Jinxed Redux

Chapter 3 – Bed bugs

"Mare," he bleated. He knew Mary was tough, but he hadn't seen the SUV hit her. He wasn't sure how badly she was injured. He put his hand on her neck and was relieved when he felt a strong pulse. "Mary. C'mon, open your eyes. I'm hovering, you know you hate that." He brushed the leaves out of her face. "I'll start quoting stats from the 1932 world series," he threatened. He knelt in the street, curled over his partner covered in leaves and dirt, wet from the snow and ice. Parked cars on either side gave them some cover. Marshall had seen the SUV drive off, but only Mary registered on his consciousness.

Mary blinked, once, twice. Finally focusing on the handsome hawk faced man. "Marshall?" she croaked in a reedy voice. "What the hell happened? How did I get here? And where in hell is here?"

"You got hit by a truck, technically, an SUV. It spun you around; you fell, and rolled to the curb." Marshall said tenderly." She was coherent, and complaining. He took a deep breath, hoping she would mimic him and give him a clue about the condition of her ribs.

"A truck? Goddamn," she grunted. "That explains a lot. Now I know how a bowling pin feels after it gets hit and spins into the goddamn gutter," Mary groaned and tried to sit up.

"Mare, let me check before you start moving around." Marshall unzipped her jacket and gently peeled it open. The insulated padding had provided some protection. His anxiety receded a notch when he didn't find any blood.

"You are going to have a hell of a bruise, Sunshine," he pressed on her shoulders, slid his hands gingerly around her ribs and pushed gently on her hips. "Everything seems connected. You ready to try getting up?:"

"I was ready before you started feeling me up, Purvis," she groused. Mary lifted her head, and carefully rotated it. Raising herself up on one elbow, she attempted to sit up. She paused and then got her feet under he. He grabbed both arms and lifted her to sit. She looked at her legs, splayed out in front of her. Still holding her arms, Marshall helped her to her feet, watching carefully memorizing every movement that resulted in a wince or whimper.

Mary shook him off and took a step, followed by two more. Since she was standing and walking on her own, albeit slowly, he let her go. He couldn't help following close enough to catch her if needed. As long as she didn't check behind her, she wouldn't know.

"C'mon, lets get out of here before they come back and try again," Marshall trotted to their vehicle. He wanted to rail at her for making herself a target, for putting herself in harm's way, for being stupid with the life of the women he loved. But that wasn't what she needed.

Gingerly climbing into the passenger seat, while he watched and held the door, Mary secured her seat belt. He's treating me like a witness. "Where are you heading?" Marshall was anxious to get her to safety, and stepped on the gas. The tires spun on the ice, before gaining traction. Marshall turned the heater on full blast, worrying that the cold and injury might cause shock.

"We are going where I can assess your damages. And you can get a hot shower." After rolling in the leaves and street dirt, she did want a shower. How does he do that? Not for the first time she wondered just how much about her was revealed in their dreams. Maybe he just paid close attention. Leave it to Doofus to focus on the details and remember them. To keep her mind off the pain, she tried to categorize what she knew about Marshall from their shared dreams.

Despite his tire squealing take off, Mary saw they were only going around the block. Almost behind the burger and pie place was a small 'no tell' motel. One story of drab colored stucco with frosted windows, few rooms and parking right in front.

Marshall pulled into an empty space, noted the room number in before them and caught Mary's eye. "Stay," he admonished. "Don't move."

"I'm not a dog, numnutz," she complained, but stayed curled up using the arm rest for support. She winced as she turned to scan around the vehicle, grateful that Marshall on his way to the office, didn't notice. All she could remember was running toward the black SUV, trying to get a bead on the driver and passenger. Hmm. She hadn't remembered that before. Maybe she would eventually be able to remember what they looked like. She'd better remember before meeting those murdering deviant cut throats again. Deviant?

The fact that he was back in no time meant she had dozed off. He had their bags on one shoulder and was reaching into the vehicle for her hand. Normally she would have berated him for this gentlemanly assist. This time, she allowed it, and Marshall's anxiety raised a degree.

He opened the door and let Mary enter, tamping down his desire to help, allowing her to walk in on her own. The room was small, the carpet dingy and the curtains not quite thick enough to block out the streetlight. One bed, one upholstered chair, a nightstand and lamp, and a bathroom. "

Stopping at the edge of the king size bed, Mary turned and looked at the small room, "All the comforts of home, just not as clean. This your idea of a palace?"

"You got it Princess," he joked. Since she wasn't making any motion towards the bathroom and the shower he knew she wanted, he urged her "Strip." He was worried about Mary. The sooner she got a warm shower, the better her chances of avoiding shock.

"Strip? Geez Purvis. Is what it takes to get your motor revved? Getting hit by a truck your idea of foreplay?" Her attempt to tease came out thin her voice creaky. Wearily she shook her head "Doofus, this is so not the time."

"Mare, get your clothes off and get in the shower." Marshall ordered. Realizing he was so upset he had practically shouted at her, he added quietly, "You'll feel better."

"Providing this dump has any hot water," she grumbled. "Take this," he held out her shower stuff. When had he gotten that? "Give me your clothes."

"Grabby much, horndog?" she was trying for lascivious, but she just sounded tired. "You got a clothes fetish now?" She wanted a shower, couldn't wait to wash the dirt from the gutter, the dried 'stuff' out of her hair. She knew a hot shower would coax the adrenaline of the near misses – and the hit-down to a normal level, and sooth the jitters from constant alertness.

"I hate it when someone tries to kill me," she complained. She closed her eyes, wishing she were already in the shower. Actually, she wished she was clean and resting in the lumpy bed with the pilled cover.

"That's why I only let them try on alternate Wednesdays," Marshall cajoled. "Clothes Mare," he reminded her.

She'd started to take her jacket off, but winced when she moved her shoulder. Marshall reached over to ease her arms out of the sleeves, then started unbuttoning her blouse.

"We know they're tracking us. The device has got to be on you. I checked everything else - the car, our bags, my boots, yours, my clothes, there's nowhere else to look." Marshall was surprised he could hold a conversation. His attention was riveted on Mary, examining every inch of skin as it was revealed.

"Have you checked our bags?" Mary asked, as she reached for her boots. He was afraid that she would pass out if she got her head below her waist so Marshall gently pushed her back on the bed and pulled them off, one by one.

"Yes, I believe I already mentioned that." Marshall replied quietly. Mary was unzipping her pants, and working them down her legs. He wanted to help, but thought she would object. No reason to rile her up. The fact she let him help as much as he had meant she was rattled as well as bruised. She wasn't the only one. Mary was sitting before him gloriously naked. So entranced, he forgot to look for bruises.

To distract himself, Marshall was feeling the hems and seams and lining of Mary's jacket, setting her boots for inspection next. As she reached for the towel, Marshall had retrieved from the tiny bathroom Mary caught Marshall looking at her. It made her heart ache and belly flip in ways it never had before. Cosmic hotline? Maybe there is something to it.

Quickly wrapping the inadequate bath towel around her, Mary started toward the bathroom.

With less skin exposed for his contemplation, Marshall, returned to the here and now and said, "Wait."

"Wait, I need to examine you. Check if anything's broken, see what bruises you managed to accumulate. Turn around."

Mary dropped the towel and slowly pirouetted to face him. She felt Marshall's gaze on her backside, on her breasts, her ribs, ankles, and arms. She had been naked in front of before, but this was Marshall. She felt shy and nervous as he studied her. She stopped with her back to him.

Quietly, he approached her, put his hands on her shoulders and whispered, "I'm going to touch you Mare. I'm sure you'll let me know if it hurts. Just try not to deck me when I hit a painful spot." She couldn't see his worried grimace. He hated the thought of causing her pain and worked to keep his touch warm and soft.

Kissing the top of her head, he closed his hands around her skull. His fingers grazed the sides and he stopped when she groaned. Lifting her hair he said "Bruise, scrape actually, right behind your ear. Not such, just a few drops in the scrape. I'll get some ice for that." Internal hemorrhaging, hematoma, he worried.

His fingers sloped around her jaw down to her neck and collarbone. Flexing her shoulders, arms and wrists, he noted fewer bruises than he had imagined. He sighed with relief. Mary was good at hiding hurts. She'd been doing it her entire life. Naked was the only way he could tell where she was injured and how badly. Fortunately, she seemed willing to let him.

Continuing his examination he noted that her torso looked clear except for a red area on the ribs of her right side. Impact from the SUV.

Moving in front of her he pressed lightly on her ribs, watching her face for discomfort. The right side brought a wince, but no outcry. "Probably not broken," he murmured aloud. He'd feel better if she would go to a hospital, but that wasn't going to happen.

Sliding down to her waist, compressing the padding of her hips, he reached to caress and compress the cheeks of her ass. Mary leaned into him and Marshall was relieved to feel her relax in his arms.

Squatting he ran both hands down each leg from thigh to ankle. Finally he asked her to lift and rotate her feet, checking her ankles and the bottom of her feet. Never had anyone take such care with her body. She was amazed, surprised, embarrassed and a bit turned on.

"Looks like you got lucky, Sunshine." Actually he had gotten lucky. Any hurt to her pierced him twice as deep. Languorous from his gentle pat down, Mary put her arms around his neck and pulled him into a soft kiss. A kiss that brought the roughness of his clothes against her naked skin.

Pulling back, Marshall looked into her eyes, and kissed first the right then the left eyelid followed by her nose. As he worked his way down to her chin, he stopped. He knew she needed that shower, and he needed to regroup and focus on finding that damn tracking device.

"Now, go take your shower, you dirty wench," he urged, lightly patting her ass.

"Yes, sir, Marshall, sir," she drew back, saluted and headed to the bathroom, trailing the towel behind her saucily. Dazed by her compliance, and the sight of her retreating form, Marshall shook himself like a wet dog, resetting his attention. He sat on the end of the bed and picked up her clothes one by one, checking for the tracking device he knew had to be there. These guys aren't psychic. They had to have help.

He dug through his go bag and unzipped a small black fabric bag. He fitted a head band with a light and flip down magnifying lens on his head muttering, "Knew this would come in handy." The headband played havoc with his hair, but Mary wasn't there to point it out. She got a kick out of seeing him with less than perfect hair. She told him his duffle bag must be some sort of magic because it seemed to hold more that the exterior would indicate.

Marshall finished checking her clothes frustrated by his lack of success. The shower squealed as the faucet turned the shower off. Mary emerged soon after, wrapped in a towel, with another one around her head. She had used both towels, all the towels actually. Marshall would have to drip dry if he took a shower.

He was delighted to watch her saunter out of the bathroom. Even with the towel, she was an enjoyable sight. His gaze narrowed to her neck and the necklace she wore. "Mare? Do you ever take this off?" He stood in front of her and fingered the miraculous medal hanging between her breasts, distracting him in the very best way.

Although she had suppressed a giggle at the sight of Marshall's hair, Mary gave his question serious thought. With the magnifying lens of the headlamp raised he looked like some techno-geek robo-knight. She let that image go and focued on searching her memory."Umm, " she finally replied. "I took it off last week when we went to that fancy restaurant. I wore the necklace you got me, remember?"

Marshall remembered how she had looked that night, then rolled his eyes recalling the many vulnerable spots of her quaint little apartment. "God Mare, a boy scout with a butter knife could break into your place."

"And that's why," she drawled, running her hands up to his shoulders, "I usually stay at your place." She reached behind her for the clasp and removed the medal and held it out for his inspection.

Her closeness and the tentative hold of the towel proved too much of a distraction. Gathering his investigative wits Marshall, backed away to look at the medal. Handing it back to her, he gestured for her to wait

"Mare, put it down here." Marshall sat on the bed close to the nightstand. He zeroed in on the medal, carefully examining first one side then the other.

Handing it back to her, he asked, "Does this feel different?"

"What do you mean?" Mary wondered. It had to be tiny. Picking up the medal she held it between her thumb and forefinger as she often did while deep in thought. Closing her eyes, Mary rubbed it and said "Uh, yeah, it feels – thicker? Rougher, maybe."

Marshall acknowledged with a quiet "uh huh."

"This has got to be it, Mare." Looking over his shoulder Mary couldn't see any anomalies, but she trusted that Marshall did.

"Gimme, Marshall." She grabbed for the chain of the medal turning toward the bathroom. He was surprised that she was eager to get rid of it and had his finger holding it down. This was just about the only thing she had from her father, but she was ready to get rid of it if it meant their safety, his safety.

"No, not there." He picked up the medal.

Straightening up and stepping away from the nightstand, Mary tilted her head and gauged her partner's state of mind, retucking her towel to help him concentrate. "You gotta plan, partner?" she whispered, not wanting to break his concentration. If there was a way to get these killers off their tail, using that medal, Marshall would know.

"Get dressed Mare." Marshall urged. "We're getting out of here," he said as he dropped the medal into the vase of silk flowers that passed for a decorator touch. "You used all the towels."

Leaving the wet towels on the bathroom floor, they left the motel, checking the area carefully before getting in the car.