Chapter Three
With her back to the closed door, Alanna eyed the ivory embossed wallpaper, the gold silk comforter laid precisely over the king-size bed, and the rich gold and blue color scheme of the bedroom.
Alanna flipped the switch on the crystal lamp next to the bed and studied the way the light fused the blues and golds together.
Beautiful, but not her.
And all of this was going to put her need to find out what happened to Whit on the back burner. He’d already been missing two weeks, and every intuition told her time was running out. The man was her family and had taken her in when nobody else did. He’d stuck. So had she.
Aching in every muscle, the bathroom beckoned.
Dread and anxiety rolled with hunger, and she pressed a hand against her stomach to make it stop.
She hated the mystery part of every case.
She could track clues as well as anyone, but her favorite part was achieving justice and putting the culprit away.
She could help Quaid find answers, but first clean and repair.
Alanna flicked on the bathroom light. Gaping, she surveyed the room. Her poor girl attitudes were showing, and she usually took great pains to keep those locked away. She was used to having unexpected things thrown at her and keeping her cool. What was wrong with her?
Out of her element…
The bathroom was bigger than her entire LA apartment.
A custom-designed hot tub bubbled in gentle invitation.
Maid service must be spectacular at this place.
There had only been a few minutes between checking in and walking into the hotel room, yet it was stocked and inviting.
Creamy walls, gold fixtures, green plants, tons of lights, and a large shower added to the intimacy of the room.
Miles of mirrors, stacks of thick white towels, and all sorts of little bottles of shampoos and lotions were by the sink.
Dipping her finger into the water, she tested the heat of the tub and groaned loudly when her shoulder disputed the movement.
She’d slammed her left side pretty hard on the ground tackling Quaid.
Locking the door, she assessed security and wished her gun was handy.
But, if she was partnering with Quaid, she had to trust him to cover her while she did this.
She shed her clothes, checked for glass, then flicked the gold handles on the room size shower.
Four shower heads came on simultaneously.
Swearing softly at the luxury, Alanna slowly entered.
The mirrored tiles strategically placed distorted her image, but she checked her hair again for glass fragments.
Carefully, she put her head under the spray and used the shampoos and body gels that were lined in the little nooks.
The pinprick water streams pelting her was too much stimulation for skin already over sensitized by adrenaline.
Scrubbing earnestly, she noted several little pricks from glass, but none were bleeding.
Turning off the shower, she dripped her way to the hot tub and eased into its heat.
Every muscle shivered in ecstasy. Fiddling with the switches, she figured out how to turn the jets on, leaned her head back against the side, and closed her eyes. She’d have to thank the stupid jerk for clearing time for this.
Later…
&&&&&&&&&&
Quaid finished his phone call and went to his grandfather’s room.
Alanna was in his. He quickly shed his clothes, checked for injuries, and used the shower with it’s vibrating shower heads.
He was hungry, tired, and feeling especially mean.
How far could he trust Alanna? Further, he wanted his hands on that motherfucker for threatening everything that mattered to him.
Niles Benton, his body man and former MI-6, had not been surprised by his call which told him Mackey had briefed him.
He hadn’t even questioned the need for supplies and clothes for both of them and informed him of the equipment and money Mackey was handing off for contingencies.
Judging from her reaction to having to wear Cait’s clothes, Niles estimating Alanna’s sizes would not make her happy, but Niles would get it right.
He always did. A headache broke through behind his eyes, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the discomfort.
Finished, he entered the living room, hoping room service wasn’t far behind. The shower was running in the other room, then turned off. Okay, so he had to listen at the door, but she was still here.
Sitting again, he debated calling his grandfather.
Nope. Dropping his head back, he closed his eyes and let the tension knotted at the base of his skull ease.
His grandfather had an efficient network.
Guaranteed, he’d already heard what happened.
Quaid didn’t have any answers to what would be probing questions, which was also why he hadn’t waited for police. Mackey would be deep into it.
A discreet knock announced the arrival of room service. Checking the peephole to be sure, Quaid opened the door to sumptuous smells and Barker, wheeling the cart.
“Did you get demoted?” Quaid eyed the former secret service agent as he wheeled the cart loaded with food into the room. The man was the head of hotel security for Patton Regency Hotels across the western United States. His homebase was here.
His quick smirk was the only acknowledgement until the door shut. “Didn’t know how serious this situation was. Didn’t want to take chances.”
Lifting the lid from one plate, Quaid sniffed the chicken cordon bleu. His stomach growled.
“Join me.”
“No thanks.”
Replacing the lid, he pushed the cart to the dining room and set a plate on the table. Alanna’s door was still closed. So she’d listened and taken more than fifteen minutes to get her feet under her. He should tell her dinner was here.
As soon as he thought it, Quaid dismissed the idea. She’d come out when she was ready. His quota of uncomfortable confrontations had been used for the day. Pointing to a chair, he lifted the lid and dug into the chicken. Barker sat.
Carl Barker had played linebacker for the Oklahoma Sooners in college.
A big, Black man with piercing brown eyes and a bald head, he’d chosen the Secret Service over the NFL.
A kidnapping attempt on the vice president’s daughter had nearly taken his life and ended his federal career.
Zephren Patton, known for being swift and decisive, had swooped in and made a job offer before the ink was dry on his resignation.
“What happened?” Barker’s southern drawl was barely discernable.
“Not exactly sure. One gunman. In the parking lot of the office. Got through our security by sitting in his car during the wedding. My guess. Not fact yet. He waited the party out before taking his shot. Mackey and Harrison will investigate. I was taking a cigarette break in the lot when he fired.” God, he could use a cigarette right now.
Carl maintained his silence.
“Our FBI liaison was outside and tackled me to the ground. The man missed. Dozens of shots. I’d like to think our skills beat his, but I’m not taking bets.”
“Identify him?”
“No. Not at all. Too busy dodging bullets and staying alive. He followed us in a black sedan.” Quaid took a bite of the succulent melon that came with the meal. “It’s not enough to find him. I get it.”
Barker kept his fingers laced together and placed precisely on the table in front of him, but his eyes sparked with hunter intensity.
Quaid glanced at Alanna’s room. A hard, brief rap at the main door made him jump. Rubbing his temple, he silently counted to ten.
“I’ll get it.” Barker moved, quieter than a morning breeze.
Wiping his mouth with the linen napkin, Quaid waited. Only the staff knew they were here. Unless Niles passed on his message. The visitor was either Niles or Mackey, or both.
Mackey strode in, a menace in black. “The parking lot looks like a bomb exploded, and you’re sitting here like the King of Persia. Christ, Quaid.” Mackey pulled a chair and sat. He reached for a roll and buttered it swiftly. “Way to leave a mess.”
Niles Benton, arms full, stopped at the bar.
“I’m in grandfather’s room, Niles. Alanna is in mine. She’s showering.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll get things organized.”
“You should join us for this conversation first.” Quaid poured himself a cup of coffee he didn’t need, but sleep wasn’t coming any time soon regardless of what his tired body wanted.
Niles placed the bags on the floor by the bar, straightened his black suit jacket, and walked to the table. He didn’t sit. The man never sat when Quaid was in the room. Sometimes it annoyed him, like now. “Sit, Niles.”
Barker took a different chair since Mackey had stolen his seat and leaned back with studied indifference.
Quaid forked his last bite and faced Mackey. “Did you fill Niles in?”
“Yes.”
“He did, sir.”
“I’m up to speed, too.” Carl crossed his arms. “What’s next?”
Mackey put a hand on the cover of the other plate.
Quaid stopped him. “That’s for Alanna. She hasn’t eaten either.”
Carl straightened. “Alanna who?”
“Alanna Williams, the FBI liaison.”
“She the one who saved your butt?” The man knew exactly how many women he’d brought here to wine and dine. But Alanna was different.
“Yeah.”
“Where is she?” Carl looked around.
Quaid tipped his head to her bedroom. “Showering. She should be out soon.” He’d expected her before now. She didn’t seem the type to be left out of this conversation.
He rose and went to the door. Awkward coated the situation. He knocked before he could over analyze it. “Alanna. I have clothes.”
Niles hurried to the bags and pulled the bigger one to hand him.
She didn’t answer.
“Williams, you awake?” He knocked again.
The door silently opened. “Yes?” Alanna, wearing a white hotel robe, kept the heavy oak panels between them. Her face was flushed with color.
“Are you all right?” Inane question, but he had to say something before his brain absorbed all her soft, dewy skin.