five miles, in case you’re wondering.” He darted a glance at her, as if waiting for her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “The desk clerk wouldn’t tell me the occupant’s name in unit 26, so I asked him to ring your room and he put me through to your voice mail. By that time it was a little after 6:00 a.m. I figured if someone was staying with you, they would have answered the phone. So I drove over and looked around.”
“You went inside my room?”
His dark eyebrows lifted at her surprise. “So you remember staying there?”
She struggled to recall anything that might help her. “No, I—I don’t.” The words caught in her throat.
His large hands squeezed the steering wheel. “As I said, I looked around. Your bag was on the bed.” He took his right hand from the wheel and slid it inside his jacket pocket, then pulled out a slim leather billfold and handed it to her. “See for yourself.” He waited for her to flick open the wallet.
“Your driver’s license says you’re Sara Elizabeth Regis. The photo matches you—unless you have a twin sister.”
Sara studied the photo ID. “It looks like me.”
“The slacks and jacket I found hanging in the closet were size eight.” His deep sapphire gaze raked over her again. “I’d say that was about right.”
“Could you tell if someone else was staying in the room?”
His gaze remained on the road. “I’d say you were alone. The bed hadn’t been disturbed.”
Her mind tried to piece together the information. Her clothes? Would she recognize them even if they were hers? She glanced back at the driver’s license. “Sara Elizabeth Regis,” she read aloud, hoping the name would sound familiar. “One hundred ninety-six East Monroe Street, East Bennington, Massachusetts.”
“East Bennington is the other side of Boston,” he said. “About a four-hour drive from here.”
“Four hours?” She glanced out the windshield, taking in his words. Her gaze drifted across the endless miles of sand dunes and patches of barberry thickets that stretched toward the sea. She searched for anything that might trigger a memory, but nothing looked familiar.
“If I’m from East Bennington, then what brought me here? It’s too early for the tourist season. Why would I come all this way? Was I meeting someone?”
“Maybe
