Chapter 23
Gabe
Steve spies the email from the security company right after it zips into his inbox. Oddly enough, we’ve become friends during the twenty-minute wait for the video. He’s thirty-eight and has managed this hotel for five years. We bonded over our mutual background playing high school football in a small town, his being at a tiny burg near the Colorado–New Mexico border. I chuckled when he pointed to his beer belly and sheepishly admitted that his days as star running back are far behind him.
Reviewing security videos is a rare occasion at this hotel. Steve shared a little about the two other times he’s had to use the security video—one for an alleged theft in a guest’s room and one to nail an overzealous racoon that kept getting in the dumpster. Izzie is the first hotel guest who’s disappeared on his watch.
“Let’s see if they captured anything useful!” Steve says excitedly as he makes a couple clicks with the mouse. Pulling my chair closer, we both lean towards the fifteen-inch monitor to watch the grainy video.
The video plays for about three minutes while the hallway remains deserted, then a man appears pushing a cart filled with sheets and towels. He heads into the laundry and about thirty seconds later a woman wearing the hotel’s maid uniform joins him. Steve gasps as we watch the couple—the video captures them through the laundry room window—make out for several minutes, and it’s certainly not PG-13 level kissing. Whew! The pair really heats up the screen.
“I knew those two were attracted to each other, but I didn’t know they’re carrying on an affair in the laundry room!” he huffs.
I suppress laughter, then ask, “Are you going to discipline them?”
He groans. “Good employees are so difficult to find. As long as they don’t make out in front of our guests, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this.”
Several more minutes of video rolls by, but eventually the woman adjusts her uniform, pats her hair into some semblance of order, and sneaks out the door then disappears. The man transfers wet laundry into the dryers, then shoves the new laundry into the washing machines, starts them, and leaves. He disappears in the same direction as the woman. Steve clicks his tongue with a tsk-tsk sound but doesn’t comment further.
We hear the rumble of the machines as they do their job. A few more minutes roll by, then I see Izzie peek out from a door. My heart leaps out of my chest.
“What’s that door to?” I ask, pointing to the screen.
“The stairs,” Steve replies.
Izzie looks like she’s making sure the coast is clear—either trying to avoid her adoring fans or her stalker, I don’t know which—then she sneaks along the hallway. She tiptoes over the carpet, still wearing her travel outfit along with those ridiculous high heels. When she gets to the lobby, she runs into the gift shop and out of frame.
“She’s good looking,” Steve comments. “Do you and her have a thing?”
“I’m her bodyguard!” I huff, but Steve gives me a side-eye glance that says he doesn’t believe me.
About two minutes later, Izzie emerges from the gift shop. She hesitates by the elevators where a large group has congregated. Turning on her heel, she heads back down the laundry hallway, apparently deciding to use the stairs again.
She doesn’t dawdle, striding down the hall as quickly as she can in those high heels. She glances at the maid carts parked in an alcove and then turns her head when she passes the laundry. After a few more steps, a figure clad in all black emerges from behind one of the maid’s carts.
Steve and I both lean forward as we watch the figure approach Izzie from behind. Izzie yells as they grapple for a few seconds, then the attacker shoves Izzie into what looks like a closet. They slam the door, remove a key from their pocket, and lock the door. The figure runs down the hall and vanishes.
“What room is that?!” I shout, as I leap to my feet. My first instinct is to get to Izzie as quickly as possible, though I have plenty of questions about how she got there.
“Janitor’s closet,” Steve says. “Follow me, I’ll get the key!” He moves with surprising speed—displaying some of his former star-running-back prowess—to the reception desk and gets a key from the middle drawer. Within seconds we’re running down the laundry hallway towards the closet.
James Bond and his trusty assistant Steve. Okay, maybe not that.
He deftly fits the key in the lock, turns it, and throws open the door. Squeezing around him, I dash inside and see Izzie sitting on the floor. She blinks up at me as her eyes adjust to the light. A second later, she springs to her feet and leaps into my arms. “You found me!” she repeats over and over as she sobs and clings to me while I embrace her tightly. My heart pounds in relief.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pulling her back from my chest to look her over. Aside from mussed hair, a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, and only one shoe, she appears unharmed. Thank God!
Not caring that Steve is witnessing this, I yank her back into my chest, tilt her head, and crush my lips to hers. It isn’t a gentle kiss, but rather one filled with passion, pouring out all my emotions in actions, not words. We kiss like teenagers for what could be minutes. Belatedly I hope we aren’t making quite as much of a spectacle as the laundry room pair.
Steve finally clears his throat, and we reluctantly pull apart. Izzie leans against me, breathing hard, as I keep her tightly enclosed in my arms. I never want to let her go.
“Do you need anything else from me?” he asks, a small smirk twitching his lips. I expect him to call me out on my “I’m only her bodyguard” comment, but he doesn’t.
Reaching around Izzie, I extend my hand. “Thanks, Steve. I never would have found her without your help.”
He nods, then turns to go. “I’ll interrogate my staff as to who supplied that key to the attacker, but everyone will probably deny any knowledge.” He shrugs, and I figure we’ll never know that piece of the puzzle. Glancing directly at Izzie, he adds, “If you come to the reception desk, I can return the lady’s shoe.”
Izzie makes a happy sound. “Someone found my shoe?”
“We’ll pick it up later,” I say, urging Izzie out of the closet and towards the elevators.
“Please send Bobby back to reception,” Steve adds. I’d forgotten about the kid hanging out in Izzie’s room.
“Will do,” I say, tugging Izzie along beside me. After hobbling several steps, she reaches down and removes the one high heel still on her foot and proceeds barefoot.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she says, leaning her head against my chest as we walk down the hall. Questions flow from her mouth like water from a broken pipe. “How did you find me? How long was I in the closet? Did we miss the book signing?” She finally pauses for air, glancing up at me.
“We reviewed the hallway security camera video to find you.”
“Oh my gosh! I never thought about that. Did you see my attacker? Did you recognize her?”
“Her?”
Izzie nods. “She was wearing a distinctive perfume.”
I file that information away for later. “She was wearing black from head to foot. There’s no way we could recognize her in the video.”
Izzie grunts. “She was hanging out in wait for me, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, it looked like it. She was hiding behind one of the maid’s carts.” Pausing, I add, “Izzie, do you think Kat Von Steenburg could be your stalker?”
She barely reacts to the question; the same thought must have crossed her mind. “She seemed so nice when I met her. Why would a prominent CEO personally stalk someone? Wouldn’t she hire someone to do that?”
Izzie makes a good point. Plus, the stalker knows a lot about hiding their email tracks, which also doesn’t seem like something a cosmetics mogul would know how to do.
“You’re probably right,” I say, my gut still suspicious of the Glam Products owner. “Izzie, you have to remain vigilant at all times.”
“I’m so sorry! Since the stalker hadn’t sent a new email in a while, I thought I was safe.” She bites her lower lip and looks genuinely remorseful.
This is my cue to firmly reprimand her for leaving her room without me, but I’m so relieved to see her and that she’s safe, I don’t do it.
As we step into the elevator, I say, “It’s already 8:15, so we’ve missed the book signing. Plus, I need to call the police and report this incident. They’ll probably want to come to the hotel and interview you about the attack.”
She expels a loud breath. “Can we just keep this quiet? What good will involving the police do at this point?”
“Izzie, I don’t recommend doing that. If we can figure out who your stalker is, don’t you want to press charges?”
The elevator dings for our floor and we step out. As we walk towards our rooms, Izzie says, “I’m not sure at this point about calling the police, let me sleep on it.”
I grunt, not forcing the issue because I don’t want to fight with her over this. If I push, she’ll just dig her heels in further.
Once we’re enclosed inside Izzie’s suite, and after I tell Bobby he can return to the front desk, she says, “I need to call the bookstore owner and try to make things right. And contact my agent.” She strides over to the end table and picks up her cell phone. She stares at it as she nibbles on her lower lip, a sure sign that she’s fretting about the situation. “Maybe I can talk the store owner into letting me sign tomorrow morning? We don’t have to leave for New York until afternoon.”
“About that,” I say. Izzie’s eyes swivel to mine and she stares at me, waiting for my explanation.
After chewing my butt off over losing the woman I’m supposed to be protecting, the General decided to pull me off the assignment ASAP and send Luke Fieldstone as my replacement. I didn’t even have to admit to having feelings for Izzie. Basically I was going to ask to be replaced, but the General beat me to it.
“I’m flying back to California on the red-eye flight this evening. Another Grayson Security employee is going to take over guarding you; he’ll be here soon. Your father is sending his private jet and you’re flying to New York tomorrow; no more road trip. You’d have to ask him about rescheduling the Denver signing.” I know this because I also received a scathing call from Izzie’s father. My left ear is still stinging from that conversation, although a one-sided lambasting isn’t exactly a conversation.
She rushes over to me, leaning her head against my chest and putting her arms around my waist. My arms encircle her and tug her closer as she looks up at me, her lips trembling while she blinks back tears. “This wasn’t your fault, Gabriel. I didn’t follow your instructions.” She sniffles a couple times, then says, “I’ll call Winston and my father to explain everything.”
Shaking my head, I say, “The new plan is in motion. It’s for the best that I go back to California.”
She arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Why?”
As I gaze at her, all the reasons that it’s best for me to take a step back tumble around in my mind. The bodyguard gig was just a favor to Winston, but that didn’t stop my heart and my emotions getting tangled up over this woman. Being in love with her jeopardizes my objectivity as her protector.
The L-word hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’ve fallen in love with Ismeralda Harrington.
But, after the road trip ends, I’m afraid there’s no future for us. She’s a celebrity and loves the spotlight. I’m just a guy who lives a low-key life and likes tracking cyber criminals.
Yanking off the Band-aid, I say, “This thing between us would only have been a short-term fling. Travelling with you has been fun, but we both need to return to our real lives.”
She stiffens in my arms, and I instantly regret my words. “I see,” she says, stepping out of my embrace.
Forcing my face to remain emotionless, I say in a no-nonsense tone, “Stay in your room until I introduce you to my replacement. Even if you’re in desperate need of a Snickers bar.” I add the teasing statement, hoping to get her to smile. She doesn’t even crack a grin, but instead morphs before my eyes into the diva I met when I interviewed with her at her father’s house.
“I wouldn’t dream of not following your instructions,” she says in a haughty tone as she looks down her nose at me. “That’s all, Mr. Martin.” She firmly puts me back in my place. I’m her employee and nothing else. But isn’t that what I wanted?
Feeling like a screwup who’s just been fired, I return to my own suite where I need to pack. As I randomly toss my stuff into my bag, a stone lodges itself in my stomach. I thought taking a step back was the right thing, but why do I feel so terrible about it?
Was this the worst decision of my life?