Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Cal
Iscroll aimlessly through my phone, standing near the hotel entrance that connects to the parking garage. The rain outside drums against the glass window, steady and relentless. I check the time again.
My gaze sweeps across the lobby, searching for her. Where is she? Somewhere between the traffic and the downpour, we got separated. Typical. And now, of course, my brain jumps straight to the worst-case scenario.
Did she get into an accident? Lose control in the storm? No. Don’t go there.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the unease tightening my chest. Just as I look at my phone again, a text buzzes across the screen.
Denny: Did you make it? The weather is something else right now.
Me: I’ve been here for ten minutes. She should be here by now.
Denny: Why didn’t you ride together? I said I wanted her to be with you.
Me: She said she needed space.
Denny: She’s calling Maggie.
Me: More than likely.
Denny: Find out if she did.
Denny: Actually, let me shoot her a text.
Me: No don’t. It’s dark and if she’s still driving, I don’t want her to check her phone. The roads are pretty bad.
Denny: Is that concern I sense?
Me: Shut up.
Denny: We both know that will never happen.
“I’m here. What now?”
Her voice slices clean through my text exchange, all clipped and impatient. I turn, and she’s shoving her keys into her crossbody, rain still glistening in her hair. She looks … irritated. Or maybe that’s just her default setting when I’m around.
“You made it okay?” I ask, genuine concern slipping through before I can help it. The roads were a mess, so she’s lucky to have made it in one piece.
She blinks at me incredulous. “Um … I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Oookay then.” I draw the word out, biting back a grin. Yep, there’s the Rose I remember. All sharp edges and fire. I can’t really blame her for the extreme sass, given the hell she’s been through lately.
I thumb out a quick text to Denny.
Me: She’s here.
Denny: Keep your hands to yourself.
I scoff as I shove my phone into my back pocket and push off the pillar.
Typical Denny.
“Follow me,” I say gruffly, slipping back into work mode.
She hesitates for half a beat, chin lifted, defiance written all over her. But then she falls into step behind me. Her shoes click against the tile in a rhythm that makes it way too easy to remember all the reasons she gets under my skin.
The Black Onyx Hotel is one of those hotels that practically drips with money.
It’s 1920s themed, stands twenty stories, and is the centerpiece of the downtown.
You see the luxury the second you walk in through the revolving front entrance.
Polished black-and-white checkered floors, gold trim everywhere, huge marble pillars that hit the ceiling.
And staff that look like they’ve been trained not to blink unless a guest does first.
The lobby’s packed tonight. People in tailored suits and glittering dresses are milling around, drinks in hand, like they’ve all stepped out of a Great Gatsby costume party. The low hum of conversation mixes with jazz streaming in from hidden speakers.
Front and center, a carpeted grand staircase sweeps up toward the mezzanine, the kind built to make an entrance.
It gleams under a chandelier big enough to light up a city block.
My eyes draw upward in awe to the second-floor balcony that frames the lobby, and to the hotel’s secret speakeasy.
Every inch of this place is gleaming like it’s made to remind you that you don’t belong here unless your wallet’s thick enough.
And my wallet is definitely not thick enough.
I shift my weight, scanning the room. I’ve been in my share of high-end places for investigations, but this? This is something else. The kind of place where rich people pretend the world doesn’t exist outside these walls.
Hotels like this aren’t meant for people like me.
They’re meant for the ones born into it.
The kind who can drop a few grand for a night just to say they were here.
But tonight, I’ve got business to attend to.
And no amount of gold trim or high-society polish is going to distract me from why I came.
Rose is completely unfazed. Walking through this—oh, I don’t know, palace?—seems second nature to her.
We continue to stride in silence through the lobby and pass more marble than I have seen in a lifetime.
“So we’ll start in security like Denny suggested,” I start. “Look at the camera footage the night she went missing. I want you to look and see if you notice anything about how she was acting. Like maybe she knew the person.”
“Fine.”
I give her some major side-eye. She continues to walk with purpose, head held high, arms swinging. “Then we will look at her room, and see what happens from there.”
“You’re the boss,” she scoffs.
That’s it.
With two strides, I pivot sharply, blocking her path, preventing her from walking any further. She crashes into me, and I stare down at her gorgeous face. A face that looks like she wants to slice my throat with her nails. My heart quickens. “Do we have a problem?”
She gulps, showing her nerves, yet trying to act cool and unbothered. “Nope. No problem.”
“Mm-hmm.” I interlock my fingers behind my back. “I find it funny that after you talked to your cousin on the way over, your entire attitude changed.” As my assessment dawns on her, I raise an eyebrow.
Her mouth drops. “H-how...” Her breath stirs. “How did you know I talked to Maggie?”
I close the distance, slow and deliberate. She stays perfectly still, not retreating. My traitorous pulse kicks up again. I tilt my head with a half-smile. “Orange Crush?”
She looks at the checkerboard floor. Busted. “Look. I know Denny told me not to talk to her—”
“For good reason.”
“But that’s our code word,” she whines out. “We use it in desperate situations when we need rescuing or have to talk privately.”
“Tell me exactly what you talked about.”
She rears back. “What? Why? It was a private conversation.”
I continue, irritation creeping in. “I get it. But, Rose.”
For a fleeting moment, the badge, the gun, the chaos … all of it falls away.
I’m not a cop anymore. I’m just me. Just Cal. Which always happens in her presence.
But I have to be professional.
“The fact remains that your mom used Maggie’s name in a note that she wrote right before disappearing.
Now, I’m not saying Maggie is a suspect, but it raises some questions.
So for you to be having private conversations with her, well, it looks suspicious.
We can’t afford to have someone looking at you as a person of interest.”
I let my words simmer for a second or two. She lifts her chin, and her gaze lands hard on mine, as sharp as glass. “She said I shouldn’t trust you.”
Punching me would have felt better than hearing that. Heat flares as I retreat a few inches, needing the space to breathe. “What else did she say?”
She ignores my question. “Why shouldn’t I trust you, Cal?” she asks, clearly not letting this go.
“I want to hear why Maggie feels that way.”
Her nostrils flare. “Why are you playing games right now?! My mom is missing, and you’re acting like this is a joke!”
“A joke? My job, doing my job, is never a joke to me,” I state sternly, attempting to keep cool.
Her temper flares. Something I remember seeing regularly before. And something that would always stir my blood. In a good way.
“Then tell me why I should trust you!” she shouts, the words echoing in the lobby. Now everyone’s staring. Whispering. Pointing. “How do I know you won’t sabotage things? Right now, I’m doubting whether you are capable of finding her because you won’t talk to me!”
“Would you lower your voice?” I grit out. “The last thing we need is a scene. Let’s take this to the garage.”
She huffs and spins around, stomping in the direction of the parking garage.
I follow behind her as her arms gesture wildly.
“Look, Cal. If you don’t want to tell me something about my mom that you are clearly keeping from me, how am I supposed to work with you?
Besides, I don’t need you. I’ll investigate this on my own with Denny and demand that he keeps you out of everything.
Trust me, I have no problem doing that.”
And I believe every word she’s saying.
We’ve made our way back into the garage, and again, like before, this woman has my anger spiking into something hotter.
Why can’t she work with me for Christ’s sake!
? “Rose, would you stop, please?” I demand as I continue to follow her.
The wind and rain howl outside while she searches for the keys, her fingers clumsy from nerves.
The rain is shooting sideways through the open-air walls of the garage.
I scan our surroundings.
We’re alone.
I grab her arm to stop her momentum. “Get your hands off me!” she yelps, trying to whip her arm away.
I catch her wrist and draw her toward the nearest pillar, guiding her until her back meets the cool concrete.
My arms slam on either side of her shoulders, boxing her in.
Not to intimidate her, but to make her see me, hear me.
The space between us hums, charged and tight.
Her breath catches, and mine does too. I need her attention, yes …
but God help me, I also just want her close.
“What did Maggie say?” The words scrape out of me like gravel. Her eyes dart up, startled, but there’s something else there too. Heat, mixed with some confusion and the same current that’s got my pulse in a chokehold.
Her chest rises as she sucks in a breath, pupils dark and blown. It’s as if the question doesn’t matter. Like the only thing either of us can focus on is this crackling energy that exists when she gets close.
And look, I’m aware this is completely unprofessional. But the thought of Rose having any doubts about me and my intentions toward her or this case is making me irrational. No woman’s opinion has mattered to me like this.