“Ruth Gellico,” he shouted. “Is she here? Did your men spot her?”
The man on the other end assured him that the woman hadn’t entered the hotel.
“Miss Gray’s missing. So is the guard at the door.” A picture of the dead woman, the real dead woman, swam into focus. She had Gillian’s face. A picture of a picture of a picture. Dead. All dead.
“She’s fine,” the security guy said. “Better than fine, and the cameras don’t lie. You got yourself a handful. Check the lobby bar.”
He burst through the final door into the lobby. Saw the shock on the faces of the clerks behind the registration desk and realized his gun was drawn and aimed at them.
He held up a hand, pulled back the weapon, but didn’t stow it. The bar was around the corner, and he sped there.
A burst of noise ricocheted around him. It came from a clutch of people, mostly men, gathered around a tiny blonde in the center. The guard was in the circle, laughing with them.
Ray stopped short, fear turning swiftly to fury. Holstering his weapon, he elbowed his way through the crowd to the woman at the center. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Whoa,” said someone in the crowd. “Slow down, man.”
Gillian smiled. “It’s all right. He gets paid to be that way.”
He turned to Mallory. “You’re supposed to be watching the door.”
“You said not to let her go anywhere unescorted.” The guard shrugged. “And she was going.”
“Get back to your post,” he snapped, and the younger man nodded and backed away.
“Hey—don’t take it out on him,” Gillian said with a giggle. “Wasn’t his fault.”
“Think I don’t know that?” He took her by the arm. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed her drink from the bar and held it high, as if to toast with it. “Good time’s over, boys. Daddy’s here.”
A few snickers, which he ignored, and a couple of protests, which he also ignored. He pulled her through the group and toward the lobby.
“You’re supposed to be hiding out. Keeping low.”
She stumbled beside him. He knew she was struggling to keep up, and he didn’t care.
“Not my style,” she said.
“Not your style? Jesus, what do you think this is—an art show?”
“Come on, Ray, don’t be that way.” They were almost out the door, but she dug in her heels. Held up her glass. “Have a drink with me.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Seriously?” She peered up at him, shielding her eyes as if gazing into the sun. “I don’t know if I trust a man who doesn’t drink.”
“The idea was to bring you someplace safe, where no one could get to you. Not fling yourself around in public where everyone could.”
“I know what the idea was. And I’m as safe as I want to be. I had Mallory watching out for me.”
“He’s supposed to be on the—”
“—And Maddie.” She nodded to a corner, where Mad-die sat in the shadows like a spider, quietly nursing a drink and a stranger, who leaned in and nibbled her neck. She stared at Ray, ignoring the neck biter.
Ray turned angry eyes on Gillian. “You were supposed to let me know if you wanted to go somewhere.”
“You were asleep. Guy’s gotta sleep, Ray.”
“And you—you don’t sleep?”
“Not after a visit with Harley,” she said quietly.
She raised defiant eyes at him, but he could see the grief underneath. He muttered a curse. “Okay,” he said, “but if you want to drink, do it back at the room.”
“Too quiet there.” She plopped down in a chair at one of the small bar tables. “Sit.” She patted the chair beside her. “Tell me why you won’t have a drink with me.”
He ground his jaw, gazed around. He’d already noted all the entrances and exits; now he made sure he noted every face in the room.
“Your job is to go where I go,” Gillian said, “not tell me where. And I’m staying.”
He blew out a large breath and reluctantly took a seat with a good view of the space. Now that he was settling in, the room was starting to get to him, as all bars did. The smell of booze, the clink of ice, the overloud laughter.
“So, tell me all your secrets, Ray.”
He swung his glance over to her, then back out to the room. One of the guys from the crowd, a dark-haired, overgrown frat-boy type, kept looking in Gillian’s direction. He had a hungry, possessive expression in his face that Ray didn’t like. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets.” She leaned in, touched her fingertips to his wrist. The place where they landed burned. “If you don’t drink, how do you relax?”
“I don’t get tense.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right.”
He gave her a tight smile. “I breathe.”
She looked at him.
“I do breathing exercises. In and out to a count of four. Brings down your heart rate. Relaxes you.”
She gazed at him over the rim of the glass. “How very Yoda of you.”
The man at the bar made his move, and Ray snapped to his feet, blocking his route to Gillian. “On your way, pal.”
He was big but loose-jowled, a football player gone to seed. He’d eased the striped tie around his neck so it didn’t dig into the flesh, but the buttons of his blue shirt strained against his middle. “Only if that’s what the lady wants.”
“I’m telling you what the lady wants.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need a mouthpiece.”
“The hell she doesn’t.”
Suddenly, Gillian was between them.
“Don’t go getting all macho on me,” she said to Ray. And to the frat boy, “Thanks, but I’m heading up. Another time.”
And like that, she did what he’d asked her to do in the first place. She walked out.
24
Ray followed, hurrying to catch up. Seemed like he was always catching up. To her mood and her motives if not to herself, and it pissed him off.
Which is why he stabbed the call button, and when the elevator came, why he held her back with a less-thangentle arm until he checked it out. When he declared it safe, he let her slip in. She slouched against the wall, crossing her arms under her breasts. The movement outlined them against the taut T-shirt and also hiked it up so a band of soft skin showed above her hip-slung jeans. Something tightened down around Ray’s groin, and he looked away.
“You know, if you’re not going to let me have company, you’re going to have to provide it yourself.” Her voice was low and husky, and when he turned at last, she was eyeing him in a sexy, predatory way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.”
He did, but he didn’t want to. No, that wasn’t it. He wanted to. Christ, he wanted to. But he couldn’t. For a thousand reasons, not all of them professional. “Forget it.”
“I don’t spend the night after Harley alone.” She said it like it was a rule that couldn’t be broken, but he didn’t abide by her rules.
“You won’t. I’ll be right outside your door.”
“I don’t want you outside.”
“You don’t want me, period.”
The ends of her mouth curled in a small, sly smile. “Oh, Ray, that is so not true.”
He ignored the smile and the heat it generated. “You want a warm body, any body. Not me. Frat boy down there would have done just fine.”
“Oh, he would’ve done. But not fine.” She moved toward him. “Not like you.” She ran a hand down his arm, rubbed the skin on his palm. Moved to his hip and his thigh.
He stood frozen, unable to resist that hand. The press of her fingers sent the blood racing through him, and he hardened faster than he would have believed possible.
And she knew it. She swayed toward him, her breasts pressed against his arm, her hips grinding into him, her mouth open, inviting.
Just then, the ele
vator stopped. The door opened.
It broke the spell, thank God, and Ray pushed back, then hauled her out.
She laughed. “Saved by the bell, sweetheart.”
He tugged her down the hallway. Mallory rose as they approached.
“You want to sleep with me tonight, baby?” she said to Mallory. “Ray here isn’t interested.” Her gaze flicked down to that telltale spot and back up, amused. “Well . . . he’s interested, but . . .”
Mallory grinned, but Ray gave him a lethal look, and he wiped the smile off. He opened the door, and Ray pushed Gillian inside. She went straight to the window, a huge wall of glass that overlooked the city. Lights twinkled in the black vista, outlining the shape of structures. The Batman Building, designed for BellSouth in the shape of a phone in its cradle but bearing the distinct shape of the superhero, glowed blue against the shadows. Her hands pressed the pane as if she were drinking in the night, a blond vampire draining the darkness. A perfect target.
“You never listen, do you?” Ray reached for the cord to pull the drapes shut.
“I listen,” Gillian said, stopping his hand. “I just don’t do what you want.” She pulled him closer. “Come here. Look at this.” She nodded in the direction of the city lights. “See that? That’s the Pinnacle on top of the Sheraton. My mother took me there once. She dressed me up in pink tulle and velvet, and we sat at a window table. The restaurant rotated so you could see the city in all directions.” He followed her gaze, saw the circular hat of flashing lights on top of the hotel. “She was excited to show me this marvel, this moving room. She smiled and clapped her hands and pointed out the sights. But what I remember most is that dress.” Her voice was dreamy, nostalgic. The ghost of a smile played around her lips. “All little girls should be princesses for their mothers at least once.”
She lingered on the view but removed her hand from his. It hurt him to do it, because it felt like he was covering up the one good memory she’d had all day, but he pulled the drapes, and they slowly swished closed, concealing the scene.
Her eyes overbright with emotion, she turned away, blinked, then laughed with embarrassment. “Whew,” she said, blowing out a breath, “look at me getting all sentimental, when all I really want to do is take you to bed.” She grabbed his hand and, walking backward, pulled him into her bedroom.
“I thought we’d been over this.”
She made a face. “Yeah, but if you won’t sleep with me, you can at least tell me a story so I can go to sleep.”
“I don’t know any stories.”
“Yeah, you do. Once upon a time, there was a guy named Ray. He had a strange job catching strange guys. A job he liked. But then something happened. Something he called . . . circumstances.” They were inside the room now, and before he knew what was happening, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.
The room was dark, lit only from the overflow of the living area, but he could still make out the full, generous shape of her breasts. “Jesus.” He turned his back. “You gotta warn me when you do that.”
“Next time,” she said, but he heard the tease in her voice and the hint of a promise she had no intention of keeping.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be outside.”
She sighed. “Okay, Ray, you do that. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”
He retreated to the living room, closing the door behind him. He was aching with the fight inside himself. Touch her, don’t touch her. Burn or burn hotter. It felt like the same battle he’d been waging since he clapped eyes on her.
Seconds later she opened the door and stood there, curving around the doorway like a pole dancer. A flimsy robe had replaced the jeans, revealing a scrap of black lace that hugged her breasts and matched the barely there panties. “Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”
He stared at her, at the innocent eyes and fluff of gold hair that looked so angelic and the body that was so wickedly not. “Not if my life depended on it,” he managed to choke out.
She laughed. Dropped the pose. “Oh, all right.” She came toward him, her legs swinging in and out of the robe, the black lace coming and going. And coming again. “You are not a confidence booster, you know that?”
“I don’t think confidence is something you need a boost in.”
She held the sides of the robe out, waggling them and displaying herself. “Last chance. Free night of sex, no strings attached.”
He reached around her, found the robe’s tie, and brought it to the front, using it to rein her in close. “There are always strings.” He watched her watching him as he knotted the belt. Her mouth was soft and bruised-looking, open and waiting for him to bend down and taste it. Her breasts brushed against his arms as he tied the belt tight, and he felt a shudder go through her as well as him, a shivery current bouncing from one to the other.
He swallowed. There was too much heat between them, too much feeling. He remembered his promise to himself not to get involved, the words “ten days” echoing foolishly in his head.
Then he looked at her, the ache and want almost strong enough to make him do something about it. A ripple of apprehension replaced the electricity, distress she must have felt, too, because when she met his gaze, the amusement and play had vanished from her face. She was dead sober.
“You’re right.” His hands were frozen on the belt, and she disengaged herself and stepped back. “You’re a nice guy, Ray, and that’s deadly. Nice guys want the house, the picket fence. The wife and kids.”
He didn’t know whether or not to be insulted, or regretful, or just relieved for the air between them. He retreated to the bar, a mirrored counter set against one wall and shimmering with soft lights. “Maybe. Once,” he said.
“But oh, those circumstances, right?” She sat on the arm of the couch and dangled her feet, watching him the way a cat does, intent, fixed. “So tell me about them. I’ll stay here, far, far away, and you can tell me the entire heartbreaking saga.”
“I think you should go to bed. It’s late.”
“I told you, I won’t sleep tonight.” She eyed him. “Not without a little help. And we’ve already decided that’s not going to happen. So . . . tell me a story. I like sad stories.” She shot him a mischievous smile. “But I bet you already knew that.” She slipped onto the couch proper, stretched out, and lay back against the armrest. “Once upon a time, there was a man named Ray. And Ray fell in love with an evil witch named Nancy.” She circled a hand in the air, indicating him to continue.
“Not a witch.”
“No?” She closed her eyes and crossed her hands over her chest like a corpse laid out for viewing. “What, then?”
It was uncanny to see her like that. Dead even in life. To distract himself, he answered her. “A girl who spent her life around cops. And didn’t want to marry another one.”
“So why did she?”
And suddenly he was telling her the whole depressing tale. The ballad of Nancy and Ray.
25
He told her how he’d promised Nancy he was going to law school. How he’d talked her into coming home to Nashville, where he could go at night. How they had a big cop wedding with law enforcement all over the place.
“Even the crooks took the day off,” he said, quoting her father.
But then he needed a job to pay for law school, so the sarge pulled some strings and got him working security for TJ Maxx. But it was shitty hours, lousy pay. Worse than cops made, if she could believe it. Chasing skinny little teenagers all over the parking lot. Nancy’s father, her brother were both cops. Joining up was a natural. And it was temporary. He swore it up and down. Just until he got that law degree.
“But Ray, he liked being a cop,” Gillian said, her voice sleepy.
He paused. Recalled that familiar smell from today. Envisioned the squad room, the case meetings, the reports, the court appearances. The feeling that he was doing something decent, something important. Keeping the wolves away from the sheep. “Yeah, he liked i
t.”
“People don’t usually quit the things they enjoy.”
And then he was making his confession, telling Gillian how he went from three classes in law school to two classes to no classes. How the temporary became permanent, and how Nancy . . . well, “unhappy” wasn’t the word for it. Fights, threats, misery. She got pregnant and swore she’d stay; then she lost the baby, and it seemed as if nothing could hold her.
And then one day, he looked around. His partner was divorced, most of the guys he knew were divorced. They drank beer by themselves, played pool by themselves, sat at home and got drunk alone. Then there was Bob Denton. Same job as Ray, but been married two, maybe three times. Couple of kids out in California he never saw. Lived in a crappy little apartment in Antioch. One night after shift, he went out, had a drink with the guys like he did every night, went home, shot the back of his head off.
Ray mimed the action. “Bam, just like that.”
Gillian unfolded herself and sat up. She looked at him.
“The only people who showed up at the funeral were other cops.”
He still remembered how scared he’d been. How sick inside to think of himself so alone.
“So you quit.”
“You can always get a new job. Not so easy to replace your family.”
Gillian thought about all the exes in his life. “Then where’s your happy ending?”
He laughed, a self-deprecating twist of his mouth. “Yeah, funny thing that. Six months after I quit, Nancy left.”
“See? I told you she was a witch.”
“Not a witch. She just didn’t want to be married to me anymore.”
“Oh, I find that hard to believe,” she teased.
“Well . . . you met Peter.”
“That nebbish who came to your house?”
“She’d been sleeping with him for months. She was pregnant. And this time, it sure as hell wasn’t mine.”
Gillian watched him struggle with the admission. With the embarrassment and the anger. She remembered the viciousness of the ribbing today. Who gives up his career for love? Most men would say wives were a dime a dozen. Hell, even she’d say it. Give up the thing she believed in most? Never. Who would ask that of anyone they truly loved?
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