IN ROOM 33 (35 page)

It was early evening when Joy and Wade arrived back at the Phil. They'd tried tracking Mike through the references he'd given when he'd rented his room—all bogus. The courier service he'd worked for—for three whole days—yielded even less. Mike was nowhere to be found. Other than the shady connection between Grange and Rupert, they had zip.

When Wade's Explorer pulled to a stop, Joy got out and headed toward the back entrance of the hotel. When they were in the ghostly kitchen, Wade said, "I don't suppose you're going back to the Marriot?"

"No."

"And you won't stay with me—even if I sleep on the goddamned couch."

"No." The idea of the two of them being in the same room without their being all over each other was, to her, patently ludicrous. Sex was too heavily in the mix. She needed to get it out and start over again.

"Room 33," he said wearily.

"Yes, because I can't think of a reason not to."

"Does the name Big Mike mean anything to you?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"Mike's gone."

"And you know this... how?"

"Cherry and Gordy are still here and the last eviction was days ago. I think after Sinnie, he got scared and ran—a very long way. And I think today proves that. And"—she reached deep into her tote—"if I turn out to be wrong, I have this. Meet Smitty."

Wade stared at the gun in her pale white hand. "You're kidding." He looked as if his lungs had burst.

She stuffed the gun in her bag. She hated the thing, the feel of it in her hand, its dark intent.

"Is that licensed? And do you have any idea how to use it?"

"Yes to both questions." She righted her bag on her shoulder. "I'm a woman—"

"I've noticed."

She ignored him. "I'm a woman and I travel alone. I took self-defense classes years ago, and when the world got uglier, I bought this and learned how to use it." Praying all the while she'd never have to. "And if I have to, I will." She started to walk away. After a few steps she realized he wasn't with her. She looked over her shoulder to see him standing in the same place, his hands on his hips. He looked angry enough to eat the hard metal she'd just put in her bag.

"Are you going to let go of this thing?"

"What 'thing' is that?"

"Your mother. Me. That thing."

She walked back to him. "I've spent the night and all today working on that." She smiled but it turned wobbly. "To say my relationship with my mother is anything but... unsettled would be a lie. I know she has her failings"—she lifted her eyes—"God, but don't I know. She's no saint, and to her credit, she's never claimed to be. In some ways, she's the most honest women I know. But I can't get the idea of you two—"

"Jesus! There never was a 'you two.'" He looked ready to explode.

"You tell me that, and I believe you—which, by the way, makes you the first man
ever
to come within pheromone-sniffing distance of Lana Cole and not succumb to whatever her lethal attraction is." That last sounded petty and insecure—she knew that—but when it came to Lana, insecurity was a set piece, like black water in a deep cavern.

"I'm attracted to her daughter. That's lethal enough for me."

She stepped away, emotionally weary, not wanting to go any further along this rocky path. "Can we leave it, Wade? Just... leave it. Until this business with the Philip is done."

"Yeah, we can leave it—for now." He paused. "It was an ugly thing to have happened, and even uglier to have to tell you. Hell, it's a relief to know you don't hate me."

She ventured forward, kissed his cheek—a chaste, spinster-aunt kiss that refused to ask for more. "If it makes you feel any better, hate isn't part of the equation. It's more a kind of... chaos that I can't sort through without some time by myself." She stopped. "And there's the possibility we moved too fast, Wade. I've got the tee shirt—several—from that mistake. I don't need another one."

"We didn't move too fast," he stated flatly, then looked at her a long time. "I still want you to come and stay with me."

She shook a negative.

After a second or two, he nodded. "Okay, I'll help you get your things. Later we'll go and see the old man."

"What do you think the chances of him letting us in are? That chain must have been an inch thick."

"I've got an idea." He pushed open the door to the second floor. "And now's as good a time as any to set things up."

When he knocked on Cherry and Gordy's door, it was Gordy who answered.

"Gordy, what time are you walking Melly tonight?"

"Last walk?"

"Yeah."

"Get him at nine and gotta have him back at ten o'clock. Mr. Rupert asked me to make this walk real short tonight, because he wants Melly back early." He looked worried. "He says he's not feeling so good today. Got a germ, he says. Mom took him up soup for dinner."

Joy asked, "Your Mom's working for him now?"

He dropped his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Doing some clean-and-cook stuff. 'Cause of Sinnie being gone and the Phil being so empty."

Wade looked at his watch—almost eight. "Gordy, I've got a proposition for you. How about you pick Melly up, bring her to my place, and I'll walk her and take her back"—he dug into his pocket and handed him some cash—"while you take your mom to that movie you're so hot to see. What was it again?"

"Space Warrior
?" He looked excited, but when he looked at the money, he frowned. "Mom says I'm not supposed to take money I don't earn. Says it's... begging. Not nice."

"You did earn this. Helping me fix Joy's door. Remember?"

Gordy smiled. "Oh, yeah. Standard rate."

"That's right. So? We have a deal? You go to the movie, I walk Melly."

Gordy stuck out his hand. "Done." He sounded thirty years old.

"Good. I'll see you around nine, then. Hope you enjoy the show."

"Thanks a lot, Wade."

"One other thing. Don't tell Mr. Rupert, okay?"

"You want to surprise him, huh?" He stuffed the cash in his jeans.

"Something like that." He looked at Joy.

Gordy appeared to give this thought, but said, "Okay. But be on time, okay?"

"Right. Not a minute late."

* * *

Christian pulled the blanket over his shoulders, shivered. He was coming down with something, he knew it.

No matter how he tried, he couldn't keep his air clean enough. Surely everyone who came in carried nasty microbes into his home from the dirty streets below. If he could, he'd do without any of them. He certainly didn't like that Cherry woman cooking for him, but of course he had no choice. He had to eat—and with Sinnie gone...

Not that he wanted her back. Most assuredly not. She'd betrayed him. It wasn't to be borne.

But the man-child's mother was brash, not respectful enough, and she looked at him as if he were a sideshow curiosity. He didn't like her. And she was the newest to enter his space. It was probably her who'd brought on his illness.

"Eh, my Melly," he said to the dog at his side. "Never you." He remembered David asking him once, why, if he was so afraid of germs, did he have a dog? Christian had no answer, other than he hadn't been without one since Joe Emerson gave him one over sixty years ago.

They'd been friends then, the tall, handsome Joe Emerson with his endless confidence and seductive smile, and the diminutive, anxious Rupert—with his bottomless pocketbook.

Every man should have a dog, Christian. At least you can always trust a damn dog!
That's what he'd said, laughed, and given him a small brown mutt. The little dog was the only gift Joe ever gave him, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

He remembered everything about Joe Emerson.

Christian had kept a dog ever since. Of course now, he made sure they were bathed often and sprayed with antiseptic every day. Gordy saw to that. And as his world grew smaller, a dog friend was the only kind Rupert knew.

He sank deeper into his chair, into the blanket. In a few days he'd have new friends. The Philip would host only the best people. Like it used to. And he'd choose between them for the finest service. Life would be good.

This very night David would kill the girl. After that, and over sixty years of patient waiting, the Philip would finally belong to Christian Rupert.

He closed his eyes, visualized Joe twisting in his grave, his fleshless jaws open in a soundless scream, and his gray, rotting bones jangling in protest.

He laughed into the emptiness of his room.

The sound was so new, Melly got to her feet and barked, swishing her tail excitedly.

* * *

David turned the key in Lana's front door, stepped in, and turned off the security system. Lana followed him in and slipped out of her light coat. It was wet, and David quickly took it from her. The sudden downpour had caught them by surprise.

"What a night," Lana said, somewhat dismayed by the water stains on her silk skirt.

David, who'd been preoccupied all night, didn't answer. He walked ahead of her into the living room. "Drink?" he asked, holding up a decanter of brandy.

Lana sat on the sofa. "Don't you have to go?"

"I've got a few minutes." He poured her a brandy and brought it to her, taking a seat beside her. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "And I'd rather spend it with you than the man I'm going to see."

"Really?" She swirled the amber in her glass. "And here I've had the distinct impression I'm dropping lower on your priority list with each passing day."

"It's not the way it seems."

"Then how is it?" She set her glass on the side table. "Maybe you'd like to enlighten me."

He looked tired, shook his head. "I'll tell you this much. After tonight, it will be over. This meeting is the end of it."

"Or the end of us." Her heart stilled at the thought of him failing her. Never seeing him again. It shouldn't hurt so much. She forced her next words out. "I want my money, David."

He brushed his lips over hers. "I know you do, but I know something else." He kissed her again, another soft kiss at the corner of her lips.

Lana willed the rapid beat of her heart, the dull ache between her legs, to stop. She made the rules and she intended to keep them. No money. No sex. "And that is?" She asked the question quietly, in as sweetly a sarcastic tone as she could muster.

"You want me more." He gripped her shoulders, kissed her again, deep and with a fierce sexual hunger.

Lana's eyelids grew heavy, drifted to a close. Her spirit floated toward abandon. But when David's hands slid to her back, started to work on her zipper, she pulled back, dared him with a gaze. "I believe you have another late meeting." She knew her eyes revealed her rising passions, but it didn't matter. Let him see what he was missing.

She got to her feet, straightened her clothes. "And you'd better go."

Temper surged in his eyes. "You're something, you know that?" He stood to face her.

"Yes, I do know I'm 'something'. Something very special. That's why you want me." She brushed his lapel, got up on tiptoe to kiss him softly on the mouth. "And it's why you'd do anything for me."

He closed his eyes, shook his head."You have no idea."

She headed to the closet. "If you're finished with that brandy, you'd best leave. The weather's foul, and you don't want to be late." She offered him his coat.

He took it from her hands, seized her arm by the wrist, his grip a vise.
"Do not
follow me. I don't like it. And tonight particularly—it would be dangerous." He looked down at her, his face taut. "I want your promise on that."

She pulled her wrist from his grasp. "Whatever you say, my darling." She rubbed her wrist.

"Promise me," he repeated. "Say it!"

"I promise."

She watched him pull out of her driveway. She didn't have to follow him. She knew exactly where he was going. And she wasn't sure she could bear it.

* * *

At quarter to ten, Wade knocked on Joy's door. He was relieved to hear the bolt being slid open. It told him she was still being careful. Joy was probably right in thinking Mike was gone. But... this was still Room 33.

"You're early," she said.

"A failing of mine. I hate being late."

"Where's Melly?"

"In my room, chewing the hell out of a bone the size of Nebraska."

Her smile was brief. "Come in for a minute, then."

He shook his head, preferring to remain in the hall.

"Suit yourself. I'll get a shirt. It's a bit cool." She walked across the room to the closet. She was wearing some kind of thing with those skinny straps. Her laptop was open on her table. Other than what dying light could creep in through the cloud-shadowed windows, its light was the only illumination in the room.

"You were working," he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

"Finishing a piece that was due before... before your father's will disrupted my life." She flicked on a small lamp beside her computer. "I owe my editor a completed article on the English canal system before I'm free to become a fully employed hotel owner." He heard the closet door close. "Plus, it keeps my mind off things." She stepped out of her room, wearing a white cotton shirt that looked to be two sizes too big. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."