Seducing Liselle by Marie E. Blossom

cell between his
ear and shoulder. Stupid.
    “Yeah,” he admitted.
    She pursed her lips. “You do what you’ve
got to do, but you should think about why a woman you met one day months ago
still means so much to you.”
    He stared at her. How the hell did she
know these things? “Yeah,” he said again, at a loss to explain what he was
feeling.
    His sister just nodded and stepped back.
“Okay. Love you. Be careful.”
    He put his truck in gear, not even trying
to hide what he was feeling from her. “Love you too.”
     
    Three hours later John pulled the truck
into the dusty parking lot of the most dilapidated motel he’d ever seen. It was
just off the interstate, but clearly it wasn’t a popular stop because the sign
was broken and only three of the buildings were in habitable repair. What the hell was she doing here? he thought, worry gnawing at his gut. He got out of the
truck and slammed the door. Jesus. Even the golden hues of twilight couldn’t
make the place look any better. He straightened his spine, wincing at the crack
his upper back made, and went inside.
    A man slouched at the counter, desultorily
paging through a worn car magazine. He was middle-aged and balding and his
t-shirt had seen better days. He looked up as John walked over. “Yeah?”
    “I’m here for Lisa.” He nearly stumbled
over the name, remembering at the last minute that she’d used a fake one.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man looked down, flipping a page in his magazine as if John wasn’t standing
right in front of him.
    John took a deep breath. Punching the guy
wouldn’t help. He fished out his dog tag. “ This look familiar?”
    The man looked up slowly, then sat up straighter when his eyes landed on the sliver of
metal dangling from John’s fingers. “ That thing say John Steele on it?”
    John leaned over the counter, holding it
out. “See for yourself.”
    The man stood up for a closer look. “Yeah. That’s the one,” he said under his breath. He
straightened up. John stepped back, trying not to cough at the reek of
cigarette smoke that drifted off the man.
    “Glad you’re here. She didn’t look so
great this morning.” The man reached under the desk and pulled out a key, an
actual metal key, not a key card. John didn’t know whether to be horrified or
thankful.
    “Why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or the
police?” he asked, following the man back outside.
    The guy shrugged. “She begged me not to.
I’ve got a soft spot for the ladies.”
    John tamped down his anger. “A soft spot?” Yeah, more like soft in the head.
    The man stopped, obviously sensing his
hostility. “Look, my sister was married to a guy who thought it was fun to
knock her around. I punched him once, and she got mad at me , the stupid
twit. Wouldn’t leave the asshole. So I know what that
kind of shit looks like, and if a girl who looks like that begs me not to call
the goddamn cops, I don’t.”
    John clenched his teeth. “Then why did you
call me? For all you know I was the one who hit her.”
    For the first time the man looked away.
“She was hanging onto that tag around her neck like it could save her from the
world.”
    John’s heart gave a hard thump. “She was
wearing it?”
    The guy flicked a contemptuous glance at
him. “That’s what I said.” He started walking again. “Come on. She’s in number
ten.”
    “Why the hell did you get close enough to
her to read the tag?” John was still angry. If this man had
hurt her…
    “For God’s sake, give me a break. I’m the
one who called you, remember? She did something to her ankle, so when she came
in to get a room, she fell. The string holding the tag around her neck broke. I
picked it up for her. That’s all.” He knocked on the door.
    The man was either lying or his appearance
hid a sharp mind. John wasn’t sure he cared as he stared at the flaking paint
peeling off the door in front of them. The man knocked louder.
    “Lisa? You got a