Chapter Twenty-Two
“I know,” Alice said, “but this works both ways. You’ll have to trust me not to use my talent to send you into a waking nightmare.”
She was back in fully composed mode, he realized. Her self-control was amazing. That, of course, was one of the many reasons it had been so thrilling a few minutes ago when she had briefly allowed herself off the leash.
He had been right about her from the start. There was plenty of fire under the surface.
“Good,” he said. “That simplifies things. The trust issue is out of the way.”
“Well, I suppose for now—”
“It’s time to move forward with our plan,” he said, pretending he hadn’t heard the uncertainty in her voice.
“I thought you said we needed more information.”
“We just got it.”
“From that phone call? What did Twitchell say that convinced you we can move forward?”
“The forty-eight-hour deadline, among other things.”
“What did that tell you?”
“He should have given us twenty-four hours at most. In his place I’d have said I needed the answer by morning. The forty-eight-hour time frame means that he’s working on a move of his own and he needs the time to put the pieces in place on the board.”
“We can’t trust anything he says.”
“True. But I’m sure of one thing about Twitchell—he’s a high-end strategy talent. So is Kelbrook, for that matter.”
“That makes sense,” Alice said. “Twitchell is a fixer, after all, and Kelbrook runs a business empire.”
“Yes, but I’ve dealt with Twitchell long enough now to be sure he’s got his own agenda, one that is probably not aligned with Dunstan Kelbrook’s. That means one of the questions we must ask is, what’s in this for him?”
She swept out her hands. “Money? Maybe Twitchell will get a bonus if he gets those shares for Kelbrook.”
“No, this whole thing is about a lot more than money.” He suddenly remembered that he was standing around in a bathrobe. Not a good look for a consultant. “This is about the Kelbrook family dynamics. It has been from the start.”
“A succession drama?”
“Maybe. With luck, we’ll get more data in the morning.”
“What happens in the morning?”
“We’re going to check out the address of the dead guy in the shower.”
“Carl Voyle? But that’s over in the Shadow Zone. You said we had to stay here in the Amber Palace for security reasons.”
“As far as the media and everyone else is concerned, we will never leave the premises.”
He explained the first step of the plan that was finally starting to take shape in his head.
“That just might work,” Alice said.
He gave her his best I’m a consultant—don’t try this at home smile. “Thanks. I came up with the idea all by myself.”
She ignored that. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, haven’t you?”
He looked at her. She was standing in the light that streamed through the window. Her hair was in tousled chaos and her eyes were a little heated. He knew she was doing some data collecting of her own, probably looking for information she thought she could use to analyze his dreams.
“Yes,” he said.
“You don’t just identify the bad guys, do you? You hunt them.”
“Sometimes.” Her curiosity was probably dangerous, but deep down he liked knowing she was interested in his secrets. Still, best to change the subject. He went to the table where he had left his tech. He picked up the locator and input Voyle’s address. “We’re going to need a tunnel sled.”
Alice brightened. “I know someone who can arrange that.”
“Who?”
“Vinnie the Broker. He connects buyers and sellers. He’s the one who got me a good deal on the flamer.”
“The flamer that you used to set the bed on fire at the Hotel of Dreams?”
“That wasn’t Vinnie’s fault. I didn’t have time to study the manual.”
“You know how to contact a guy like Vinnie the Broker?”
“Everyone at the clinic knows Vinnie. I’ll call his office right now and tell him that we need a sled first thing in the morning.”
“This broker has an office?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And it’s open in the middle of the night?”
“Vinnie’s business motto is ‘The Broker never sleeps.’ Between you and me, it’s one of the reasons why he comes to see me for dream therapy.”
She started toward the table to pick up her phone.
“Wait,” he said. “Use the room phone, not your own. The Amber Palace will have better security.”
She changed course and picked up the phone on the bedside table.
He listened while she made the call, torn between amusement and admiration.
Her enthusiasm and the assured way she spoke to an off-the-books broker who could procure unregistered flamers and emergency sleds for a lady in distress were impressive.
He wondered if she had any realistic notion of just how dangerous a man like Vinnie the Broker could be.
Maybe, in some karmic kind of way, innocence was its own sword and shield. Or maybe there was something to be said about all that positive thinking.
She finished the call and turned around, glowing with excitement. “You’re right. Vinnie says the Amber Palace does have a hole-in-the-wall. Access can be purchased from the concierge.”
“Told you so,” he said. “Hotels like the Amber Palace always have discreet tunnel entrances for guests who like their privacy.”
“Vinnie says he’ll have the sled ready and waiting in the morning. Oh, and he said there are several hole-in-the-wall exits in the Shadow Zone. He’ll input a couple of options into the sled’s locator, along with the codes for unlocking them.”
“A full-service broker. Amazing.” He glanced at the bed. “We should get some sleep.”
“Absolutely. We both need sleep.”
She hesitated, as if trying to make a decision, and then walked resolutely toward the bed. She crawled under the covers, still wearing the robe.
“Good night,” she said.
“Good night.”
And that, he realized, was that. The moment had passed.
He went back to the pull-out bed. It felt cold.
He decided to do some serious thinking—refine the plans for the trek to the Shadow Zone—but he fell asleep almost immediately.
—
A series of crisp, insistent knocks woke him shortly after dawn. He pushed aside the covers and grabbed the robe. He picked up the flamer and stuffed it into one of the pockets.
Alice sat up against the pillows, clutching the sheet to her throat even though she was still wearing the pajamas and the robe.
“The door,” she said anxiously.
“I’ll get it,” he said.
He checked the peephole and opened the door. A dapper-looking man dressed in a well-tailored suit, his hair gleaming from a touch of pomade, stood in the hall. He wore a pin with two crossed gold keys in his lapel.
He held out Sebastian with both manicured hands. “Good morning, Mr. March. I’m Ridley, the head concierge. I believe the lucky dust bunny is a guest who is currently staying in this room.”
“Sebastian.” Alice leaped out of bed and rushed across the room, the hem of her robe flying around her legs. She seized Sebastian from the concierge. “Thank you, Mr. Ridley. I was starting to worry.”
Sebastian chortled. His sunglasses were askew on his head. The crystals of his new necklace glittered in his fur.
“No trouble at all,” Mr. Ridley said. “Happy to be of service.”
Owen groaned and went back to the bedside table to retrieve his wallet.
“Where did you find Sebastian?” Alice asked.
“The hotel kitchen,” Mr. Ridley said without inflection. “Specifically, the bakery.”
Owen returned to the door. “How bad was the damage?”
“I was informed that approximately thirty breakfast pastries were consumed,” Mr. Ridley said.
Alice’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible. There’s no way Sebastian could have eaten thirty pastries.”
Owen eyed the crumbs in Sebastian’s fur. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
“As it happens, the lucky dust bunny was not alone when he showed up in the kitchen,” the concierge said. “He was accompanied by a number of acquaintances.”
Owen sighed. “Put the pastries on my bill.”
“That has already been done, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is one more thing.” Owen took a couple of large bills out of his wallet, hesitated, and added one more. “We would like to take advantage of your private tunnel entrance.”
“Of course.” Mr. Ridley made the money disappear. “What time will you be leaving?”
“After breakfast.”