Books . . . NO TIME TO HIDE Prologue Ben Tennant saw the fox when it was a quarter mile away, trotting along the edge of the country road. It didn't turn to look at the fields or the motel, didn't look at anything until it came even with Ben's car. It stopped and scratched its ear, giving him an appraising stare through the open door. Then it snapped its jaws, as if to say, I could bite you, and dashed into the corn. Ben shook his head. Weird. The whole night had been like that. A storm had roared through a while ago, drumming rain and clashing thunder. It had moved on to the far side of Chesapeake Bay, only a distant twinkle of lightning now. Overhead the sky was clear, and the moon painted a silver stripe on the dead-quiet waters. In the hollows in the fields, fog lingered. Through it all, Ben sat quietly, watching. The Bay Bluff Motel was so cheap there was a big sign in front that said, "No Credit Cards." There were three cars in the lot, nosed up by the doors. With his binoculars, Ben scanned the place, lingering on room six. A lamp was on behind the curtain. He couldn't make out more than that. It was nearly midnight. Long ago Ben had decided the motel was safe. No watchers in the corn, no one hiding in the cars. Still, he waited. She'd expected him an hour ago. Was she getting panicky? She was Patrice Callan, and every time Ben thought of her he thought of diamonds. She had a birthmark on her thigh, a perfect bronze diamond so small you had to be within six inches to see it. The first time they met, Patrice made sure Ben got a good look, just as he made sure not to touch. Maybe that was what was holding him back now. Things might get out of control if he went down there. When he went down there. He couldn't wait forever. Ben jerked the binoculars up again. There was a shadow at the corner of the motel, by the office. It hadn't been there a minute ago. A man stepped out. Medium height with a muscular build, but cat-light on his feet. Patrice wouldn't hear him coming. Ben swung his legs out of the car. If there was trouble, he could be there in five seconds. The man was carrying a plastic sack with something square inside. Just before he reached room six, he stopped, then walked back around the office. A moment later he returned, this time wearing a straw cowboy hat. Ben smiled and relaxed. Ben Tennant had a talent for reading people. Clothing and jewelry, twitches and frowns, shifting eyes and sighs and shrugs—he noticed it all. From those details he could piece together a story. Who is this guy? What's he up to? The man had two drinking glasses with him, glinting in the light of the parking lot lamp. Real glass then, not plastic. Most likely that made him the motel owner, or at least the desk clerk. And in the sack? Had to be a six-pack of beer. Again he made a beeline for room six. "Never visit a lady without your hat on, right Romeo?" Ben said. The door opened almost as soon as he knocked. All Ben could see of her was her naked arm stretched across the gap. Romeo was talking, holding up the sack. Ben drummed his fingers. Get rid of him, Patrice. The man took off the hat as he stepped inside, and she shut the door. Ben slapped the steering wheel. "Dammit." He tried to get comfortable. It might be a long wait, and it was so miserably hot. The last flicker of lightning from the storm was gone. The bay, the field—everything was so still it seemed painted. Ben felt a gray loneliness creeping over him, a feeling that had been coming on more and more lately. He shoved it out of his mind and stared at the yellow glow behind the curtain. The door swung open and Romeo reappeared. Ben checked his watch and laughed. Eleven minutes—that's all it took for her to con the guy out of his beer. And his hat. Romeo glanced back, scratching his head. She'd already closed the door. He padded quickly around the corner. Ben sat a while longer, collecting his thoughts. He needed to be calm, in control. It was his job. What was it about Patrice, anyway? She scared him. No, he was scaring himself. The office lights went off. All quiet now. He got out and walked down the road, across the parking lot. At her door, he hesitated. Last chance to back out. But Ben would never do that. He knocked and heard her softly call, "Come in." She had switched the lamp off when Romeo left. It took a moment for Ben to see her, sitting under the window, the moon turning her skin silver. All that skin. She was nude, holding a magazine in front of her. A silly prop. Nobody reads a magazine by moonlight. Then she set it aside and the illusion of nakedness was gone. She had on a small top and micro-short shorts. "Howdy-do," she said. Smiling, Ben closed the door. She had to be scared to death, hiding in this little place, rumors of a price on her head. Still she made jokes. Howdy-do. Her clothes were white, glowing like her skin. "You want a beer?" She pointed at the nightstand. "Still cold?" She laughed. "You bet." "How did you get him to leave it?" She didn't seem surprised that Ben knew about Romeo. She picked up the hat from the bed. "The band on this is loose. Told him I'd fix it, give it back when we had dinner together tomorrow. Ladylike. And a gentleman wouldn't take his beer back." "But you won't be here tomorrow." She set the hat jauntily on her head, like a prize she'd won at the fair. "So the man should watch who he trusts." She started across the room, moving slowly, letting her hips sway. Before she was around the bed, Ben's body had curved to welcome her. Then he turned, fumbling for the lamp chain. She stopped, a look of disappointment on her face. "You shouldn't have talked to that guy," he said. "You don't want him to remember you." "He already remembered me from when I checked in. This way, maybe he'll have a reason to forget." "Maybe." Ben pointed at the hat. "Anyway, leave it." She set it on the nightstand with the beer. "And Patrice, that's the last con you'll ever pull." She seemed startled, as if she had never thought of that. The last con. She nodded slowly, then opened the closet door, revealing a small suitcase. "This is all I brought." Before he could reach for it, she put her hand on his arm. She tried to make the touch right, familiar and trusting, like a sister. No con. "You'll help me, Ben? A clean start?" "Sure. That's what I do." He sounded confident, all business. But they were so close there in the corner of the room. He grabbed the suitcase. "Let's get out of here." © Rob Palmer