"Oh."

"By the way, which room is Agent Walling in?"

It took him a half minute to interpret his own records.

"That'd be seventeen."

My room was small and when I sat on the edge of the bed it sank at least a half foot, the other side rising by an equal amount with the accompanying protest of old springs. It was a ground-floor room with spare but neat furnishings and the stale smell of cigarettes. The yellowed blinds were up and I could see a metal grate over the one window. If there was a fire, I'd be trapped like a lobster in a cage if I didn't get out the door fast enough.

I took the travel-size toothpaste tube and folding toothbrush I had bought out of the pillowcase and went into the bathroom. I could still taste the Bloody Mary from the plane and wanted to get rid of it. I also wanted to be ready for all eventualities with Rachel.

The bathrooms in old hotel rooms are always the most depressing. This one was slightly larger than the phone booths I used to see at every gas station when I was growing up. Sink, toilet and portable shower stall all complete with matching rust stains were set in a crowded configuration. If you were ever sitting on the toilet when somebody came in, you'd lose your kneecaps. When I was finished and had returned to the comparative spaciousness of the room, I looked at the bed and knew I didn't want to sit back down there. I didn't even want to sleep there. I decided to risk leaving the computer and my pillowcase full of clothes and left the room.

My light knock on the door of room seventeen was answered so quickly I thought Rachel had been waiting on the other side. She quickly ushered me in.

"Bob's room is across the hall," she whispered by way of explanation. "What is it?"

I didn't answer. We looked at each other for a long moment, each waiting for the other to act. I finally did, stepping close to her and pulling her into a long kiss. She seemed as into it as I was and this quickly calmed many of the worries I had allowed to simmer in my brain. She broke the kiss off and strongly pulled me into an embrace. Over her shoulder I surveyed her room. It was bigger than mine and the furniture was maybe a decade newer but it wasn't any less depressing. Her computer was on the bed and there were some papers spread over the worn yellow spread where a thousand people had lain and fucked and farted and fought.

"Funny," she whispered, "I just left you this morning and I found myself already missing you."

"Same here."

"Jack, I'm sorry, but I don't want to make love on that bed, in this room, or in this hotel."

"That's okay," I said nobly, though I regretted the words as I spoke them. "I understand. Looks like you got a luxury suite compared to mine."

"We'll have to wait but then we'll make up for it."

"Yeah. Why are we staying here, anyway?"

"Bob wants to be close. So we can move if they spot him."

I nodded.

"Well, can we leave for a little while? Want to get a drink? There's got to be someplace around."

"Probably no better than this. Let's just stay and talk."

She went to the bed and cleared the papers and the computer, then sat back against the headboard, propped on a pillow. I sat in the room's one chair, its cushion scarred by an ancient knife slash repaired with tape.

"What do you want to talk about, Rachel?"

"I don't know. You're the reporter. I thought you'd ask the questions."

She smiled.

"About the case?"

"About anything."

I looked at her for a long moment. I decided to start with something simple and then see how far I could go from there.

"What's this Thomas guy like?"

"He's fine. For a local. Not overly cooperative, but not an asshole."

"What do you mean not overly cooperative? He's letting you use him as human bait, isn't that enough?"

"I guess. Maybe it's me. I never seem to get along with the locals."

I moved from the chair onto the bed with her.

"So what? It's not your job to get along with anybody."

"That's right," she said, smiling again. "You know, there's a soda machine in the lobby."

"You want something?"

"No, but you said something about getting a drink."

"I was thinking of something stronger. It's all right, though. I'm happy."

She reached over and did her finger drag through my beard. I caught her hand as she dropped it away and held it for a moment.

"Do you think the intensity of what we're doing and what we're involved with is causing this?" I asked.

"As opposed to what?"

"I don't know. I'm just asking."

"I know what you're saying," she said after a long moment. "I have to admit I've never made love to anybody thirty-six hours after the first time I'd ever seen him in my life."

She smiled and it sent a beautiful thrill through me.

"Me neither."

She leaned toward me and we kissed again. I turned and we rolled into a from-here-to-eternity kiss. Only our beach was the old bedspread in a ratty old hotel room three decades past its prime. But all of that didn't matter anymore. Soon I was moving my kisses down her neck and then we made love.

We couldn't both fit in the bathroom or the shower so she went first. As she showered I lay in bed thinking about her and wishing for a smoke.

It was hard to tell because of the sound of the shower but at one point I thought I heard a light knock on the door. Alerted, I sat up on the edge of the bed and started pulling on my pants as I stared at the door. I listened but heard nothing again. Then, I distinctly saw the doorknob move, or thought I did. I got up and moved to the door, pulling up my pants, and tilted my head to the jamb to listen. I heard nothing. There was a peephole but I was reluctant to look through it. The light was on in the room and if I looked through the peephole I would block it, possibly letting whoever was out there know that someone was looking at him.

Rachel cut the shower off at that point. After a few moments of no noticeable sound from the hallway I moved to the peephole and looked. There was nothing out there.

"What are you doing?"

I turned. Rachel stood by the bed, attempting to show modesty with the tiny towel that came with the room.

"I thought I heard someone knock."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know. There was no one there when I looked. Maybe it was nothing. All right if I take a shower?"

"Sure."

I stepped out of my pants and while walking past her stopped. She dropped her towel, exposing her body. She was beautiful to me. I stepped over and we held each other for a long moment.

"Be right back," I finally said and then headed into the shower.

Rachel was dressed and waiting when I came out. I looked at my watch, which I had left on the bed table, and saw it was eleven. There was a battered old television in the room but I decided not to suggest watching the news. I realized I hadn't eaten dinner but still wasn't hungry.

"I'm not tired," she said.

"Neither am I."

"Maybe we could find a place for a drink after all."

After I dressed, we quietly left the room. She looked out first to make sure Backus or Thorson or anybody else wasn't lurking about. We encountered no one in the hallway or the lobby and outside the street seemed deserted and dark. We walked south to Sunset.

"You got your gun?" I asked, half kidding and half serious.

"Always. Besides, we've got our people around. They probably saw us leave."

"Really? I thought they were just keeping an eye on Thomas."

"They are. But they should have a good idea who is on the street at any given time. If they're doing their job."

I turned and walked backward for a few steps, staring back up the street at the green neon sign for the Mark Twain. I surveyed the street, the cars parked along both sides. Again, I saw no shadows or silhouettes of the watchers.