IN ROOM 33 (27 page)

"Fair enough." She crawled in beside him and snuggled under his arm. "And I agree tomorrow is soon enough. We're both too tired for dragon-slaying, anyway."

Wade pulled her close, kissed her hair. He'd go along with her on this, but as far as he was concerned, there was far too much interest in Joy Cole—and none of it was healthy. Once they'd dealt with Big Mike, he had to get her out of the Phil.

* * *

Just after nine a.m., someone attempted to break down Wade's door. At the first loud thump, Joy came awake with a start, disoriented, her heart racing in her chest. Wade, his dark head coming up with a jerk, was right behind her.

"What the hell..." He jumped out of bed, dragged his jeans on, and was at the shuddering, thudding door in five strides.

"Come quick, Wade. It's Sinnie. She's hurt. Hurt bad." Gordy grabbed Wade's hand at the same moment Joy got to his side.

"Where, Gordy? Where's Sinnie?" Wade let the boy pull him—to Room 33, Joy's room. The door was half off its hinges, wide open.

"There." Gordy pointed to the bed. He was crying. "You've got to get her, Wade. Get her. Please."

"Dear God!"Joy spotted Sinnie first. The old woman lay crumpled beside Joy's bed, unmoving, blood seeping out from under her head and shoulder. Joy put her face close to hers. "She's breathing, but barely."

"Get your mother, Gordy." When the boy didn't move, he yelled. "Now!" Gordy bolted down the hall. Joy knew he'd told the boy to get his mother to stem his panic, give him something to do.

"She looks bad," she said. "It looks like her head and upper shoulder are cut." She ran to the bathroom to get towels, rushed back and pressed one against the visible shoulder wound. She was afraid to move her head, scared she'd do more damage than what had already been done.

Wade hooked his fingers around Sinnie's frail wrist. "She's got a pulse—weak, but a pulse. But she's ice cold. Shock, I think." Wade got up, pulled the blankets from Joy's bed, and covered her. "Call 911, will you?" He put his hand over Joy's, freed her from holding the towel, a towel turning blood-red as the wound oozed.

"I'm on it." Joy retrieved her cell phone from beside the bed. When she'd completed the call, she knelt beside Wade. His face was pale and grim.

He stroked Sinnie's hair, leaned in close, and said, "Hang on, Sinnie. Help is on the way. Hang on, love."

For the first time, Joy looked around the room. Obviously Sinnie had come to do her cleaning as she'd been doing for the past couple of weeks, and someone had surprised her. The wicker basket she always carried was tipped over, the brushes and other cleaning supplies splaying out from it across the room's threadbare carpet.

"We need another towel," Wade said, not looking up.

"Done." This time, when she rushed back from the bathroom, she glanced up. Another message was added to the one she'd discovered yesterday and hadn't had time to remove. This one was in the same hand, in the same red felt pen.

YOU HEARD ME. GET OUT. GET OUT NOW!!

The last exclamation point snaked to the floor, close to where Sinnie now lay, breathing shallowly and clinging to what was left of her life. She must have interrupted the person who was doing it, and knowing Sinnie, she wouldn't have retreated. She'd have barreled in and...

Joy didn't want to think about what happened next. But it was her fault. Maybe Wade was right, maybe she should leave the hotel. It seemed as if nothing had gone right since she'd come here. Sinnie might die because Joy had stubbornly insisted on staying in Room 33.

When Joy passed Wade the towels, she noticed Sinnie's hand and bent down to look more closely. Her fingers were curled tight around a pen.

A red felt pen.

She glanced at Wade, who was concentrating on switching the towels, and gently opened Sinnie's hand and took out the pen. She was still in confusion about what it could mean when the paramedics strode into the room—all business and efficiency. A second later, Cherry and Gordy arrived, to stand quietly by the door while the paramedics did their work.

In no time they had Sinnie on a stretcher and were giving her oxygen. Joy stuffed the pen in her pocket. And watched Wade, his face sober, talk to one of the men. She'd sensed a bond between Sinnie and Wade, but until now hadn't known how deep it ran.

When the paramedic nodded, Wade turned to Joy.

"I'm going to follow the ambulance to the ER. I'll fill out a police report there. I don't know how long I'll be." He strode toward her, kissed her quickly, and squeezed her upper arms. The look he gave her was intense and serious. "Go with Cherry I'll call you as soon as I know something. I'll call you at her place. Stay out of this room, Joy." He shot a glance at the defaced wall, his expression hard. "Promise me that."

Arguing in times of crisis was foolish, so she nodded.

"And promise me you'll leave the Mike thing until I get back. You'll stay away from him."

Joy hesitated, but nodded again. Considering what had happened to Sinnie, she needed to think, and the idea of confronting that huge, miserable excuse for a human being without Wade at her side didn't sound smart.

"Good." He looked relieved, glanced at Cherry. "Keep an eye on her, would you?"

"Don't worry. You take care of Sin." Cherry, looking as if she were going to cry, stepped aside to let the paramedics wheel the unconscious Sinnie out of the room.

"I will, too, Wade," Gordy said, sounding determined and more mature than his innocent mind said he was.

"I'll call," Wade said again and followed the medics and stretcher down the hall.

Joy frowned and looked at Cherry and Gordy. She didn't react well to orders. "I can look after myself, you know."

Cherry didn't flinch. "Of course you can—you're a smart woman. But add that"—she gestured at the threat on the wall—"to all the other weird stuff going on around here, being smart translates into staying clear of this room for a while." She took Gordy's hand, the gesture as natural as if he were four feet tall instead of six, and stepped out the door. In the hall, she looked back and added, "And I'll even throw in breakfast. Bacon, eggs, the works."

"And a big pot of coffee?"

"Done."

"You're a smooth one, Cherry Ripley." Joy worried the pen in her pocket but couldn't stop a smile. The pen and what it meant would have to wait.

"Yes, I am. And judging from the fact that you're wearing Wade's robe, so is he."

Joy looked down at herself. She'd forgotten. "Give me ten minutes."

"I'll go put on the coffee." She looked up at Gordy. "Will you wait in the hall for Joy, sweetie? By then it will be time for you to go and walk Melly."

* * *

"If she's not dead, where is she, Michael?" Christian's blood ran cold, thick, and slow. Things were not going as planned.

Mike's eyes darted around the penthouse like a pair of birds looking for the cage door. "I dunno. Some hospital. It was that stupid kid, or whatever the hell he is." He held a wad of tissue to the cut and bruise on his forehead where Sinnie had slashed him with her broom handle. "Shoulda done him, too," he groused.

"You're referring to Gordy?"

The man grunted a yes, looked venomous.

"Did he see you?"

"Nah. All of a sudden he was hollerin' at the door. Maybe he heard something, I dunno. Anyways, I got myself into the bathroom. Then the old bat—couldn't believe it with the blood and all—shouted the kid's name. Then the dumbo broke the door and barreled in, right away started shouting for Wade. When he crossed the hall to get him, I got my butt out of there fast."

"And then?"

"I ducked into a room down the hall. Hung tough. Until they came and took Sinnie away."

"Alive. You're sure?"

"Not for long. At least that's what I heard one of the medics say. One of them said, 'Too old to take that kind of hit.' Or something like it."

"And you. Of course, she saw you."

"She ain't going to make it, Mr. Rupert. No way. And if you want, I can go to the hospital. Finish the job."

"For now, all I want you to do, Michael, is keep your dimwitted suggestions to yourself, and leave me to think things through." The idea of this burly, hideous man shambling through hospital corridors was a thought not to be borne. No doubt he would make a mistake and drag half of Seattle's police force into Christian's home. Police at his door—unstoppable—entitled to entry. Out of his control. Christian's heart spiked and plunged at the image.

Although it was not in his nature to pace, rage and uncertainty forced him to movement, and he pushed himself out of his chair. With help from his cane, he shuffled toward the windows overlooking his beloved terrace, worked to settle his mind.

The afternoon sun burnished the electric blue glaze on the planters, flickered among the new leaves on the trees. The morning rain had marked the patio stones with damp shadows, making them frames for unknown silhouettes. So inviting, so... terrifying. He used to go out there, feel the fresh air on his face, touch the crisp, new foliage; now he could not. His mind wouldn't allow it. And now his world was cut by half.

The overlarge, coffin-shaped planters, so lushly treed, were his pride. He'd designed and commissioned them himself. On the day they'd arrived from Italy those many years ago, they'd caused quite a stir in the Philip. No one had ever seen anything like them—their immense size, the cobalt brilliance of their glaze.

Over the years, he'd watched the plantings in them grow from saplings to trees over six and twelve feet high. Of course, during the incident a few years ago, a couple of the trees were replaced, but they were foliage-rich now. The varying shades of green shooting out from the bright blue of the planters to rustle in the rooftop breeze always delighted him. Although under Michael's clumsy paws the trees were not clipped and pruned as neatly as Christian would have liked.

There was a time when David tended them. He'd come to Christian as a young boy, not more than twelve. So pretty. And as eager and smart a boy as was ever born. His mother sent him up a day or two after they'd moved in to ask for some paying chores. Christian set him to caring for his terrace and his beloved trees. He'd had a knack for it, he remembered, and under his hand, the trees and plants flourished.

David had a knack for many things.

Christian sighed, regretful—angry—at the change in their relationship. He'd cared for the boy as if he were his own son, put him through law school, and his reward was neglect and ingratitude. David needed to be chastised, brought to heel, because all his plans hinged on David.

Christian's legs were weakening—and his mind was wandering
—
so he walked back to his chair and settled himself.

He knew what he had to do. But first he had to get rid of the useless creature in front of him. David had made a mistake in choosing him, a decision that had put Christian and his home at risk. It was up to David to rectify the situation, and Christian intended he would do so. But he did have a question and one more use for the repellent beast.

"Last night. Emerson and the Cole girl, did you watch them? Did they fornicate?"

It must have been the only nine-letter word the brute knew, because for the first time this season, he relaxed, comfortable in the lascivious territory he so obviously preferred. "Oh, yeah. Went at it like a pair of horny, oversexed—"

"Enough." Christian raised a hand. He wasn't interested in the details or any more conversation with this man than was necessary. "How long were they together?"

"All night. She was with him when he found Sin. Came out of his room."

Christian felt his face flatten, his mouth tighten. He'd been afraid of this. Oh, he knew their having sex might mean nothing. After all, everybody partook of carnal pleasure at their whim in these modern times. But this particular carnal union was between Joe's grandson and the woman who held the tide to his hotel.

The risk was immense. Unbearable.

"How far along are the evictions, Michael?" he asked.

"Just a couple left."

Christian would have preferred a more precise answer, but there was little point in asking, and watching the imbecile count on his fingers was more than he could bear. "I want you to accelerate the process. I want this hotel empty. Everyone except the boy and his mother, Emerson and the girl. And I
do not
want you seen. Do you understand?" He needed the boy for Melly—for now.

"Got it." His head bobbed like an apple in a barrel.

"When you leave me now, leave this property. Use the back way. Don't go back to your room. You have two nights to complete the eviction process—but you must
not
be seen in this hotel again. Do you understand that?"

Another bob of the head.

"Assuming you are successful, come here Thursday,
promptly
at eleven p.m., and I'll have a bonus ready for you. One generous enough to allow you to move on. I suggest you then take yourself as far from this hotel as possible, as I will no longer require your services."

Mike grinned and got to his feet."You're a good guy, Mr. Rupert."

Christian didn't have to force his ironic smile. He was many things, but a "good guy" wasn't one of them.