IN ROOM 33 (28 page)

At the door, Mike stopped. "What about Sinnie?" he asked. "You want me to go to the hospital? Finish her off?"

Christian made note of the contraction in his chest, the ice coating his lungs, but it was advisable that he consider the brute's question. Sinnie was against him, and that was insupportable—as was her life.

But for now she was out of the picture, and that would have to do. If and when she did come to, she'd name her assailant as "Big Mike from four." Of course, there was a chance she would associate them, but by then Michael would be... unavailable, and it would be impossible for her to implicate him. "No," he finally answered. "Leave these premises as quickly as possible. I'll take care of Sinnie."

And he would—at his convenience.

* * *

It was early afternoon before Wade made it back to the Philip. He parked his Explorer in the parking lot behind the hotel. When he turned the motor off, he put his head back, took a minute to enjoy the silence. The ER at Harborview Med had been a zoo.

Amidst the madness, he'd waited until they'd moved Sinnie, still unconscious, to the private room he'd arranged for her. Then he'd filled out a police report. Wade figured the report was more likely to find its way into the lower bowel of a computer data bank than onto a cop's hot sheet.

There was a rap on his car window. It was Joy, with a worried look in her eyes. He opened the door, got out.

"How's Sinnie?" she asked, scanning his face.

"Hanging on." He paused to loosen the tightness in his chest. "Barely."

She wrapped her arms around him, held him close.

He cradled her head against his shoulder. She felt so damn good, it scared him. Joy Cole, in his bed, in his arms, was more than he'd bargained for.

"She's almost eighty years old. Who would have done such a terrible thing?" She moved back to look at him, but kept her arms around his waist.

"Good question. But like everything else going on at the Phil, there's no damned answer."

"I can't help thinking it has something to do with me. Me inheriting the hotel. Me moving into Room 33. Everything was fine before I came along."

If she'd wanted a denial, he couldn't give it. She was right and it made his gut ache. What was going on at the Phil was one tightly tied knot with Joy in the center. "I think you're right. Which is why you should pack up and leave the Phil."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it, but really"—she took her arms from around his waist—"what good would that do? Besides it's—"

"Don't give me the my hotel speech, okay? The fact is, it's not safe here. The smart thing to do is clear out."

"That's not going to happen. You're not the only one who cares about the Philip."

He considered arguing with her, but decided on another tack. "Then you'll stay with me, because
I
don
't
want you sleeping alone in that room. And I don't want you wandering around the hotel alone."

"Yes to commandment number one. But I won't be shackled to your bed."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Don't. I'll stay with you because I want to, and because I have no attachment to that creepy room. But other than that, I do what I want and I go where I want."

We'll see about that.
Frustrated, Wade tried another angle. "You saw Sinnie this morning. Whoever's behind this mess isn't afraid to spill blood, Joy. I don't want it to be yours."

"Neither do I." Her look was unflinching. "But I don't intend to be 'run out of Dodge,' either. If I'm the cause of this problem, I want to be in on the solution."

Wade wasn't happy, but he sucked up his loss. "Okay, but I intend to keep you in my sights." And he intended that watch to be 24/7.

She smiled slightly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He wanted to shake her, but settled for shaking his head. "And before we start working on that 'solution'—which starts with locating Mike the peephole pervert—I badly need a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes."

"A man with a plan. I like that. But stop at Cherry's first, okay? Lars and Rebecca are there, and they're all anxious to hear about Sinnie." She looped her arm in his and they started down the alley toward the rear-door entrance of the Phil. When he cast a sideways glance at her, he could see she was preoccupied.

He stopped at the door, turned her to face him. "Last night. We haven't talked about it, and I want to say—"

She put a finger on his lips. "Don't. I know."

"Know what?"

"That we shouldn't make it any more than it was."

"What it was—
what it is
—is important. At least to me. What about you?"

"Wade..." She looked as if she were locked in finger screws.

"
Wade
what?"

Silence.

He lifted her chin to get a look at her eyes. "Now this is interesting. You're all hot to trot to face some maniac who's loose in the Phil, but you can't face what's happening between us. You're terrified."

"Okay, I'll admit it. You're right, I am terrified. A few weeks ago I was heading for the South Pacific, my life, such as it was—on a familiar course. A good contract, a laptop, an airline ticket—"

"—and now?"

"Now, with you, I don't know where I'm heading, but I know there are no maps and no guidebooks."

"I'm falling in love with you, you know." The words tumbled from his mouth without his thinking, but once said, he rested easy with them and had no desire to call them back. The truth was like that, he guessed. "Actually, the fall is pretty much complete."

She looked anxious, like a bird eyeing an open cage door. "It's too soon. You don't know me."

"I know enough—unless you've got a secret prison record." He kissed her lightly, wanted more, but there was no time. "Say it."

"I'm probably going to regret this"—she took a deep breath—"but I'm pretty sure I've fallen right along with you."

He could have sworn his smile started at his ankle bones. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She shook her head. "Not for me, but for you? I'm not so sure." She looked around the alley; dingy brick walls, boarded-up lower windows, and garbage cans. "And I would have preferred a more romantic setting. Dinner, fine wine, candlelight..."

"To hell with the setting." He kissed her long and deep. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless. "After we talk to everybody, and before I take that shower, we'll clear out your room. Bring your stuff over to mine."

"You're determined to protect me from the big, bad wolf, aren't you?" But at least now there was amusement in her eyes.

"Nope. It's about the big, bad wolf having you within arm's reach—so he can ravish you any time he wants." Not anywhere close to a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. He did want to protect her. And he didn't want her out of his sight.

Her lips ticked up. "Okay, but before I do that, I want your promise to keep me clued in on what's going on. Believe it or not, this"—she rapped her head—"works pretty good."

"Deal." Wade opened the door for her, and they stepped into what was once the kitchen of the Phil. It was dim and cluttered with trays, cooking utensils, steel serving carts, and boxes of god-knew-what. He kissed her again, tilted his head, and smiled into her eyes. "I take it you're okay with the 'ravishing' clause."

"Definitely."

* * *

Two days later, on an overly warm Thursday evening, Lana sipped a glass of wine and waited in her living room for David. When he finally rang the bell, she glanced at her gold-and-diamond watch. Twenty minutes late. A first.

David had never been late before, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it—or what it meant, other than that she didn't like it.

She opened the door wide and smiled at him. And her heart faltered, lost a beat or two. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, either. Or any of the other bewildering emotions centered on David.

"Hi," he said, leaning down to kiss her softly.

"Hi, back." She wrapped her arms around him, deepened the kiss until his breathing roughened.

He pulled away. "Maybe it would be a good idea if I came in. Either that or we can make out on the doorstep?"

"I wouldn't mind." She stepped aside, and he walked in. He looked breathtaking. Immaculately dressed for their dinner date, he carried flowers. A dozen or more lush white roses.

In the living room, Lana set about pouring him a drink. Giving a brief nod at the flowers he still held in his hand, she asked, "Are those for me, darling? Or a late date?"

A cloud passed over his face. "For you. Although I've no doubt my late date would appreciate them equally as much." His tone was dry.

Lana handed him his red wine—a very fine one she'd sought out and hoped he'd like. "You actually have a late date? Tonight?" She kept the disappointment from her voice, analyzed facts instead. David was late. David was going somewhere after having dinner with her. None of this was good, but she would not let it upset her. No man was worth it. She sipped her wine. Perhaps it was time to move on from this relationship, make new plans. It surprised her to discover she had no enthusiasm for the idea. Her enthusiasm—such as it was—remained settled on David. And, of course, the money to come from the sale of the Philip.

"More of an appointment than a date." He looked at her, his expression tense, angry. "And it's not one I'm looking forward to. It's about the damn Philip. My investors are edgy as hell. This delay of Joy's is becoming a real problem."

"She doesn't trust me"—she ran a finger across his chest—"and she doesn't trust you." Lana always figured the truth, whenever possible, served better than fiction. And she didn't want to talk about Joy. She wanted David's full attention.

"She trusts Emerson well enough, and he's an ex-con, for God's sake."

"Yes, she does. But she won't do anything until she talks to us. We have her promise. That should calm those investors of yours." She sipped her wine, smiled at him over her glass.

He lifted her face to his, held her chin too tight. "Damn the investors anyway. I'd rather come back here after dinner and spend the night making love to you."

"An idea I'd be happy to go along with." She set her wineglass down and wrapped her arms around his waist."But if you must go, I'll understand."
And I won't claw at you with questions—especially when I might not like the answers about these so-called investors.

"You're one of a kind, Lana. I wish to hell I'd met you years ago." He kissed her hair. "We could stay here, not bother with dinner."

There was nothing Lana wanted more, but she smiled up at him and said, "And miss dinner at Cristobel's? I don't think so." A small revenge, but a necessary one.

"You turning down sex for food? I don't believe it." But at least he was smiling.

"Maybe it's a whole new me." She fondled him through the rich fabric of his Armani. "And I am very hungry."

He closed his hand over hers. "And you want to make me suffer for that late meeting I have."

She squeezed him and let him go. "That, too, darling. That, too." She picked up her coat. "Shall we go? The reservation is for eight-thirty, and it's at least a half-hour drive."

David laughed. "My meeting's not until midnight, Lana. We can manage a—"

"—quick fuck before you have to run off?" She said it sweetly. "I don't think so. Besides I feel a headache coming on." She caressed his chin and smiled into his eyes.

David laughed, then dragged her—coat, bag, and all—into his arms and crushed her there. "You're wonderful. Have I told you that'"

"Not nearly often enough." She kissed him, happily aware of the hard ridge of him upright behind his zipper. "But if it is quick fucks you want, you'd be wise to make it a practice."

She pulled back and he let her go. Her reward was that she knew he didn't want to. He was a man, after all.

Not exactly complicated machinery.

Chapter 14

"Come in, boy, and be quick about it."

Gordy let Melly go ahead, then wedged his big body through the narrow opening Christian provided.