Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Cal
The hallway on the twelfth floor reeks of bleach and cheap disinfectant, the kind that clings to your throat.
We move in single file through the navy blue and dark green decorated floor, passing room after room.
Triangular shaped retro lights hang on the walls, adding a soft glow to the hallway.
We sidestep a maid’s cart abandoned against the wall, confirming my worst fear.
They’ve already cleaned the room.
I am going to kill Denny. Why wouldn’t he send me to do this before today if he was busy with another case? It’s really unlike him to miss something like this.
Rose walks behind me, and every step she takes feels heavier than the last. I want to reach for her, to promise I’ll find her mother and take this fear away, but all I can do is keep moving forward.
The look on her face back in that security office gutted me.
She was lost, trembling, and trying so damn hard to be brave.
It still sits in my chest like a bruise.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s scanning the hallway, her expression tense, eyes wide and wary. She’s holding it together, but barely. So I decide to talk some, hoping it will ease her anxiety a little. “If your mom lives close by, why did she book a room?”
She shrugs, still taking in her surroundings. “Mom doesn’t like to drive at night and it was just easier. The conference was going to keep her pretty busy. This way she could come back to her room and nap in between lectures. She attends these every year and they wipe her out.”
“Makes sense.”
“This is it,” Mr. Hawkins announces, stopping at room 1243. He swipes the keycard; the light flashes green, and the lock clicks. His hand moves for the handle, but I stop him, my instincts kicking in before he can turn it.
“I got it,” I demand.
Opening the door, I step aside to allow Rose to enter first with Mr. Hawkins behind me, and of course, the room is picture-perfect ready. Fresh linens. Vacuum tracks in the carpet. The bathroom counter gleams like a showroom.
Every room in the Black Onyx is tailored to the theme of the whole hotel.
The Roaring 20s. And money. Lamp shaded gold sconces hang on the walls.
Navy blue and gold art déco architecture wallpaper covers the main wall.
The massive leather headboard of the king-size bed almost reaches the ceiling.
Green velvet chairs rest around a dark mahogany table.
Black and white photographs of flapper girls adorn the walls. It’s rich and expensive.
And spotless.
These maids are good at their jobs, that’s for sure.
Instantly, I’m full of fury. Yeah, Denny should’ve been here earlier, but either way, they were told not to clean the room. As my luck would have it, that message didn’t make it to the maid staff.
This has to be a joke, right?
Dead center of the room, Rose freezes, astonished, shoulders sagging. She looks as if someone punched her in the gut. “Where are my mother’s things?” she asks.
I turn to address Mr. Hawkins. “That’s what I would like to know. What happened? My superior, Richard Dennison, called with specific instructions for this room to remain untouched until our arrival to inspect it.”
Mr. Hawkins is scanning the room in a panic.
“I … I don’t know what happened. This isn’t my department, so I’m in the dark like you guys.
It’s upsetting, to say the least.” He holds up a finger and walks back to the door.
“One moment. Felicia!” he hollers as he stands in the hallway, holding the door open.
A woman, a maid, who I assume is Felicia, scurries over.
“This is Felicia, the night maid. She does one final inspection of the emptied rooms for the next day’s check-ins.
” He addresses the maid, “Felicia, please pull up the room cleaning assignments for the day.” She nods and pulls out what looks like a company-issued phone.
She scrolls, then hands it to Mr. Hawkins. “Here are the rooms on this floor scheduled for today. Plus the ones I’m assigned to double-check for tomorrow.”
He scans it, shaking his head. “Wait here,” he commands as Felicia stands staring wide-eyed while the door closes on her. Poor thing probably thinks she’s done something wrong.
He hands me the phone, pointing to the screen. “This report makes zero sense, but if you look right here”—he points to a list of room numbers—“for whatever reason, this room is listed among the cleaning assignments. Clearly, someone dropped the ball. But I will get to the bottom of it.”
“Please do,” I bark out as I hand him back the phone. “In the meantime, wait in the hall. We will need you to escort us to where her things are once we are done here.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods and hands me the key. “If you need anything else, please let us know. Take your time.” I watch as his dejected figure disappears through the door.
It clicks shut, and I’m already scanning, taking in every detail. Rose continues to stand motionless, her shoes making imprints in the carpet, watching me intently. As much as I love having her near me, no matter the situation, I need her out of my way so that I can think.
“Sit down, Sheridan. Let me handle this,” I bark out as I open and close dresser drawers.
She turns; the fire in her eyes is unmistakable. “Sit down? Not happening. I know my mom and what to look for.”
I guess sassy Rose is back. It’s true, I adore this version of the woman, but she’s not who I want her to be right now. I clench my jaw. She doesn’t get it. She couldn’t get it.
“Look,” I implore firmly. “If there’s something here, it’ll be hidden and subtle. I know what I’m doing.”
Her chin lifts, stubborn as ever. “You don’t know my mother like I do.”
Damn it. She was right.
But that didn’t matter. This wasn’t about knowing her mother. This was about knowing the evidence.
“I’m not doubting the relationship you have with your mom, but you’re very emotional right now, and rightly so. Emotions cloud judgment. You’ll miss what’s in plain sight. Besides”—I glance around the room—“it’s spotless. I doubt we will find anything.”
Her nostrils flare. “And you think …” She stops, composing herself.
“You think you’re not emotional?” she snaps.
“Don’t act like you’re made of stone, Cal.
I know better. We got drinks. Remember. Or have you forgotten that night?
Because I remember. Especially how it ended.
” Her face twists, and the wound from my rejection is still fresh.
Oh, I remember all right, Rose.
There is no doubt she’s been holding this in since she arrived today. She knows I let my guard down with her that night. And she remembers how I left. And based on the daggers she’s shooting at me right now, she’s hurt.
This cuts deeper than I expect. I can't face her. Too much of a coward to face the hurt I caused her. I focus on the desk. The drawer slides open with a hollow scrape and then closes on its own. It’s empty and spotless. I run my hand along the bottom.
“Stay put. Please,” I say without looking back. I can’t. My emotions have to stay in check, and when I look at her, Detective Cal Masters becomes a lovesick teenager.
She huffs and drops onto the bed. I hear the defiance in the movement, like she was doing it just to prove she wasn’t obeying me. Even though she did.
I search quietly, yet I know she’s watching me. And she’s nowhere near ready to let this go.
“You almost kissed me. That night. You walked me to my car, held me, and then … left. It was humiliating.”
I freeze. My fingers curl around the edge of the closet as heat coupled with guilt surges through me.
She continues. “For months, I thought I had done something wrong. Then, I told myself it didn’t matter. Like, maybe I imagined the whole thing.” She puffs out a small chuckle. “But I didn’t imagine it, Cal. You were there. You looked at me like you wanted it too, and then you didn’t.”
“That was a mistake.”
“A mistake?!” Her tone is sharp and daring. I squeeze my eyes shut. That was probably the wrong thing to say. What I meant was, it was a mistake to stop. But I don’t say that out loud.
She pauses. “Or you don’t want to admit you wanted to kiss me?”
I turn, my gaze meeting hers, and the world pauses. She has no idea what she is doing to me. “It’s not that I wanted to stop it. I pulled away because it was wrong. Bad timing. We were working together. I wasn’t about to cross that line.”
“Maybe I didn’t want you to stop,” she volleys, cutting me to the bone.
My pulse kicks up hard. Without realizing it, and in only three steps, I’m so close the warmth radiating off her seeps under my skin.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I rasp. Our knees touch. She raises her hooded eyes, her hands clenching the down comforter. “We’re working together again. And if I cross that line now…”
“You’re saying you don’t want to?”
God help me.
I want to kiss her again more than anything. For almost a year, that almost-kiss was all I thought about. I didn’t expect to run into Rose Sheridan again. Then someone up and took her mom, and here we are.
As soon as she showed up at the precinct this afternoon, it was like no time had passed. She makes me feel things no woman ever has.
My hand flexes uselessly at my side, aching to touch her. I inch closer, breathing her in. “You don’t know how much I want to. But it’s not appropriate. Not here. Not now.”
Hurt whizzes across her features before she quickly buries it under anger. She shoots off the bed, standing so that we are somewhat at eye level. “So you get to decide for both of us? Again?”
That stung worse than a knife. And she’s not wrong. I did choose to stop things that night. Then, for the three weeks that followed, I pushed her away with rudeness.
I’m drawn to her like a magnet that’s too strong to pull away from. The second her eyes meet mine, all reason frays.