“My name is Kane Richard Sutherland,” I tell her. “The most common means of finding people are credit and debit card transactions and hotel check-ins, along with public transportation. We’re riding my bike, paying cash, and I’m not using my name, or not the name I go by, at least. If they can figure out who I am from grainy security footage of us walking into that building in LA, it won’t be a stretch to go from looking for Kane Sutherland to looking for Richard or Rick. But it’ll take ‘em time to make that jump.”
She’s quiet, thoughtful as we reach our room, and I head in first, check the bathroom and corners before I let her all the way in. We have no luggage, so settling in is simply a matter of stretching out onto the bed, which I do, kicking off my boots and toeing off my socks. Anjalee takes a bit longer, exploring the room—opening drawers, examining the bathroom, looking at the brochures and the laminated TV channel list. I just watch her.
“This is not so different, really.” She perches carefully at the edge of the bed, foot end, TV remote in hand. “Very much smaller, and perhaps the bedding is not so fine. But I do not see how much that matters, if you are only staying a night or two. A week in Paris, this I can see a large room with fine bedding being a worthy luxury.”
She frowns at the remote, presses a button with a gesture at the TV, as if the gesture will make it work better. The TV turns on, tuned to a news station. She flips channels slowly, spending a few moments on each channel before moving on.
After a minute or so of this, she glances at me. “Does this bother you very much, Kane?”
“What, the TV?” I ask, and she nods. I wave a hand. “Nah. Have at it.”
I shove pillows behind my head, cross my feet at the ankles, and watch her flip through all the channels twice, before settling on some nature documentary about penguins, featuring Morgan Freeman’s distinctive voice.
She removes her shoes and socks and crawls up the bed, sitting next to me but not near me. She’s tense, eying me every so often.
“Anjalee.”
She looks at me, tense, nervous, tightened. “Yes?”
“Relax, honey.”
“I am relaxed.” She says this sitting bolt upright, cross-legged, shoulders squared.
I laugh. “You’re wound up tighter than a drum.” I roll to my side, pillowing my face on my bent arm. “Talk to me. What’re you worked up about?”
She sets the remote on the nightstand. “I do not know what to do. What to expect.”
“What to expect?”
She swallows, a small roll of one shoulder. “With you.”
I sniff a laugh. “Well I’ll tell you I don’t expect a damn thing, babe.”
She frowns at me. “You…in the store. Earlier today. You kissed me.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
My brows scrunch down. “Why? What do you mean,why?”
“I mean, why? Why did you kiss me?”
I blink. “Never been asked that particular question before.” I sigh, wriggle a little closer, and I notice she tenses tighter as I approach. “Cause you’re fuckin’ breathtaking.” I reach out, touch her lips with my index finger, brushing the tip over the top lip, the bottom. “This mouth beggin’ to be kissed. I just looked at you and I…I dunno, honey. Had to kiss you.”
She looks at me, swallowing hard again, struggling with what to say. “Kane, I…”
I pick up her hand, just hold it, cradling it in mine. “Who are you running from, Anjalee?”
“My father, my mother.” She frowns, more shuttered than I’ve seen her since I met her. “From their life. Their rules. Their…arrangements.” She spits the last word bitterly.
“Those guys in the lobby. You said they weren’t your father’s.”
“No.”
I wait, but nothing else is forthcoming. “Anjalee, you’re alone with me. We’re sharin’ a bed. You can trust me with the truth.”
She looks at me for a long time. Finally, she sighs deeply, her frown hardening. “Jiwan Vardhamana.”
