But the car was already in motion, and neither Lexi nor Frankie noticed the man watching from the hotel lobby as the Mustang pulled onto the highway.
Chapter Sixteen
Xavier Greyson slipped into the hotel lobby, taking advantage of the crowd and chaos to blend unnoticed into the busy scene. Once he was safely through the doors, he stepped behind a marble column, reassuring himself he couldn’t be seen by anyone outside.
Pulse racing, he forced himself to take several deep breaths. He couldn’t fall apart now. At first he’d been alarmed to see the girl from the stairwell standing outside the parking garage, instantly recognizing her even without her pink hair, but now he thought maybe it was all for the best. If she was hanging around the hotel, it would be easier for him to find her and shut her up.
Deciding the safest thing to do was to act normal and not call attention to himself, Xavier pulled out his phone and held it to his ear, pretending to be deep in conversation. He crossed the lobby, stopping next to the big window that looked out onto the taxi drop-off lane and the pedestrian path to the parking garage.
The girl from the stairwell was nowhere to be seen. She’d definitely recognized him, too, but she hadn’t cried out or alerted the police. Why not? Had she not connected his soggy, unexpected presence in the stairwell with Portia Hart’s highly-publicized drowning death the same evening? Could she really be that naïve?
He thought of the shock and fear he’d seen on her face, obvious even at a distance, and dismissed the idea.
She recognized me and she was afraid, so she must suspect something.
Maybe that was why she’d disappeared. She was scared and knew he would be coming after her. Or, perhaps she was the opposite of naïve. Perhaps she was smart enough to sense the danger.
I need to find out who she is and why she was in the stairwell in the middle of the night. And why she’s still skulking around here the day after.
A disturbingly familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. Still holding the phone to his ear, he glanced back to see two women in the midst of an emotional conversation. The woman wearing a bright pink dress looked familiar. He took another look.
For the second time that day, Xavier’s heart jumped in alarm. Portia’s agent, Jane Bishop, stood only a few feet away. Her bright cap of white hair and her loud, penetrating voice were unmistakable.
Turning back to the big window, he listened to the women’s conversation with growing dread.
“…it doesn’t make sense. Portia would never do this to herself. Someone is responsible and I have a feeling I know who it is."
“She seemed so happy last night,” the other woman said. “Her reading was flawless, and she was incredibly engaged during the signing. It took ages, but she spoke to everyone in line without any sign of impatience or fatigue.”
Xavier assumed Jane must be talking to the hotel’s event planner, but he didn’t dare look back. She might recognize him from their one brief encounter a month before, when she had stopped by Portia’s hotel room in New York City during the book tour’s first stop.
Xavier had answered the door thinking it would be room service with his breakfast tray. The old woman had been surprised to see him, and she’d been hard to get rid of.
At the time he hadn’t been worried that Jane had seen his face. That had been before he’d discovered the truth about Portia. Back when he’d thought they might really be able to start a life together. Before he’d had to adjust his plans to better meet his long-term financial goals.
But the sight of Jane Bishop at the Riverview Hotel was an unwelcome complication. And the conversation he’d overheard indicated she was, once again, going to be difficult to get rid of. The police would be asking questions of everyone Portia had known. It would only be a matter of time before they talked to Jane.
Calculating his options, Xavier snuck a quick look back at the women. The event planner was handing Jane a box of books.
“These were left after last night’s reception.” The woman sounded almost apologetic. “Portia signed them all yesterday. They’re the last ones she’ll ever sign, so I thought you’d want them.”
“Thank you…for everything.” Jane’s voice cracked as she took the box. “I’ve got to get to the airport now, but I plan to come back soon. This isn’t over.”
Jane hurried past Xavier’s motionless figure; only his eyes moved to follow her as she exited the hotel.
You’re absolutely right, you old busybody, this is definitely far from over.
Xavier waited until Jane had joined the long queue of people waiting at the taxi stand, then hurried out the hotel’s side entrance.
✽ ✽ ✽
The yellow car idled next to the curb as Xavier gripped its steering wheel and watched the queue outside the hotel with growing impatience. Willow Bay’s taxi operations obviously weren’t up to the task of handling the rush caused by Portia Hart’s sudden death.
Waiting until just the right moment, he steered the taxi into the flow of slow moving cars. He pulled into the loading zone and waited for the doorman to open the passenger door for the next person in the queue.
“Where to?” he asked, not looking around.
“The airport, please.”
Jane Bishop slid a carboard box full of books onto the seat next to her and buckled her seat belt, then took out her cell phone and began tapping in a message. Xavier surveyed her in the rearview mirror, instinctively adjusting his dark sunglasses and pulling his black baseball cap lower as he accelerated onto the highway.
Taking the exit for the airport, he stayed in the right lane, observing the speed limit. He couldn’t afford to attract the attention of a cop who might be driving by. He’d heard too many stories about criminals getting snagged because they’d gotten stopped for a minor traffic violation. He was determined not to make any more mistakes.
“Wasn’t that the airport exit?”
Jane looked back at the sign they’d just passed in confusion.
“The new entrance for taxis and public transport is just up here,” Xavier said, noting with satisfaction that all the other cars on the highway had turned off toward the airport as the road narrowed to two lanes.
Xavier could see Jane in the rearview mirror staring up at him with a puzzled frown. Perhaps she’d recognized his voice. Or maybe she realized they were now the only car on the highway.
Seeing the turnoff to Mosquito Lake, he slowed and twisted the wheel, ignoring Jane’s cry of surprise and protest. Before she knew what was happening, he had reached over the seat and grabbed the phone from her hand, dropping it onto the floor at his feet.
He floored the gas, barreling and bucking down the rutted dirt road until he’d reached the shore, then slammed on the brakes. Jane had already opened the rear door and was scrabbling through it as Xavier jumped out and grabbed a handful of short white hair.
Wrenching her all the way out, he pulled her toward the back of the car. She resisted, slipping in the mud and falling hard at his feet. Her black-framed glasses askew, she squinted up at him, but the sun was too bright, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut.
“Here, let me make it easier for you.” Xavier bent forward, blocking the sun as he removed his cap and glasses. “That better?”
Jane gasped as she recognized his handsome features.
“I knew it!” she gasped. “I knew you were bad news.”
“And I knew you couldn’t mind your own fucking business,” he responded through gritted teeth. “I guess we were both right.”
Spinning on his heel, he stomped back to stand in front of the trunk. Hesitating, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and popped it open. The taxi driver’s wide, unseeing eyes stared up at him through the clear plastic bag Xavier had used to suffocate him.
Jane got to her feet and tried to stumble away, but Xavier’s long arm shot out, and he grabbed the back of her mud-splattered dress, yanking Jane’s compact body against him.
“Oh no, you’re not g
oing anywhere.”
Dragging her toward the trunk, Xavier felt the phone in his pocket buzz. He’d need to finish up with Jane soon. He had other things that had to be taken care of right away. If he didn’t act quickly, his whole plan would fall apart.
Xavier wrapped one strong arm around Jane’s throat and squeezed, while using his other arm to keep her hands trapped by her side. Within minutes her body sagged limply in his arms.
“It’s time…for you to…disappear,” he gasped, maneuvering her closer to the open trunk. “Now don’t make…this…difficult.”
Forcing her head inside the trunk, he could tell by her renewed resistance that she was still conscious, and that she’d seen the taxi driver’s body stuffed inside.
Summoning all his strength, Xavier shoved Jane into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. He stood in stunned silence, surprised to have gotten her inside so quickly.
Maybe things are looking up. Maybe my run of bad luck is over.
Walking around to the driver’s side of the car, Xavier opened the door and bent down to feel around the floor well. His fingers settled on Jane’s phone, and he scooped it up. A sudden banging in the trunk caused him to jump and drop the phone on the ground.
He strode to the back of the car and pounded his fist on the lid several times, then leaned close and yelled out.
“Go ahead, bang all you want, old lady. It doesn’t matter…nobody’s gonna hear you where you’re going anyway.’
The phone in his hand trilled, and once again he dropped it. Bending to retrieve it, he bumped his head against the bumper. Grabbing the phone, he hurled it toward the water without thinking.
The splash made him feel a little better, and he exhaled as he watched the ripple in the lake fade away, determined not to let the stress get to him.
I’m almost there…just a few more loose ends to take care of and I’ll be done. The hard part will be over.
Turning back to the car, Xavier started the engine and lowered all the windows. Then he put the taxi into drive. The yellow car began to roll slowly down the steep bank toward the lake. He managed to step away and shut the door just as the taxi reached the soggy shore.
When the car stopped halfway into the water, and he could still hear Jane pounding against the lid, Xavier’s fear that the whole plan had been a terrible mistake returned.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he got behind the car and pushed. The wheels began to move again, and within minutes the yellow roof of the taxi had disappeared into the lake’s murky depths.
The hot air around the lake was quiet and still for a few blissful seconds. Then an airplane roared overhead, prompting Xavier to turn away and head back toward the highway. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he tapped on the Willow Bay Quick Rides app and typed in the address of the little mom and pop gas station he’d located on the map earlier. It was only half a mile further up the highway.
Fifteen minutes later he was sitting in the back seat of a blue Toyota sedan chatting to the driver, who had introduced herself as Connie. She explained that she’d retired to Florida to escape the chilly Chicago winters.
“I don’t miss all that snow in the winter,” she said, turning up the air, “but these Florida summers are pretty intense. Especially with this latest dry spell.”
Xavier nodded, making sure to keep his sunglasses and hat on, and his tone neutral.
"Yeah, it's a good day to spend in the water.” He allowed himself a small smile. “I'm sure there are plenty of nice lakes around here.”
Sitting back in his seat, Xavier looked at his watch, exhausted and anxious to get back to the hotel. Someone might wonder where he’d gotten to. And, of course, the other woman who could screw up his plan was still out there.
He pictured the fear written on the girl’s face in the stairwell, and then again outside the hotel that afternoon. That kind of fear made people do stupid things. Eventually she’d panic and end up telling someone what she’d seen.
That meant, no matter how tired he was, he couldn’t let himself rest until he made sure she would never have the chance to tell anyone where he’d been the night Portia died. If he asked around discreetly, he would likely be able to find out who she was and why she was skulking around the hotel.
Taking out his phone again, Xavier navigated to his new app and swiped through the latest updates. He wanted to keep track of all developments. He had to make sure he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to avoid becoming the main subject of the next big story.
Chapter Seventeen
Finn Jordan steered the Channel Ten news van up to the front entrance of the Riverview Hotel. He came close to side-swiping the police cruiser that was blocking cars and pedestrians from crossing the secured perimeter around the employee entrance and the door leading to the stairs.
“I’ll go park over there next to the Channel Six van.” Finn ignored the uniformed officer who was waving for him to move out of the unloading zone. “You go get us a spot in the press pen. I’m sure as a local celebrity you won’t have a problem getting a place at the front.”
Annoyed by Finn’s bossy tone and sarcastic comment, Veronica didn’t bother responding. She opened the door and jumped out into the crowd.
Winding her way through the throng of people, she looked toward the spot where Nick Sargent and Gustavo had been stationed earlier in the day. Neither man was anywhere to be seen. In fact, it looked as if half the reporters had decamped.
Looking at her watch, she saw that it was already six o’clock. Perhaps they’d gone to get dinner. The thought made her stomach growl. She hadn’t had lunch and was suddenly ravenous.
With a defiant sigh she marched into the lobby and headed toward the restaurant, which appeared to be packed.
A teenage hostess explained there would be at least a thirty minute wait for a table, but that the bar had just opened for dinner, and that single seats were available. Veronica turned toward the dimly lit bar with a resigned sigh.
I guess I better get used to the single seats.
Finding an empty stool near the end of the long wooden bar, Veronica caught sight of herself in the mirror. She smoothed back a stray lock of hair and wiped at a smudge of mascara under her left eye, cursing the relentless heat and humidity.
“Don’t worry, you look fine,” an amused voice said from across the bar. “But I bet you could use a cold drink. What’ll it be?”
Veronica’s cheeks flushed pink as she turned to see the bartender standing in front of her. When she didn’t speak, he raised dark eyebrows and tried again.
“What can I get you?”
“Sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “Perrier with lime, please.”
The bartender smiled and nodded.
“You’re a serious drinker, I see.”
Veronica ignored the teasing comment as she picked up a food menu off the bar and began studying the options.
“I’m just going to look at the menu. I’m famished.”
Setting a glass in front of her, the bartender filled it with cold sparkling water and added a twist of lime.
“My name’s Benji. Just let me know when you’re ready to order.”
Once Benji turned to walk away, Veronica lifted her eyes to take a closer look. She had a habit of people watching. She liked to study people and try to figure out their story. It was one of the reasons she’d become a reporter. There was something interesting about most people if you looked deep enough.
Tall and lean, Benji had a five o’clock shadow and dark hair that curled over his white collared shirt. Veronica noted his strong, tan forearms as he wiped the counters with a rag.
As he turned to a man at the end of the bar, she examined his profile, admiring his strong jaw line, high cheek bones, and classic Roman nose.
Catching her appraising gaze, Benji smiled, revealing deep dimples. Mortified, Veronica dropped her eyes and stared fixedly at the menu as if it might hold the secret of immortality. She didn’t raise her eyes again until she h
eard a man’s voice at her elbow.
“Mr. Hart, your room will be ready shortly,” the man said, bumping Veronica’s arm as he ushered a man onto the stool next to her. “Benji, get Mr. Hart a drink of whatever he wants on the house."
“Of course, Mr. Robinson,” Benji said in a polite voice, although his dimples had faded. “What will it be, Mr. Hart?”
Unsure if she had heard the name correctly, Veronica turned to see a young man with dark, floppy hair and thick-framed glasses.
“I’ll just take a glass of water, please,” he said, settling onto the stool with a deep sigh.
Veronica stared in stunned surprise. Could the man really be Portia Hart’s younger brother, Julian? Was it possible that the man she’d been looking for had just walked up and sat down next to her?
“Mr. Hart?” Veronica asked, unable to control herself. “Are you by any chance Julian Hart, Portia Hart’s brother?”
Regarding her through smudged lenses, the man seemed unsure how to answer. He finally nodded and turned back to Benji, who had returned with his drink. Downing the water in several long gulps, Julian set the empty glass on the table.
“Same again, please,” he said to Benji, sliding the glass forward.
The bartender picked up the glass and spun around to refill it. When he returned, Veronica was surprised to see a flash of irritation on his handsome face.
Benji set the water down without a word, then stepped out from behind the bar to clear one of the bar tables.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
An awkward silence fell as Veronica searched for the right words.
“You must be devastated.”
Taking off his glasses, Julian rubbed his eyes with his fists and twisted his head to look at Veronica.
“Thanks. I guess I’m still in shock. It just doesn’t seem real.”
His eyes were a deep blue, and without his over-sized glasses, Veronica thought he was really quite attractive. She’d seen online that he was thirty years old, only a few years old than she was, but in person he appeared to be younger.
Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller Page 9