“No.” He shrugged. “No.”

He was almost as good at this as she was. It was as if they were standing in the hallway of the hotel, speaking their lines, playing parts.

“Don’t worry. I’ve heard size doesn’t really matter to women.”

His expression said, Yeah, right.

“In fact-” This was dangerous water. Did she want to go there? She’d told herself to forget about last night and here she was, throwing it in his face. But the fact that she could turn it around, that she could throw it back in his face, was oh so satisfying.

“Last night I really didn’t need…well, it at all.” She pretended to give the subject some deep thought. “In fact, I probably didn’t even need you.”

There, she thought, watching him with satisfaction. It’s erased. He’d been so smug, thinking he’d really taken her somewhere, thinking she’d been totally under his control, wanting him to go down on her anytime, anywhere. Let him think that she had never wanted him or needed him.

The insecurity in his face dissolved. She watched as a muscle twitched in his cheek. Keeping a grip on her arm, he stuck his card in the reader on the door behind her, waited for the green light, then opened the door, shoving her back inside.

At first she thought she’d gone too far, goaded him past his limit. Was he going to attack her? Force himself on her? Instead he shoved her away as if she sickened him. And that was what she’d been trying to do, wasn’t it? Sicken him? To make sure there wasn’t a replay of the previous night? She never wanted to find herself at his mercy again.

Sex with Jordan hadn’t been anything like that. It had never been that weak-in-the-knees, losing-control kind of thing. Together they had been more like two puppies snuggling in the sunlight. It hadn’t been dark. It hadn’t been mysterious. There had never been a need so great it overshadowed common sense.

Daniel Sinclair was like the very town he came from. He looked harmless on the surface, but underneath there was something going on, something she didn’t want any part of.

“Give me your bag.”

When she didn’t comply, he jerked it from her shoulder, opened it, unzipped the side pocket, and helped himself to her money, stuffing the roll into the front pocket of his Levi’s.

This could still work, Cleo tried to reassure herself. She would do what she’d planned to do at the beginning-stay in Egypt a while, make a satisfactory effort to try to find the key, then be on her way.

He shoved the bag back at her, saying, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He cast a quick glance around the room, looking for anything they may have left. “What am I thinking?” he said with a rough laugh. “You probably already picked up everything that wasn’t nailed down.”

He surprised her by swinging around and grabbing her, cupping her chin in his palm, forcing her to look directly at him, which she did with unflinching eyes.

“You think this is over,” he said. “But it’s not.”

About halfway to Egypt, Daniel slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate. Cleo, who’d been half dozing, came awake. Why were they stopping?

He got out, slammed the door, quickly rounded the car, and opened the passenger door. “Scoot over.” When she didn’t move, he gave her a light shove. “You drive.”

“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I don’t like to drive. Maybe I only drove yesterday because you seemed a little out of it.”

“For chrissake, don’t start this again. Just scoot over and drive.”

She would have put up more of a fight, but semis were blasting by, rocking the car, stirring up tornadoes of dirt and debris. She moved across to the other seat while he took her place on the passenger side. She adjusted the seat and mirror, waited for an opening, then pulled the patrol car onto the highway.

“Should I really be driving this?” she asked. “I’m not a police officer.” It was probably a little late to mention that her driver’s license had expired.

“Like you’re really concerned with breaking the law.”

“I just don’t know why you want me to drive.”

He was leaning with his elbow against the door, his hand to his forehead. He lifted his hand away and started using it for emphasis. “Because I have a fucking headache,” he shouted. “Because you’ve given me a fucking migraine! Does that answer your question?”

She shot him a quick glance. “Want a couple of aspirin?”

“What I want-” he was still talking with his hands, gesturing wildly “-is to get back to Egypt and dump you off at the police station. That’s what I want.” He adjusted his seat so he was reclining. “Don’t forget to take Sixty west,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him cross his arms over his chest. “We don’t want to end up in Arkansas.”

Cleo actually enjoyed being behind the wheel. She noticed she was passing a lot of people, and checked the speedometer. Eighty-five. Oops. She slowed to seventy-five, but a few minutes later the red needle crept up to eighty-five again.

Two hours later she hit the outskirts of Egypt where she pulled into The Palms, stopping in front of room number six. She put the car in park and cut the engine. Beside her Daniel stirred.

“What are we doing at the motel?” His voice was thick and groggy.

“I want to change clothes before going to the police station.”

He must have been too sleepy to argue. “Go ahead. I’ll swing by the house and check on Beau. Then I’ll be back to get you.”

He had her money. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Listen,” she said, twisting in the seat, her left arm draped over the steering wheel. “Let’s just forget what happened at the hotel. Okay?” It had been hard for her to bring herself to ask him for anything. But what she was offering was a truce. He had to see that. And anybody with a shred of human decency would take her offer.

He stared at her with spoon-bending concentration. “Not in a million years.”

Chapter Eleven

There was no sign of Beau. Daniel strode through the quiet house, shouting his brother’s name.

He unlocked the patio door and checked outside. Premonition came to greet him, tail wagging. Daniel gave the dog a distracted rub on the head. “Where’s Beau?” he asked.

Premonition sat on Daniel’s foot, tail thumping the ground.

Daniel went back in the house, rechecking the kitchen in case Beau had left a note. The counter was empty.

Daniel hurried to the bedroom, peeled off the ridiculous T-shirt, and slipped into a wrinkled cotton shirt. He buttoned the buttons, then hurried out to his car.

Before picking up Cleo, Daniel took a swing down Main Street so he could check out Beau’s usual haunts, slowing when he got to the Tastee Delight. No sign of Beau. The two picnic tables sitting in the shade of the awning were empty. He pulled up to the curb. Leaving the car and air conditioner running, he got out and went to the order window, tapping impatiently on the counter with his knuckles.

Someone appeared behind the glass. A man. About Daniel’s height, wearing a blue-and-white Tastee Delight cap and a blue Tastee Delight shirt.

Beau.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Daniel asked in disbelief.

Beau grinned. “I work here.”

“Since when?”

“Since today. I said this would be a neat place to work, and Matilda said I could start today.”

“Matilda?”

“The manager.”

“Is Matilda in there?”

“Yeah. You wanna talk to her?”

Damn right he did. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

A moment later a woman with a serious face and a brown ponytail that fell to her waist appeared.

“This is my brother, Daniel,” Beau told her.

“Hi.” The word came out more as a question than a greeting.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”